Title: After All This Time
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9.5k
Summary: See, you've never really been one for bright ideas. Sure, you're phenomenal at revenge plans and being a total bitch, but when it comes to genuinely decent ideas, you're lacking to say the least. But this one? This one could actually work.
Notes: I know some of you were disappointed by Brittany in the last chapter, but I mean, I'd pretty pretty shell-shocked if I was in her shoes.
/
You feel relief when you get back to Artie's mom's house.
Nancy greets you with a concerned smile, asking if you're okay but not pressing when you just shrug and tell her you have a headache and for that you're glad. You're pretty sure Artie called her and said something, not just sent a quick text as there's something in the way she's looking at you – with an understanding and motherly care – that makes you want to throw yourself at her and just sob into her arms as she strokes your hair, spill out the truth and get it off your chest, but you're not like that.
You're not really someone who's comfortable with being comforted, or at least not anymore. The only person you were ever super touchy and comfortable with was Brittany, and everyone else just made you feel awkward and cold when they attempted the impossible. That's not about to change, regardless of the pull in your stomach to just talk to Nancy. She's an outsider, and older and could offer some good advice, but you're not sure if you can handle that.
You couldn't even handle the cold shoulder you were given back at the bar by Brittany.
Anyway, you wander down to the basement and sigh as you grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge beneath the desk and slump down on the sofa bed, sipping it. It's pretty comfy, and you should pull it out and just go to sleep to forget about tonight, but you really can't be bothered and are currently running on fumes, but you know the quicker you do it, the quicker the hours will pass and so you get moving, pulling it out and dressing the makeshift bed with the blankets and pillows stored in one of the cupboards.
You're halfway through changing it when you hear the front doorbell upstairs and pause, wondering if Artie left his keys at home or maybe lost them, and it's not been long since you went, so he could've offered you a ride if he was coming back so soon but you again, can't be bothered to deal with that. Tomorrow, you can and maybe it'll be more of a joke than a tongue lashing – that's the type of mood you're in – and so you finish up and turn to look at all the tech equipment you used earlier.
You still have no idea how to turn this shit on, but you know it'll help get you to sleep and distract you and head over to the desk, pressing buttons until the lights turn down low and the largest screen flicks on. The music blares out super fucking loudly from the speakers, and you scramble over the keyboard and various buttons, panicking but twisting and poking them until it finally reduces in volume, and you press your palms to the desk, breathing out a sigh of relief as you hang your head over.
Last thing you needed was to turn on the fucking porno. You'd be mortified if Nancy walked in on you watching that – even though she must know about Artie's interests – but still, there's some reality show playing on the screen and you twist around to step back to your bed for the night, taking two steps forward until you feel a prickle in the atmosphere and freeze, registering the low sound of a light laughter coming from the other side of the room.
And that's when you realise you're not alone anymore.
The volume of the computer must have been so damn loud that you missed the sound of footsteps padding down the creaking stairs, or even the creak of the wood itself, and you wish you'd paid more attention because then maybe you could've prepared yourself for seeing Brittany, because obviously it's her. It couldn't be Dani, or Puck, or even Nancy just checking in on you after you were all shifty and shit when you got back. Obviously it had to be fucking Brittany and you're not sure how you feel.
You really weren't expecting her to follow you when you left.
Still, it doesn't stop you from soaking her in again. It's automatic, like your body is doing it before your mind is telling it to and you can't help but notice the way she's standing, not so confident now, her nails picking at the wood of the railing she's holding, whilst her other hand fiddles with the hem of her jacket. Her eyes are flitting over your body, like she's doing the same and it's so different to earlier, in the bar, that it's just confusing you.
You want to be angry. You want to feel the humiliation and embarrassment you did earlier, but she's tilting her head, sucking her lips into her mouth, and taking the last few steps slowly, until she's off the stairs completely and clasping her hands in front of her now, but a good distance between you, and she's still fiddling with her jacket. She's nervous, and you are too – even though you really don't want to be – but you don't know why she's here and you're hoping she does so she can leave as quickly as she came.
That'd be the right thing to do.
"Nancy let me in," Brittany explains, answering the question you'd yet to ask. "We're kind of friends now," she adds on, the words flowing out her mouth and making her face twist up. It's pretty weird she's friends with someone double her age, and her exes mom, but you're assuming that's why she's reacting like that. You don't like the way it makes you want to smile though and quickly look down to the floor, gathering yourself again before returning you attention to her with a softer expression. "She's not like other moms," she laughs. "She's really cool."
You nod your head, wanting to break out in a laugh too – it is kind of funny – but you're not too comfortable with that. You feel weird around her now in a way you couldn't ever have imagined, and coming back here has been so different to what you expected. It feels like you're not really here. Like you're going to wake up from this terrible fucking dream, at the wrong end of a whiskey bottle, having conjured up positive reactions from everyone when in fact, they fucking hate you for leaving.
