Author's Note: This isn't really a ficlet. It's 10,000+ words of OC POV. A Santaresa side story set after Nothing Now Could Change My Mind and before Rest Your Soul With Me. There's a little Rachel and even less Quinn, so it's totally skippable if you don't like Santana.
Otherwise known as Teresa meets Brittany.
Keep You All to Myself
I don't wanna have a threesome
I don't want you sleepin'
With nobody else
I don't wanna be a swinger
I'd rather keep you all to myself.
~Threesome, Melissa Etheridge
Teresa learns about Brittany Pierce fairly early in their relationship. The information comes in a sort of quid pro quo of ex-lovers with Santana saying, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," after Teresa asks her what, exactly, her reasons had been for avoiding any kind of serious commitment in the past. Santana's initial evasion is a little annoying, to be honest, but it's only their third (actual) date, and they're getting along well enough that Teresa still wants to see where this thing might go, so she tells Santana just enough about Olivia to satisfy her curiosity without entirely outing her ex, and in exchange, Santana shares the history of her one serious relationship with her once best friend who'd been the first (and last) girl she'd actually loved.
It makes a certain kind of sense to Teresa—once bitten, twice shy, and all that—but Santana rolls her eyes and emphatically denies that getting her heart broken by Brittany had been the thing to turn her off relationships. "It's just a lot of fucking time and effort to put in with someone you just met," she points out with a shrug, "and all my positive energy's been focused on getting through med school and becoming a doctor. It just seemed like less of a headache to keep my sex life uncomplicated until I got all the important career-type stuff worked out, which it totally is now," she hastily insists, clearly sensing that her explanation isn't exactly winning her many points, but then that familiar smirk appears once again. "Besides, it was the first time I was single in a city full of hot, available ladies since I'd come out," she shamelessly confesses. "Like I was passing up that opportunity."
That makes a certain kind of sense to Teresa too, and while she does appreciate Santana's brutal honesty, she doesn't love the size of her little black book. She does, however, better understand its existence after hearing more about Santana's past. Teresa has her own past, after all, and not all of it involves Oliva. She'd had her heart broken a time or two before Liv, and she'd even enjoyed her own (very brief) period of exploring her sexuality with a little less discretion than she currently employs, so she gets the appeal of uncomplicated sex. It's just that it's not really her thing.
She eventually tells Santana a little more about her own dating history, not all at once, of course, but gradually over the weeks they spend getting to know each other better. They even trade stories of the guys they'd dated in high school before they'd come out, though even there, Santana's list is far longer than hers. Despite her colorful past, Teresa only grows more confident in the relationship with every day that passes, so she doesn't really have a reason to think much about Santana's most significant ex until the announcement of Brittany's imminent trip to New York.
"It's kind of a working visit. She's got some dance workshop thing she's invited to," Santana tells her one evening in the scant window between the end of her shift at the hospital and the beginning Teresa's at the bar. "She wants to get together for dinner or something."
"She wants to have dinner with you," Teresa repeats flatly, not at all liking the implication of that. Her stomach swirls with something that feels very much like jealousy—the kind that she can't just laugh off like she has whenever one of Santana's many ex-conquests has come up in a conversation. Brittany wasn't a conquest. She was the woman that Santana had been in love with before Teresa, and the recent utterance of that magical word between them is still so new and infrequent after weeks (months) of them dancing around it that the whole thing still feels a little bit transient, like a foundation that hasn't quite settled yet.
"Not with me exclusively," Santana is quick to clarify, clearly picking up on Teresa's concern. "Like, all of us. Me and Q and Berry and Hummel. The Lima Escape Club," she quips with a grin.
"Oh." It only sounds a little like a sigh of relief.
Santana's grin turns knowing, and she angles her body sideways on the couch, curling a palm over Teresa's jean-clad knee as she leans closer. "You've got nothing to be jealous about, Rese."
"I'm not," she denies, her face already heating. Santana's expression says bullshit even if her mouth doesn't, and Teresa huffs. "Much," she concedes, rolling her eyes. She's not proud of it, but there it is. "She's your ex."
"Yeah. My ex," Santana stresses, squeezing her knee in emphasis. "Who does not live in the same city and still want me back. Unlike your ex," she grumbles, clearly still pissed with Olivia for dropping by Weather Up unannounced three days after they'd run into her at the hospital gala last month.
"Olivia doesn't want me back. She just didn't like you at all." It's not strictly true. There'd definitely still been some measure of interest on Olivia's part when she'd shown up at the bar, but mostly, she'd just been wary of Doctor Lopez potentially outing her out of spite and had wanted to make sure that she didn't run in the same social circles as any of her clients. "Wonder why?"
A scowl settles on Santana's face. "Porque es una idiota. She let you get away. I'm not doing that," she vows, expression softening as she inches her hand up Teresa's thigh. "Brittany's my past. You're my present and," her eyes drop, cheeks darkening, and she looks endearingly awkward all of a sudden. "You know," she finishes with an embarrassed shrug.
"Your future," Teresa supplies, trying and failing to suppress her pleased smile.
"If you're lucky," Santana says, quickly recovering most of her cockiness.
"I think you mean if you're lucky."
Santana tips her chin and hums in acknowledgment. "So...does next Thursday work for you?"
"For what?" Teresa asks, suddenly feeling like she missed part of the conversation.
"Dinner." Santana looks at her expectantly before clarifying, "With the Lima Escape Club?"
"I'm invited?" She wasn't expecting that, to be honest.
"Well, duh. You're my girlfriend, and Britt wants to meet you," Santana informs her easily, like she really is just talking about an old friend and not an ex-girlfriend. "Hummel's bringing Harry too. She's had some weird rainbow connection with him since she dated him in high school, so she wants to make sure his boyfriend isn't a dick." A wicked smirk curves her lips at her own innuendo. "You know, figuratively speaking."
"Brittany dated Kurt?" Teresa asks in surprise.
"Yeah, for, like, a day." Santana chuckles, undoubtedly from the look of sheer incredulity that Teresa is certain she's wearing. "He was just experimenting with her...and the flannel."
The attempt to picture Kurt Hummel willingly wearing flannel is even more inconceivable to Teresa than him dating a woman, nevermind the same woman as Santana. "Sometimes I really wish I'd gone to your high school."
The stories she's been told—
Santana barks out a laugh, shaking her head. "No, you really don't."
xx
It's not hard for Teresa to swap her shift next Thursday with someone else. What proves to be harder is adequately preparing herself to meet the enigma that is Santana's former love. She knows what Brittany looks like—she's seen a few pictures and also might have looked up some videos of her dancing—so she understands the physical appeal of the woman. It's the odd description of her personality that Teresa finds difficult to fully grasp. She's supposedly not stupid but didn't do well in school; she's emotionally intuitive but not always easy to understand; she has a different way of seeing the world and you just have to roll with it.
Honestly, none of that sounds like a person that her smart, snarky, often impatient girlfriend would date for several years.
So she can't really be blamed if she maybe, kinda decides to pump Rachel Berry Fabray for a little extra insight. It's not even like she has to go very far out of her way to do it. Rachel has asked a couple of times now to watch her paint in the name of research for the show she's working on. Her character is an artist, and the official rehearsals are set to start in a couple of weeks. Teresa thinks it's a little weird, and she hasn't exactly been in a hurry to agree, what with her odd schedule at the bar and preferring to spend her free time with Santana, but as soon as she finds out that she'll be meeting Santana's ex, it's the easiest thing in the world to text Rachel and finally set up a date—one that just happens to be the Monday before Brittany's visit.
Rachel hauls her cute ass all the way out to Brooklyn promptly at eleven o'clock, late enough to let Teresa's roommate, Kate, get to work unimpeded and also give Teresa a chance to sleep in a bit. Rachel arrives dressed in black Capri pants that hug her legs, a black mock turtleneck that peeks out from under a pink artist smock—Teresa doesn't even want to know where she'd found a pink one—and a black beret on her head. The outfit is absolutely ridiculous, but on Rachel, it somehow makes complete sense.
"I'm here to be molded into a great artist." She pronounces it arteest, because of course she does.
Teresa laughs, shaking her head. "I don't know how much molding there'll be, but you're welcome to be my apprentice for a day."
Rachel's eyes light up in delight, and she digs out a notebook and pen from the bag hanging off her shoulder. "Consider me your apt pupil."
"It'll be about as exciting as watching paint dry...literally," Teresa quips, and Rachel smiles at her joke. Teresa leads her to the little corner of the apartment that she's claimed as a 'studio.' It's next to the kitchen and is supposed to be a dining room of sorts, but she and Kate are more the type to eat off trays in front of the television anyway.