So you don't feel like talking too much. If you pop this bubble you're in, you're definitely going back in time to the trainwreck you were three months ago when you left this damn place and Brittany being here is seriously threatening that.
But you have to say something, so you decide to make a little underhanded comment and fold your arms over your chest. You're still pissed at her, you know that for sure, and it's always been hard to hold on to but this time, you have good reason. If you can keep up a steely façade, then it might put her off enough to stay away from you and then you can do what you fucking came here to do, with no distractions, then get on that freaking plane and head home, and a safe distance away from her.
"Seems a lot has changed around here," you grit out, through a clenched jaw and the smile falls from Brittany's face.
You hate it when she does that sad kicked puppy look, and you force yourself to look away so there's something grasping on to the anger still burning in your veins. If you look for too long, your anger will break. You've always sucked at being mad at her.
But as per usual, Brittany has other ideas, and obviously not liking your comment, she takes a step forward, swallowing visibly and you flare your nostrils, wanting to step back but rooting yourself to your spot. You won't let her know she has any effect on you. You managed to do it earlier, and you're sure as hell going to make yourself do it now. If she can be cold and insensitive, then so can you and ten times better than she ever could.
"Not everything," she breathes, and it's so cryptic and annoying that you shake your head instantly, eyes shutting quickly as you tell yourself not to bite.
She's dangling the bait, wanting to get a reaction out of you and you only know that because you know her. Too well, you think, because she narrows her eyes briefly, clearly not accepting your reaction – you used to fall at her feet – but you're a different person now. You have to be stronger around her if you can ever think about being friends with her again. That's already a steep hill to climb as you obviously feel a type of way towards her – you can't deny it with the intensity of emotions you're feeling at present – but you're dealing with that and perhaps, in time, you'll get over her.
Even if it seems like a freaking hike up Mount Everest with no equipment, right now. Freaking impossible.
You don't want to put in a position like this either. It's not fair for her to come and invade your personal space – or Artie's, but yours temporarily – because you have nowhere to run away. You're assuming that's probably why she came, but you're feeling like you're cornered and it's only intensifying the fury in your body. You're going into defence mode, and you've only managed to say one sentence but that's one sentence too many already.
But she's here for a reason. A reason you want to find out, but you won't show it, so you just clench your jaw and steel yourself, breathing heavily but trying to conceal it.
"I never did the scene with Sam."
Your neck jerks, head shaking and okay, you said you wanted to find out the reason why she's here but now you're about to step on a landmine. You don't know how to go around it and not set it off, and you really need to fucking try because your flight home is tomorrow – you booked it on the short stroll back to Artie's on your phone – and that means a matter of hours before you're in that airport. The last thing you need is to discuss shit like this with Brittany.
That's only led you down a road you only know too well, and you can't take it.
"I heard," you grit out, running your tongue along the inside of your teeth, tasting the bitterness. Brittany tilts her head to the side, like she's shocked you knew, but that means you've got the upper hand here. Now she's the one who's surprised. About fucking time. "Kurt and Artie told me."
But she doesn't see it like that. Instead, she processes the information then purses her lips, narrowing her eyes as she takes a step forward, but your body immediately reacts and slides a step back. You've only got one more before you run into the desk, and then you really will be cornered, but it's enough of a reaction for her to stop coming towards you. Blue eyes dart down to your feet, registering the movement and she stops, exhaling loudly through her nose and blinking down at the ground for a couple of seconds.
When she speaks, her voice is quiet, matching the way her demeanour has shifted to, and you hate that it stings your core, making your fists clench against your ribs. If you press any harder, you'll break one of the damn things and that so wouldn't help. "Do you not want to know why?"
No.
Well… Yes, actually.
But no.
No, you can't know, because you've already got your own reasons and that's enough. Maybe she's dating Sam now, albeit unlikely as you barely saw them together tonight and she said she wasn't dating anyone, but they probably wouldn't parade around in front of you regardless and who knows if she'd tell you the truth anyway. Maybe she didn't want to fuck him for the first time on camera and wanted to do it behind closed doors. Maybe it's one of the other reasons apart from the one you desperately wish was true, as nothing has gone your way so far, so it most likely won't now.
So, you choose the words carefully, keeping your response short and blunt, swallowing against the thickness in your throat. You're tired of being the one talking. You're tired of the one deciphering her cryptic words and you're tired of always feeling like everything's coming down on you, punishing you for fuck knows what. You must have done something terrible in a past life to live the one you are now.
"Do I need to?"
Brittany holds your eyes strongly, not even wincing at your return of a challenge, and you're hoping it's enough that she'll just turn around, climb the stairs, and disappear again.