She offers Rachel a drink, which she refuses, before she gets her settled into the desk chair that she'd borrowed from Kate's bedroom. Rachel gets comfortable with a swivel of the chair, readying her notebook. "I really am grateful that you agreed to this, Teresa. I know it might seem like I'm going a little overboard with research for what is ultimately a fictional character, but it's important to me that Iris be as real as possible so that the audience can truly connect with her. I want them to believe that I'm the struggling painter, torn between my art and family obligations and love."
It's actually kind of cool that she's so passionate about it. Teresa can respect that. "I can definitely help you with the struggling painter part," she promises with a self-deprecating laugh. Her paintings have been gaining a little more interest lately, but she's not very far removed from the days when she couldn't manage to sell even one. She's nowhere near being able to quit her actual job.
Teresa isn't feeling particularly inspired to paint anything specific today, but she figures she can show Rachel some basic techniques, and she plans to do that first before steering the conversation around to Santana's ex. She shows Rachel her acrylic paints and brushes, explaining what the different types are used for, and she goes over the basics of how to mix the paints and properly hold the brushes. Rachel, ever the consummate professional, takes notes on everything. She also snaps a few pictures of Teresa while she's painting, "For visual reference," she explains.
Teresa thinks it's borderline ridiculous, but Rachel obviously appreciates being humored, and Teresa finds herself enjoying the session. It even inspires her to start painting a classroom scene that's drawn one part from her hazy memories of primary school and three parts from the image of Rachel diligently writing her notes.
They've mostly moved to the point where Teresa isn't narrating her technique anymore and Rachel really is just sitting there watching her brushstrokes dry on the canvas when she finally broaches the subject. "Can I ask you a question?"
Rachel's gaze drifts from the canvas to Teresa. "You aren't going to proposition me again, are you?" she asks with a teasing grin. "Because I'm very happily married and also quite attached to my nose, which Santana will break if I attempt to steal her woman."
Teresa laughs. "Your nose is safe, and so is mine. No way I'm crossing your wife again." She has a feeling Quinn Fabray could do a lot more damage than Santana when you get on her bad side. "I was wondering if you could tell me about Brittany."
Rachel is very clearly not prepared for the topic if the expression on her face is any indication. She looks like Teresa just announced a pop quiz that she didn't study for at all. (That classroom analogy is obviously stuck in her brain now.)
"Perhaps you should be talking to Santana," she finally says, clearly attempting to be tactful.
Teresa tosses her brush aside with a sigh. "I did, but Brittany is her ex, and people tend to be a little selective with the details when they tell their current partners about their past ones." She'd certainly chosen her own words carefully when she'd first told Santana about Olivia, and she hasn't failed to notice that Santana has done the same. "I thought it might help to get an outside perspective so I know what to expect on Thursday."
Rachel tilts her head thoughtfully. "You might be better served to ask Quinn. Brittany and I have had a few moments over the years, but we've never been particularly close," she admits with a shrug. "What exactly has Santana told you about her?"
So much of nothing really, Teresa thinks.
"That she's an amazing dancer, they've been friends since middle school, people tend to write her off as a dumb blonde but she isn't. She just doesn't bother to pay attention to things that don't interest her." It's all paraphrased and mentally edited to remove Santana's admission that Brittany was her true sexual awakening. Teresa prefers not to dwell on that part. "And she does things differently than most people."
There's a distinct snicker from Rachel. "That's certainly one way to put it."
"What do you mean?" she prompts with interest.
Rachel's eyes widen slightly, like she's been caught telling tales, and she looks almost guilty for a second before she schools her features. "Brittany is...well," she pauses, furrowing her brows, "eccentric isn't quite right," she mutters, almost to herself. "Unconventional, perhaps?" She appears only marginally more satisfied with that adjective. "Her thought processes are not always easy to follow. I couldn't begin to explain how her mind works. And she was certainly open to experiences that most people would be hesitant to explore...or at least admit out loud that they were exploring. You were just as likely to find her playing with ducks in the school swimming pool as making out in the supply closet with the janitor or volunteering to be shot out of a cannon by their psychopathic cheerleading coach."
Teresa chokes back a surprised laugh, sure that Rachel is exaggerating. "Those are all hypotheticals, right?"
"No, all of those actually happened," Rachel assures her very seriously.
The smile falls off Teresa's face. "And Santana was in love with her?" she asks incredulously. She certainly hadn't gotten any of those stories from Santana.
Rachel frowns in dismay, puffing out a breath. "You have to understand that we all did very questionable things in high school that would very likely seem crazy to anyone else now. Brittany is more than the sum of her more outrageous antics. She was also prone to giving spontaneous hugs to anyone who looked like they needed one, she wasn't afraid to openly embrace her pansexuality in a very homophobic town long before most of us even dared to question our own proclivities, and, frankly, she was far more tolerant of Santana's general unpleasantness than Santana rightfully deserved at the time," Rachel unapologetically explains. "She's also very attractive. That certainly factored in." She pauses then, looking sheepish. "Don't tell Quinn I said that."
Teresa manages a faint smile. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
Rachel nods, satisfied. "You shouldn't worry either," she says knowingly. "Santana may have loved Brittany when they were foolish teenagers, but they're both very different people now. Well, Santana is...mostly," she amends. "You're by far the better match for her now."
Warmth blooms in her chest at the unsolicited assessment. It's nice to hear, especially from someone who's been there to witness all of Santana's past indiscretions in all of their glory. Of course, Rachel was also the one who convinced her to give Santana a chance, so she's been their biggest cheerleader. Teresa likes to believe that it comes from genuinely wanting to see them happy more than proving she's right about her matchmaking skills.
"I'm not worried about that."
"Aren't you?" Rachel challenges, though not unkindly.
Maybe she is a little, but it's more about not knowing what to expect from this Brittany person. "I just want to be mentally prepared for how dinner with my girlfriend and her ex-girlfriend is going to go."
"Oh, you won't be," Rachel warns her cheerfully. "Quinn and I have known Brittany for years and neither one of us can reasonably predict anything she'll say or do. So don't be surprised if she says something that you in no way understand, because it's highly probable that she will and that you won't be the only one confused."
"In other words, Thursday night is gonna be fun." Teresa concludes warily.
"Absolutely," Rachel confirms with a wide grin.
Teresa can't quite tell if Rachel is genuinely enthused about seeing Brittany or just entertained by the notion of watching new people meet her. It's quite possibly a little of both.
She sends Rachel off not long after that, feeling only marginally more prepared to meet Santana's ex-girlfriend. If she's being completely honest with herself, she can admit that her trepidation probably has to do more with her own dating history than Santana's in this one particular case. She hadn't had to contend with the reappearance of any ex-girlfriends with Olivia, but it had been a factor in the relationship that Teresa had been in before that—so much of a factor that, after their breakup, Dee had ended up going back to her ex as soon as the woman had gotten help for her own self-destructive issues. Teresa knows this isn't the same situation, but the specter of that ill-advised relationship still lingers.
When Thursday eventually rolls around, Teresa resists Santana's efforts to get her into a dress and instead dons a pair of tailored black pants and a low cut violet top that makes her eyes really pop. She knows she looks good even without the unsubtle leer she gets from her girlfriend.
As for Santana, her dress isn't quite as short or as tight as it could be. It's borderline modest in a way that's still suitably sexy for Santana to even bother to own it without being blatantly revealing, and Teresa takes some measure of relief that Santana isn't going out of her way to show off her body for her ex.
They make their way to Casa de Fabray, as Santana likes to call it, promptly for six o'clock. Teresa likes Rachel and Quinn and considers them her friends now too, so she's happy enough to spend time with them. She's not quite there yet with Kurt or with Harry, preferring to hang out with Sarah and Josie instead, but she's glad for a couple more familiar faces tonight. She figures having more people around as a buffer will make it easier to get through her introduction to Brittany Pierce.
But six turns to six-thirty and then inches closer to seven with no sign of Brittany. "Are you sure she has the right address?" Quinn asks Santana with a frown, clearly irritated that the dinner she'd prepared is stuck on a permanent reheat cycle in the kitchen.
"I texted it to her twice," Santana replies defensively, but she's back on her phone for about the hundredth time with another attempt to get in contact with the missing guest of honor.
"Are you sure she even has her phone?" Rachel questions in a way that makes it clear that she very much would not be surprised if Brittany does not.
Santana glares at her. "She texted back." She sighs then, shrugging, and her response loses most of its heat. "But that was an hour ago, so who knows?"
"Maybe she's lost," Kurt suggests, sounding bored.
Teresa glances at Santana, trying to gauge her mood. "Does she get lost often?"
Kurt snickers. "Often enough."
"Don't be flippant," Harry warns, sensing that his boyfriend is dangerously close to crossing some invisible line. It wouldn't be the first time that Kurt has ruffled Santana's feathers enough to feel the sting of her talons.
"It's fine," Santana dismisses bitingly as she fires off yet another text. Everyone jumps to attention when her phone finally buzzes in response. "Actually, it is fine," she repeats with a smirk. "She's downstairs."