As much as you don't want this to be the last time you see her, or talk to her like this, you know that coming back hasn't gone well. Coming back has been warm, because everyone else was glad about your presence, and okay, Brittany wasn't prepared but neither were you and it's only fucked your head up more talking to her.
The conversation barely lasted two minutes in the bar, when you deserve fucking more than that and two days ago, you were in a blissfully ignorant place where you could forget about the colour of her eyes or how she makes you feel just by being near, but it's all come alive again.
And this conversation… If this is going the way you think it is, it won't end well either. It'll just get you on that freaking plane faster and so you're trying to be as short as possible.
"Not if you don't want to," she finally responds, her voice soft and eyes even softer and your nostrils flare in reaction. She fucking knows you want to, but she also knew how you felt about her and didn't care, and now you're stuck in this weird game with her after coming back for a dumbass reason. This weird game where it's back and forth, not really saying much but saying too much at the same time and you just want out.
"Doesn't matter anymore," you manage to get out, almost choking on the words and this time, Brittany visible reacts, sucking her lips into her mouth and blinking rapidly like she's about to cry. "I'm just here to help Artie and then I'm going back to New York," you add, fully knowing if you don't announce your intentions, she may think you're planning on staying and hell no, you're not gonna do that. You've barely last twenty-four hours in this damn place, so why would you torture yourself more?
Brittany bobs her head, scuffing her shoeless foot and dropping her vision to the floor, and the urge to reach out to her is almost too much, but you won't do that. If you touch her again, you know you're going to break, and you've done pretty well so far holding on to the miniscule amount of strength inside of you. Plus, she needs to deal with the consequences of her actions. She needs to feel half the amount of crap you did, and so if that means hurting her feelings so she lets you go again, then so be it.
(Even if you really would do anything to make sure she isn't hurt.)
(But she clearly doesn't hold the same regard for you, so.)
"Okay," she settles on, and you inhale deeply, thinking you've got away with the conversation. A feeling which is confirmed when she talks again, dragging her eyes back up to you and holding brown ones again. "Well, it really was good seeing you tonight, you know," she presses on, wringing her hands in front of her and the words echo from your earlier conversation, sparking the same reaction and surging straight through your veins to boil your blood back up again, a light scoff escaping your lips as you tear your gaze away from her to focus on the pictures hanging on the wall. "Even if I was a little surprised."
You're familiar with the feeling. You were a little surprised it took an hour for her to talk to you, just to hold a bullshit conversation for two minutes just to turn up at your door afterwards.
But you don't say that.
Instead, you let the fury fester inside your body, closing the gap between you and the desk to rest your butt on it, clasping the edge with both of your hands. You grip it so tight the whites of your knuckles show, but you stay silent and stare at her, hoping she's taking your movement as a sign not to come any closer. But, as per the theme of this current conversation, she's ignoring the signs and does it anyway, lifting a brow slowly like she's expecting you to lurch away, until she's two meters away or so and stops.
It's not like you can go anywhere. You're hauled up in the far side of the basement, so you just cross a leg over the other, arms doing the same but across your chest, your entire body language screaming for her not to get any closer to you, like she's going to listen. She doesn't, obviously, even though you know she knows the reason behind why you're doing it, and you brace yourself, really not wanting her to know she effect she's having on you if you can't control anything else.
You can smell her perfume already and you're pretty sure you haven't taken a proper breath since she arrived and are still trying not to as the last time she came close, you just fluttered your eyes shut and soaked in the memories that came with the scent. A reaction like that will allow her to come over to you, if she chooses to take advantage of the distraction, and you can't give her a second to do that. If she touches you, you know you'll break – the brief hand touch was enough earlier – and you want to come across chill.
Even if you're like, ninety percent sure she's reading through your bullshit anyway, if the way her eyes are roaming all over you are anything to go by.
"Why did you come back, Santana?" Brittany asks, yanking you at your thoughts.
You were doing so well staying silent.
You were doing so fucking well being quiet and keeping this conversation one sided – like you're used to – but that? That just pisses you off, and you can't stop the words from leaving your mouth, or stop the way your body leaps, returning back to your feet and jutting your chin forward, conveying the "fucking seriously?" that threatens to come out.
"Why did I come back?" You repeat, scoffing out the words and you know Brittany hates when you do that, but you're mad. You're mad for a multitude of different reasons, and the biggest one is that she's here, and now fucking asking you why you are? She can't be fucking serious. "Really, Britt?" You choke, but nothing is funny. Not the way she's staring at you with wide, blue eyes, flashing with hurt and not the way you're vibrating in your spot with a rush of emotion in your body. "You want to ask me why I came back? Not anything other than that?"
She winces, and you know you were going to stay quiet, but this is your time to talk.