"Thank Christ," Quinn mutters, pushing off her chair and heading for the kitchen, no doubt intending to salvage dinner. "Rachel," she commands, glancing back at her wife, "go make sure she doesn't knock on our neighbors' doors."
Santana rolls her eyes. "She's got the apartment number."
"But I don't want to wait another hour for her to find it," Quinn fires back.
Santana flips her off, and Teresa shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She can't tell if Santana is upset because Brittany is late and it's delaying dinner or if she's upset because she's still playing the protective girlfriend for her ex. She hates not knowing, and she really hates the persistent bubble of jealousy that keeps percolating in her belly despite her best effort to calm it.
Rachel dutifully slips out the front door, closing it behind her to keep Oliver from following, so Teresa can't hear anything that might be happening out in the hallway. It's a full three minutes later before the door opens again and Rachel is carried—actually fucking carried like a ragdoll!—into the apartment by a beaming blonde. Rachel is laughing, her hands clutching at the arms that are fastened securely around her waist, and her feet are dangling more than an inch off the ground.
"Brittany's here," Rachel needlessly announces around her laughter as Brittany sets her back onto her feet.
Teresa wonders how she should translate that display to Rachel's claim that they've never been particularly close.
"Hi," Brittany greets everyone with a happy wave.
All Teresa can think is that the pictures and videos she's seen don't really do this woman justice. In person, Brittany Pierce is the very personification of the California girl that so many songs have idealized, despite her midwestern roots. (Or maybe she's the stereotypical girl next door.) She's tall and blonde and tanned and clearly athletic, and her bright blue eyes sparkle guilelessly even from halfway across the room. The dress she's wearing is short enough to show off long, muscled legs, and Teresa can definitely see what had attracted Santana on the physical side. She's the kind of woman Teresa wouldn't hesitate to flirt with if she walked into her bar.
"Sorry I'm late," Brittany offers in an oddly bored tone. "My driver took me for an unexpected ride."
"Did they get lost?" Quinn asks, wandering back from the kitchen to greet her guest the way a good hostess should.
"No, he knew what he was doing."
Rachel, who's still standing next to Brittany, tilts her head with a curious frown, squinting at the woman's neck. "Is...is that a hickey?"
"Probably," Brittany responds with a shrug.
Quinn barks out a laugh, shaking her head, even as she opens her arms and goes for a hug. "It's good to see you, Britt."
"I know," Brittany replies with an easy grin before she wraps Quinn up in a bearhug, briefly lifting her feet off the ground as easily as she'd done with Rachel. "It's good to see you too, Quinn." When she finally lets her go, she leans back to give her a blatant onceover before announcing, "Marriage looks good on you."
Quinn smiles. "Thanks, B."
Both Santana and Kurt move to greet Brittany as well, and Teresa exchanges a quick look of comradery with Harry. He's undoubtedly not as invested in seeing how this whole thing plays out in the same way that she is, but at least they're both equally clueless on how they're supposed to act tonight—two relative outsiders dropped in the middle of a high school reunion.
Proximity puts Kurt into Brittany's orbit first, and he opens his arms in much the same way that Quinn had. "Brittany S. Pierce, you look fabulous," he gushes. Their hug ends faster and no feet leave the ground, but Kurt does plant a soft kiss on her cheek. "California obviously agrees with you."
"Why wouldn't it?" she asks seriously. "I'm awesome." She makes a point of straightening the collar on his self-designed dinner jacket before brushing invisible lint off his shoulders. "But you look fabulous too, as always." She tips her chin in Harry's direction. "Is that the new Blaine Warbler?"
Teresa doesn't understand the reference, but Kurt obviously does, a brief look of chagrin maring his face. "That's Harry." Brittany opens her mouth to say something else, but Kurt cuts her off with a hasty, "He isn't." He turns his head to Harry, his frown transforming into a smile. "Say hello, Harry."
"Hello." Harry offers a cautious wave.
"Hey," she returns before her eyes are back on Kurt. "He's cute."
"He is," Kurt agrees amiably.
Brittany's gaze moves to Harry again, and she points at him. "Shovel talk later," she warns, pointing back to herself.
Harry looks mildly concerned, and Kurt shakes his head in exasperation, moving to Harry's side. "She's kidding," he promises, but the looks that Rachel and Quinn exchange make Teresa wonder about that.