You've been away for three months, building up everything you should've said before you left, and the sadness turned into anger over that period of time. Long gone is the depression you felt from being apart from her. Long gone is crying into your pillow over her, and now, with her stood before you, chewing on her bottom lip with her eyebrows pulled together, those fucking puppy eyes back as she cocks her head, you're reminded of why you had to convert one emotion into another.
You fell for her. You told her. She just ignored it and went to go and film a fucking sex scene with someone else. You didn't need an answer verbally after that; her actions spoke volumes, and you thought before she bled audacity, but this… This really takes the fucking cake. It takes the whole fucking bakery, and you just can't contain it any longer. You've got to get it out before it completely rips your insides to shreds.
"Then you tell me I look good and it's good to see me?" You spit out, but it's rhetorical and her mouth drops open, but you shake your head sharply, upper lip curling into a half-snarl. "Twice," you choke out through an empty laugh and push your tongue in front of your teeth, spying the areas where cameras could be because you've got to be getting Punk'd. But nope, just you two, in Artie's mom's basement, about to argue.
You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to find your zen, but it's way out of reach. "I disappear for three fucking months, Brittany," you point out and her face twists with hurt again. Yeah, you were hurt too. That's why you had to disappear. "I was gone for three freaking months, and I fucking coming back, just for you to spend two whole minutes with me in the bar, where you tell me you're not dating anyone and that it was good to see me?" You repeat it again, like it's been repeating in your brain for twelve hours now. "Now you're here," you thrust your finger down to the floor, panting heavily and there's red flashing in front of your eyes, but you won't let up. "To ask me why I came back? Not why I fucking left?"
She moves her foot, lifting it up into the air to come closer but you see it before it happens and thrust your hand towards her, palm open but pointer finger out, saying don't with your eyes as they glare at her. You've never been this mad at her before and it's unsettling, but it's warranted. It's the only thing spurring you on.
"Santana," she tries, voice breathy and soft in a way that usually calms you down, but you're too fired up, so it does the opposite. Now you're baring your teeth, face completely twisted with disbelief because she sounds genuinely confused as to why you're having such a visceral reaction. "I didn't know if you wanted to–"
"Wanted to what?" You spit out, not allowing her to finish her sentence. Anything that comes out of her mouth now is going to diminish the fire burning in your chest and you want to get it out. You need to. "Talk about us? Talk about why I left?" You hiss, the emotion bubbling up your body, becoming overwhelming as heat floods across your skin. "Because if I remember right, I was the only one fucking talking," you continue, referring to three months ago where you bared your heart, bared your soul, and she just stomped on it.
"The night I left," you start again, taking a step forward, and if you weren't so angry, you'd realise there's now considerably less space between you, but you don't. You're far too distracted with the flurry of memories of your last real conversation and it too much to see through clear eyes. "I told you I felt something, and you left me hanging… You went off to fuck Sam," you whisper his name through a hardened tone and Brittany cocks her head to the side, quickly swiping away a lone tear that falls from her eye. "And I had to fucking leave, Brittany. I had to because I couldn't take it," you force out through a hoarse throat and your own tears are threatening to spill, but you don't want to cry.
You want to cling onto the anger and not let it fall back to the sadness before, but you've always sucked at controlling your emotions around her.
It's what got you into this shit in the first place.
"I–I didn't want you to leave," Brittany fires back at you, her voice equally as weak as yours and you close your eyes against the pain thrumming through your chest at her words. It's fucking bullshit.
"You didn't even try and come after me," you counter, knowing if she actually didn't want you to go, she would've tried but it doesn't skip your notice that your voice isn't half as angry anymore. It's more defeated now. "You didn't even say anything back," you add, breathlessly and resist the sob crawling up your throat.
But it seems your anger has only shifted over to the blonde. Whereas Brittany was sheepish and small a second ago, now she's screwing her face up at you and shaking her head like you've said the wrong thing. The fucking irony.
"I tried to come after you, Santana," she starts and your eyes narrow, but you don't get to reply, and you get this is her time to talk. "I tried calling you, but you threw your damn phone in the drain if you remember," she bites, and you can see her retaliating now. You can see the anger and it's foreign because she's so not an angry person. She's the human equivalent of a Golden Retriever, but damn… She's kind of scary like this. Hot, too, but that's totally inappropriate. "I went back to the apartment, I tried to find you but when I got there, all your shit was gone," she's the one to wave her hands about with her hands now, cheeks darkening as her hands ball into fists when they drop back to her side.
"So, don't tell me that I didn't do enough to find you when you just up and fucking left," she spits, the curse word making your brows lift. Another thing that seems foreign to her. "I ran all over God damn town and looked for you all freaking night," she sobs, her voice wavering as she gets out the words and your heart clenches inside your chest. You didn't know she looked for you, but that doesn't really change anything, but the way she's explaining and how tears are now freely falling from her eyes is making your will to be mad disappear rapidly. "I looked in all the familiar places, but you weren't there," she shrugs. "You'd gone."
And you know she's got a point, but that's why you did it.
That's why you chucked your phone away and why you got in your car and just drove and drove because you couldn't face her after telling her your feelings and not hearing the same thing back. You hate that she finds logic in your bullshit though, and knows you better than you know yourself, but it's pissing you off again because if she knew that, then why didn't she say something to make you stay? Even if you ran away at the first chance, as a best friend, she should've stopped you before you left the freaking diner and you shouldn't have even been walking out the fucking door in the first place.
Or even tonight, she could've told you this at the bar. She could've not made up some bullshit to talk about and instead revealed everything she's apparently been hiding, but it took you walking away again for her to say it. How many times do you have to leave?
"Oh, like you fucking cared, Brittany," you hiss out before your mind conjures up the words.
But it's the wrong thing to say, because she's the one to scoff this time and looks up at the ceiling for a long moment, like her zen is going to appear and drain the anger out of her.
It won't.
"You know I cared, Santana," she retorts, voice so much softer than it was before and that's all it takes for your anger to completely dissipate as she sniffles, wiping away the tears that are just replaced moments later. "I still care... You're my best friend."
Best friend.
You almost chuckle at the words. That's the whole fucking problem and it comes out before you can stop it.
"Yeah, I'm aware," you say, defeated and breathy and Brittany's eyebrows furrow, confused as tears form in your eyes. "But that's the issue, Britt," you suck in a shaky breath and steel yourself. Here you go again. "You're not just my best friend," you almost stutter over your words. You're doing it again; opening yourself up and you hate yourself a little bit more that you've gotten to this point. "I don't think you ever have been."
Brittany's face faulters, and you see her exhale like she's relieved, but you don't get it. You stay strong, hanging on to the burning in your chest and she cocks her head to the side, chewing her lip and studying you, then before you can even think about it, she's closing the minimal gap between you, grabbing your face, and tilting it up, making you rise to your feet to kiss you. Her lips press against yours hard, harder than she's ever done before and you can feel wetness trailing on to your cheeks as you grab back at her, hands finding her hips with an ease you shouldn't have.
But no.
She can't just kiss you and make everything okay, and you repeat the words over and over in your mind, finding a strength you didn't know you had. You manage to push her away after three of the longest seconds you've ever endured, putting a distance between you with your trembling hand, hovering out in the air as your other covers your mouth, lips tingling, your throat dry and breath stuttering as it leaves your lungs. You stare up at her, and she's scared, you can see it in her eyes, her mouth open and she's swallowing audibly, and it's threatening to break your strength, but you can't let it.
You can't.
You… You're really fucking trying not to let it…
But it's been three months since anyone touched you.
No, scratch that. It's been three months since she touched you, let alone kissed you and you don't think you can resist.
Even then, the touching and kissing was fleeting, but your body remembers it better than your mind and it's aching for her. You're in physical pain, trying to withhold from the urge to grab at her again and continue, but she's tilting her head to the side, shrugging like she doesn't know how to explain it, but she feels it and that breaks you completely.
Not in the way you expect though, and you lurch forward, screaming at yourself not to do this but you can't fight it anymore. You don't have the strength and you give in, pressing your body against hers.
Her hands shoot to your neck, grasping on to the sides as you press your forehead into hers, not kissing her yet but sharing the air between you as you pant heavily, her breath trembling as she cries. You're not sure if you want to explode or cry too, but then there's a thumb coming up to your bottom lip, running over it so fucking gently and seconds later, lips replace it, soft, sweet, and hesitant.
It's electric, and then you're pissed again, at yourself this time, losing the last piece of resolve and pressing back into her lips so hard she gasps into the kiss as you stumble backwards a step or two.
Warmth spreads through your chest, and it makes you want to break down at the shift. You didn't realise how really empty you felt until right now, and you pull her roughly into you, stumbling back again until you hit the desk, earning a strangled moan as you spin and haul her on to it, legs parting to let you in between. Distantly, you hear a couple things slide off the desk, but you're backing your body into hers and the kiss tastes like regret, and sadness, and everything you've been forcing away back in New York.
You feel yourself crying before you know it, her tongue flicking against yours, but you have to break the kiss as a sob threatens to escape, but she doesn't stop kissing you. Her teeth graze against the underside of your jaw, her lips following the path, and something breaks further inside of you. Your resolve, you think, even though that left the building a while back, but you don't have time to ponder on it because her hands are reaching down for your shirt, tugging it up and over your head with a practised ease that brands like a hot iron against your skin.
Her shirt follows quickly after, as she removes it herself then you're chest to chest, your shoulders starting to shake and knees starting to buckle, but you're kissing again, hot and opened mouthed and nothing else matters. Her hands splay across your back, nails digging into your skin, and you bite into the kiss, nipping at her bottom lip and pulling back the flesh because you're pissed.