She isn't able to wonder for long, because the moment Kurt steps aside, Brittany sees Santana, and her entire face softens into something so tender and meaningful that it makes Teresa want to crawl out of her skin. "Hey, San." Even her voice softens.
"Hi, Britt," Santana responds, undisguised fondness in her entire demeanor. "You look good."
Teresa thinks she might be sick.
"I know," Brittany repeats. "So do you."
"Well, obviously," Santana brags, her ego always unapologetically front and center. Teresa expects a hug to follow, like it had with everyone else, and she braces for it, so she's mildly surprised (and more than a little relieved) when it doesn't happen. Instead, Santana glances behind her and unerringly reaches for Teresa's hand, tugging her forward with a proud grin. "This is Teresa. My girlfriend."
The quick introduction coupled with the content expression on Santana's face is enough to ease some of Teresa's anxiety, so she takes a deep breath, mentally pulls on her big girl pants, and offers her hand to Brittany in greeting. "Hi, it's nice to meet you."
Brittany takes her hand, and her eyes unabashedly travel the length of Teresa's body. "You're super hot."
It takes Teresa by surprise, as does the chorus of completely unsurprised chuckles from just about everyone in the room. From her peripheral vision, she'd even swear that Santana puffs up her chest in pride. "Uh...thank you?" she manages to respond, pulling her hand from Brittany's warm palm after the other woman doesn't seem overly inclined to let go.
Brittany turns her smile to Santana and nods. "I approve."
"Figured you would." Santana nods back, smirking, and slips a mildly possessive arm around Teresa's waist. Teresa isn't sure how she feels about the exchange, but no one else seems at all fazed by it. She's also not sure how she feels when Santana reaches out to Brittany with her free hand, palm up and pinky extended, and Brittany curls her own pinky around Santana's in some silent, secret pact. They swing their joined hands back and forth with wistful smiles for just a moment before Santana lets go. "Now let's eat. I'm fucking starving."
"What else is new?" Quinn grumbles good-naturedly. "I just have to take dinner off of reheat and plate it up," and if she still sounds a little put out by it, Brittany doesn't seem to notice or care, "so make yourselves comfortable. It'll just be a few minutes, and then we can all catch up."
She retreats back to the kitchen with Rachel following, presumably to help, while everyone else gravitates closer to the furniture in the living room at Quinn's instruction. The weight of Santana's arm disappears from her waist, and Teresa braces for the awkwardness of watching her interact with her ex-girlfriend, but the inevitable gets delayed when Oliver cautiously pads up to investigate this new person in his apartment, rubbing himself against Brittany's legs. Her eyes light up when she glances down at him. "Oh, kitty," she coos with a look of utter delight and instantly drops down to scoop up the cat. Oliver squirms in her arms for a moment but quickly settles once he's cuddled to her chest.
"That's right," Rachel calls back. "You haven't officially met Oliver yet."
"You mean Baron Von Pussmark," Brittany contradicts very seriously, scratching Oliver's head—a situation he wholeheartedly approves of if his rumbling purr is any indication.
Rachel pauses from her task of retrieving a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, glancing at Brittany with a mild frown. "Oliver," she reiterates.
Brittany scoffs and folds her body into the wingback chair where she continues to shower Oliver with attention. "They don't even know your proper name," she addresses him directly, "do they, Baron Von Pussmark?"
Rachel seems a little annoyed by the stubborn renaming of their cat but doesn't attempt to correct her again.
Santana shakes her head, dropping onto the couch. "Shoulda known the demon cat would be all over you too." Her gaze moves from Brittany to Teresa, eyebrows raised. Teresa reads the expression as, see, told you that fucking cat just has a grudge against me. Teresa finds herself chuckling as she sits next to her girlfriend, but her laughter doesn't last very long.
"All the pussies love me," Brittany announces.
Kurt makes a distressed noise while Harry smothers his laughter, and Teresa thinks she hears a quietly muttered, "Here we go," from the general vicinity of the kitchen.
"You used to love my pussy, San," she continues undeterred.
Teresa curls her fingers into the edge of the cushion to keep herself from reacting. "She means her cat," Santana explains in a rush. "Lord Tubbington." And yeah, Teresa kinda figures that Brittany is talking about actual cats—she's only been here for a few minutes but it's already long enough for Rachel's earlier warning about her to make sense—but it doesn't erase the double entendre, deliberate or otherwise, and the fact that everyone in this apartment is very aware that Santana had obviously loved that other pussy too.
"Santana used to scratch his belly and share his cigarettes."