You're pissed she can just kiss you like this, and you can't do anything to resist. You're pissed that you spent three months, that were apparently wasted, trying to get over her just to find out you could never do it. You're pissed you left that night, and threw your phone down the drain, not leaving any breadcrumbs as a trail because she obviously wanted to find you, but just couldn't. You were too far gone.
And it's like a potent cocktail of confusion, pain, relief, regret, and bitterness, mixing inside of you until tears are streaming from your face, unstoppable and unwarranted, and you're sobbing against her mouth.
But Brittany doesn't let up.
She moves her hands to your pants, fingers hooking into the waistband and her legs wrap around the back of your thighs, keeping you rooted to your spot and retaliates, biting back into the kiss she gives as she pushes the clothing down your legs. Your heart's pounding inside your chest, heavy against your ribcage and you make quick work of her jeans, popping open the button and urging them down her legs, doing the same with her panties before your hands return and twist around her back, sliding down to grab at the flesh of her ass and tugging into her as you kiss her again.
It's everything you've missed, her skin against yours, and you don't bother removing her bra, or your own, before she's reaching between you and grabbing you over your boxers, like she did the very first time you were in this position. You're already insanely turned on, your groin aching with need but you're just beginning to process everything and if you think too hard, you're going to break down.
But you want this.
You need this.
You fucking deserve this and there's something refreshing in the way she sighs against your mouth when she removes the final barrier between you and urges your boxers down, where you kick them off. Your lungs take the needed breath, returning to a sloppy kiss as she begins stroking at you in a way she shouldn't know so well, your hips rutting up as your hands shoot to her face, thumbs stroking away fresh tears.
You haven't felt this complete in three months. You haven't realised up until right now how fucking cold you've been, and all it's taken is her being back in your arms, her touching you, her kissing you, to realise that she was the missing puzzle piece. She was the warmth you yearned for as you've been so freaking cold.
Not like you didn't already know that, but you had time to convince yourself that wasn't the case. You had time to convince yourself that you weren't entirely dependent on her, and that you haven't been since you literally fell at her feet at 16 years old, back in high school.
And up until this moment, you honestly believed you could live without her, but that's the problem.
You don't fucking want to.
"Brittany," you choke out, not even realising you've painted her name against her lips until she reels back, the motion on you stopping, but her grip not loosening.
Her free hand comes up to your face, pushing back a strand of fallen hair and you squeeze your eyes shut, rolling your head from left to right against hers like you're trying to will yourself to stop this. Your hands are shaking against her body, fingertips pressing into her skin to the point where you think you could leave a mark, but again, she's right there, urging your chin up and making your eyes open automatically.
"God, I missed you," she whispers through a hoarse throat, eyes wide and so, so honest that it grips at your chest, cold like fear.
You've heard so many people say that to you tonight, but none of them had it sound like it just did as it left her mouth. She's not breaking the eye contact either, allowing you to see something you've seen before, but never this intense. It feels like it could wrap you up in a cocoon and keep you safe from everything bad in the world, and something jumps into your throat because you know that look. You feel it creep across your face every damn time you fucking look at this girl and now it's staring back at you… You think you know what it means.
And had there been any resolve, that would've been the moment it would've slipped away, but you're pretty sure you never actually had any and close the gap between you again, kissing the words you desperately want to say in response into her mouth and she whimpers, getting it.
Your hands shoot to her thighs, widening her legs with grip you have on the outside and you let her guide you to where she needs you most, but not before you break from the kiss and begin a reverent path down her neck. Your tongue flicks out against the muscle, and she quivers in her spot, a quiet mewl breathing into your ear as she runs your cock through slick folds, coating the tip with juices and your entire body floods with heat.
She wants you.
No. Scratch that.
She needs you.
Just like you need her.
You gasp against the skin of her throat, eyes squeezing shut as the realisation hits you. It's hard, but not cold, and you struggle to fill your lungs when she moves your member down to a hot, tight, resistance, urging you forward until you take over and push into her, all coherency shooting out the window. It's warm and wet and you can't hold back the groan that crawls up your throat as you sink further, muscles flexing around you, creating this heavenly suction that makes your mind blank.
"Fuck," Brittany grunts, breathlessly, tilting her head back to expose her throat and you take advantage, latching on to her pulse point as you pull out, only to sink deeper until you're buried as much as possible. Her throat vibrates against your teeth as you scrape them, a pleasured moan escaping her lips and her hands clutch at your shoulders, nails digging into your skin so deep it'll leave a mark for sure, but you don't care.
You don't care about anything else than being reunited in this way with her. Anything other than the smell of her skin, the sound of her voice and the colour her cheeks go as they flush with heat when you grind your hips. It may be the third time you've ever slept together, but it feels more than the previous two times combined and something in your chest breaks as you begin rutting into her, her feet skimming up the back of your legs up and down, in a soothing manner that's way too comfortable for the moment you're having.
But it all feels so surreal. It still feels like this is a dream, one you're going to wake up from in a matter of hours, with the same heartache and regret, and continue to torture you for days on end. It's not the first time you've had a dream like this, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you begin a rocking motion, pulling your head back to tip your forehead against hers.
She exhales shakily against your lips, breath hot and quivering and her fingers travel up to rake through your hair. Your eyes snap open and you watch the way her face contorts with pleasure as you slam into her, moans escaping her lips, her eyes fluttering shut as the pressure increases at the bottom of your spine.
She's so fucking beautiful, especially like this, blue eyes boring into your brown ones and you didn't know you could miss something as much as you miss her.
There are tears in your eyes again before you can stop them, but Brittany's right there, lowering her head and stroking them away as they fall. It breaks something inside of you again, your throat growing thick as you breathe out a shuddering exhale and hands gripping her thighs, squeezing tightly, trying to put all your focus into the feeling of you moving inside of her, but it doesn't work.
Nothing could distract you from the way she's looking at you, even freaking sex which is unknown to you as that's always been an importance in your life, just without meaning.
But this is so much more than sex. You know it, and she does too, but it needs to be because you can't keep doing shit like this. Sleeping together is only going to end the way it did the first and second time, and you've still got a plane ticket in your rucksack near the sofa bed, ready to be used in less than twenty-four hours. This is just the equivalent of break-up sex, even if you were never together in the first place to break up and that single thought makes your motions shift.
Previously, it was slow, and soft, but when her hands come up to grasp at your cheeks, you squeeze your eyes shut. If you don't look at her anymore, you can convince yourself that this is just sex, and so you promise to keep your eyes shut as you increase the tempo.
Strong thighs tighten around your hips, quivering with pleasure, pulling you deeper with every stroke and exhaustion begins setting into your bones as you pump harder and harder, a sheen layer of sweat covering your forehead. Brittany's hands grasp at your face, and you can hear your name being chanted through her lips, but you refuse to listen. If you do, you'll meet her eyes again, and you just can't.
You can't take it. This is all too much, and you shouldn't be fucking be doing this.
The first time was for a purpose. The second was just a damn mistake and there's no way this, the third time, is going to result in anything else.
But it feels too good to stop.
It feels to good for her to be panting against your mouth, trying to kiss you but failing with the speed you've got set, and you slide your hands around the top of her thighs to the bottom, finding the crease where her ass and thighs meet and yank her forward, burying yourself as deeply as possible, earning a loud whine that sets your skin on fire, as you try to regain your breath and thoughts, her squeaking continuously at the depth you're now at.
You're breaking. You're slowly crumbling and you again, you can't. Nothing will change after this, and it's ridiculous because it should, but it's been three months since you've been around her and in that time, you've built up resilience. Not enough to stop yourself from doing this, as it turns out, but enough that you can keep it non-emotional and enough that you are desperately trying not to pick on the significance of this.
Because friends don't do this. People who are really just platonic, with no feelings, don't have sex or if they do, don't have sex like this, with her hands mapping out every part of your face, of your neck, of your body. They're tracing all over you like Brittany's trying to ingrain this memory into her brain with all the fine details, and your entire body is tingling even though you're not watching her do it.
"San…" Brittany gets out, voice broken as a whine interrupts the rest of your name, and you slow your hips, your legs quivering from the position you're in, but you refuse to meet her gaze, even though you can feel her eyes burning holes into your face and lower your head to her neck again, biting and sucking over her skin.
It's the best thing you can do right now. It's the best way you can convey that you can't look at her again, because it broke you before and got you here, and if you do it, you'll be reminded of all the reasons you left.
Because she hasn't said anything to change the reason why. She hasn't told you she feels something too. She hasn't corrected any of your points that you fired at her earlier. She hasn't done freaking anything to change your fucking mind and it angers you that you're doing this, hammering into her in a steady rhythm, because you shouldn't be.
But she just works you with this fucking magic, and you're so distracted by trying to focus on the anger that you forget to keep your eyes closed and you forget to keep your face pressed into her neck. You forget that you shouldn't be staring into the deep blue until you are, and you gasp sharply when you see something in her eyes.
Something that you've seen in your own eyes.
But it's not fair. It's not fair to notice it now because you were supposed to be getting over her. You were supposed to be forgetting what it feels like to kiss her, to touch her, to be intimate with her, but you're here, fucking it all up. You're here, throwing away three months of torment and struggle to get over her, and you wish you could find it to care and just stop, grab your clothes, and run away again, but she's got you rooted.