"Cigarettes?" Teresa repeats, confused.
Santana leans closer. "I'll tell you later," she promises under her breath.
"He started smoking to stay off the drugs," Brittany answers gravely. "Then he got CO3PO."
"Do you mean COPD?" Kurt asks slowly, and Teresa thinks she hears a trace of condescension in his tone, but she's still trying to figure out how they're even having this conversation about a cat.
Brittany stares at him with a frown. "No. He spent a week binge watching everything in the Star Wars universe and forgot to light up, which totally kicked his nicotine addiction." She shrugs. "Except now he thinks he's a sith lord."
"And I'm sure that makes for a ton of fun stories, B," Santana interrupts, "but I think we'd all rather hear about you and not Tubbers." She looks towards the kitchen with an evil smirk. "I mean her cat…not you, Q."
"Fuck you, Santana," Quinn calls back without pause.
"Baron Von Pussmark says you're growly," Brittany comments matter-of-factly, her face tipped down towards Oliver, still purring in her lap. Long, elegant fingers play in the fur between his ears, and his eyes are half-closed in that blissfully smug way that only a cat can manage. Teresa has a weird moment of wondering if Brittany is somehow actually communicating with him.
Santana scoffs. "He's the growly one." She glares at the cat. "Hissy and scratchy too."
A fond smile appears on Brittany's lips. "You used to like hissing and scratching." Her brows furrow thoughtfully. "But I guess not from cats."
There's a choked grunt from Santana as her eyes dart to Teresa in silent apology, cheeks growing ruddy. Teresa is far too aware that her girlfriend still does, in fact, enjoy those things from time to time, and yeah—this is so fucking awkward.
"So Brittany," Rachel quickly cuts in, "how was your workshop?" It's a clear attempt to change the subject, and Teresa could not love her more for it.
Brittany rolls her eyes. "Exhausting. They were all, like, stepping on me with their three left feet, which isn't nearly as fun as it sounds."
"Well, you can tell us all about it while we eat," Quinn suggests while neatly slotting a casserole dish into the intricate jigsaw of offerings on the table. "Because dinner is served."
"Fucking finally," Santana mutters, practically flying off the couch. She glances down at Teresa with an expectant look, and Teresa manages a thin smile, flattening her palms against the cushions as she moves to stand. Satisfied that she's following, Santana steps forward and right into Brittany's path as the blonde lets Oliver slide to the floor and gracefully stands. Teresa is left to watch her girlfriend clumsily shuffle around her ex with an almost embarrassed smile.
Clenching her hands into fists, she sucks in a fortifying breath and follows, still trying to make sense of—well, all of this. Brittany is not what she expected, and she's having more than a little trouble reconciling her own experiences with Santana to a version of her that had happily been in a romantic relationship with this woman for years. A woman who actually seems to think that her cat smokes cigarettes and binge watches sci-fi! How is that even a thing?
Much to her displeasure, she's also having trouble calming the ripples of jealousy that keep churning in her stomach. It's one thing to briefly cross paths with one of Santana's numerous flings, knowing that they ultimately hadn't inspired much of an emotional attachment in Santana, but it's something very different to sit across the dinner table from the woman she'd once loved.
(Especially one this attractive. Teresa isn't blind. She can admit that Brittany Pierce is gorgeous. No one would ever kick her out of bed.)
Surprisingly, though it probably shouldn't be, once Brittany begins to tell them about her workshop in earnest, her eccentricities—Rachel had been wrong to dismiss that description so quickly—disappear beneath the clear knowledge and familiarity that she has with her subject matter. This woman is a skilled dancer and choreographer, and she seems to have a grasp of the entertainment industry that rivals even Rachel. It suddenly makes a lot more sense to Teresa what Santana had meant when she'd insisted that Brittany simply doesn't bother with things that don't interest her and excels in the things that do.
These things seem to be, in no particular order, dancing, animals, sex, people, and science fiction, though Teresa isn't entirely certain that Brittany is making the distinction between science fiction and science fact if her theories on time travel and alternate realities are any indication. How they even end up discussing half of these subjects is a mystery to Teresa—the conversation is (as forewarned) a little hard to follow at times—but she can't deny that Brittany is entertaining, and she seems to genuinely care about this odd group of friends despite the occasional playful digs they all inflict on each other
There are plenty of side conversations that both Harry and Teresa are drawn into—the kind that happen at big, boisterous family dinners with everyone talking all at once—but it's mostly an opportunity for the Lima Escape Club, as Santana has affectionately dubbed them, to catch up with each other's lives, and Teresa spends most of the meal keeping unusually quiet as she observes the dynamics around her. She's obviously most interested in how Santana and Brittany interact, and she can't say that she notices any particularly worrisome romantic vibes coming from Santana, but there's a fair amount of nostalgic affection that bothers her despite her best effort to be mature about it.