It's like she knows what's going on inside your mind and that's the worst part of it.
If she can read your mind, then why isn't she verbalising what you desperately want to hear?
Because you can't deny it. Three months and you're still falling as hard and as fast as the day you met her, and you've never been able to stop and all you want in this moment is to hear it back. To hear her say the thing you've wanted for so long now.
"Santana," Brittany whines as you tap that spot inside of her, rapidly tugging her towards the edge and you can feel the beginnings of her tightening around you. You can feel the way her thighs are trembling around you and you're trying to break the eye contact she's got you in, but you can't. "Santana," she repeats again, and you swallow thickly, poking your tongue out to moisten your drying lips and she uses the grip she has on your face to bring your mouths together, just once, in a barely there kiss and it accelerates your own pleasure. "Look a-at me," she whines.
But you can't.
It builds, higher and higher, warmth pooling at the bottom of your spine and in your groin and you ignore the obscene slapping sounds that echo around the room as you repeat the motion you know will bring her over the edge soon, eyes squeezed shut again. You have to focus on that or the emotional turmoil in your head is going to completely ruin this moment and if this is all you can get, before you get back on that damn plane, you're going to take it.
You fight the sob in your throat, desperately trying to push the pain and fear down, knowing you need to cling to this moment. You never thought you'd be back here, connected with Brittany like this again and just as quickly as that thought comes, another one does, reminding you that this is just another fleeting encounter.
Then you're feeling dizzy, like you're spinning out of control, and you lose the resistance; the one preventing you from looking into her eyes and before you know it, your vision has lifted and you're caught, staring into deep blue.
Your chest is heavy but empty, and you make out the tracks of tears down Brittany's cheeks as she continues staring back, looking far too beautiful considering how you're fucking her, her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as she muffles a moan.
You're so stupidly into her and you fucking hate it.
But then she's inhaling sharply, a gasp escaping her mouth and she begins quaking, breaking, unravelling, and coming undone around you and all you can focus on is the slickness shooting out of her. All you can think about is how this feels natural, like you're supposed to be doing it, but how can you be when she hasn't returned your admission of feelings.
You don't get to linger on that thought for too long before Brittany's tensing further around you, the orgasm prolonging as you drag it out with the same rapid tempo you had and then you're at the edge yourself, teetering over the side you're desperately trying to cling on to.
But then her lips are on yours, her face scrunching up as if she's holding back more tears and it breaks all resolve.
Her lips push hard against yours, her arms wrapping around your neck to tug you into her as your hips jerk messily, and just before you release, you try to pull out, but she's got you locked in a tight embrace, her orgasm punching through her and making her body go rigid and you can't. You choke, eyes popping open, and you release inside of her, twitching heavily as your own climax tears through you.
Your entire body is tingling, your skin feels like it's on fire, but you don't break the kiss and allow these few seconds to memorise what it feels like, to be back here, doing this again, with her hips still undulating.
And tomorrow, you're going to hate yourself for this. You're going to hate yourself for the way she's stroking her fingertips down your neck, over your collarbones, settling on the left side of your chest and making you forget everything else, but for now, you're going to ignore everything you should be focusing on and just revel in the aftermath of your orgasms.
/
You don't know how long you stand there.
You don't know how long she kisses you for after she tilts your head up and presses your lips together.
You don't know how long it takes for her to break it when the need for oxygen gets too much and slide off the desk, feet planting on the ground and dragging you towards the sofa bed, but then you're getting in, Brittany tugging the sheets over your bodies and squashing your noses together on one of the pillows and you're caught in this intense stare off that neither of you want to break.
No words are traded. Nothing is said, and you can see the uncertainty in Brittany's face, but this time, you don't get mad. You understand it. In a way you never thought you would because the moment you've just shared wasn't nothing. There's no way she can say it wasn't either, and that thought makes your chest feel lighter and your stomach stop turning.
Because this is a new moment. Staring into deep blue oceans, it feels like she's trying to tell you something, and as much as you want to ignore it and look away, you can't. You don't want to, so you allow yourself to soak in the way she's staring at you, like she always has, but you've got different lenses on and you're seeing it another way.
And it fucking terrifies you.
The fear is increasing, making your heart pick up its pace as her hand drags up your ribs, stroking over your skin, still mapping you like they were during, but it's softer this time. It's less hurried and frantic, like she's accepting that it has to mean something, or it wouldn't have happened. She's looking at you like it, too, her head pressed into the pillow, hair wild and tousled around her like a halo, but her eyes are so blue and boring into yours.
For now, that's enough.
For now, that'll quell the striking fear in your chest, so you kiss her, one more time, as softly as possible, exhaling a sigh of relief through your nose before letting your eyes fall shut and the fatigue to take over.
/
Awhhhhh crap... How we feeling?