There's history here; the kind that she'll never come close to touching no matter how long her own relationship with Santana might last. Still, as the evening wears on, Teresa realizes that she's not feeling especially threatened by Santana's friendship with her ex, so she finds herself relaxing more and more.
Until—
"So, Santana's girlfriend," Brittany leans forward in interest, "what do you do when you're not doing Santana?"
The question takes Teresa by surprise, partly because it's the first time that Brittany has spoken directly to her since they'd been introduced and partly because she's pretty sure both of her professions had been mentioned in passing at least once tonight.
It obviously takes Santana by surprise too, because she nearly chokes on her mouthful of beer, undoubtedly letting some of it slip back into the bottle still at her lips. "Britt, I told you…Teresa's an artist."
"Well, yeah, she's really pretty to look at, but what does she do?"
Santana's brow furrows, and she opens her mouth to respond again, but Teresa beats her to it. "I'm a bartender."
Santana turns to her with a concerned frown. "Rese?"
Teresa only shakes her head once. She isn't sure what the confusion is about her being an artist, but she figures it's just easier to go with the job that actually pays her an hourly rate. It seems like the prudent choice when Brittany's eyes light up in recognition. "Like in the movie about the hot ladies who dance on the bar?"
"Coyote Ugly?" Rachel questions, glancing around the room for validation that she's thinking of the right movie. Teresa knows she is and nods, and she notices Quinn nodding too.
"Coyotes are cute though," Brittany argues. "And really misunderstood."
"I think that's actually just a euphemism for a drunken one night stand with a less than attractive person," Kurt explains with a smirk.
"Why would anyone have sex with someone ugly?" Brittany asks, bewildered.
Santana snorts. "Everyone looks better when you're drunk."
"Amen to that," Quinn adds, lifting her nearly empty glass of wine in a silent toast.
Brittany waves a dismissive hand. "Well, we all look good sober."
Teresa chuckles. "Are we sober?" Because she sure as hell isn't. The nice buzz from the Coronas that the Fabrays keep stocked here for Santana is one of the things that's helping to get her through the evening.
"Sober enough," Rachel decides, taking a dainty sip from her own glass.
"You're not an ugly coyote, Tee." Brittany points at her with a grin. "Can I call you Tee?" she asks, but doesn't wait for a response. "You're super hot." Her gaze blatantly roams over Teresa once again, and her grin turns seductive. "So, like, since you're super hot, and San is super hot, and I'm Kryptonian levels of hot, we could totally have a threesome if you want."
For a second, Teresa can't be entirely certain that she heard that correctly, but Santana tenses up beside her, knuckles going white around her bottle of beer, and Kurt's aghast, "Oh, my God, I did not just hear that," nearly drowns out Quinn's choked-off snicker and Rachel's wide-eyed gasp, so yeah—she definitely heard it.
"That's…" Never gonna fucking happen, blondie, and she barely stops the words from coming out of her mouth in just that way. The jealousy that she's been battling off and on all evening rears up hard and sends all sorts of possessive thoughts parading through her brain. She hates it.
But then she feels Santana's warm hand curl over her clenched fist. "Ah, Britt. We don't do that anymore. I don't do that." Santana's tone is firm and insistent, and she glances at Teresa with a reassuring smile. "I'm a one woman woman these days."
It's enough to ease the uncomfortable coil of anxiety in Teresa's gut and loosen her curled fingers. Santana smoothly slips her own in between them, linking their hands.
Brittany merely shrugs. "That's cool. Doesn't hurt to ask." She smiles at them both, completely unfazed by the rejection. "It could've been fun." Then her eyes seek out Quinn and Rachel across the room, and she nods in their direction, one finger pointing back and forth between the three of them. "We could have fun instead."
Rachel looks horrified by the suggestion, and Quinn, who had been looking entirely too amused by the whole exchange until right this second, suddenly jerks to attention, abruptly setting her glass on the coffee table and clapping her hands together decisively. "Okay, it's getting late, and as lovely as this has been, we should really wrap it up." She takes Rachel's glass right out of her hand and places it on the table beside her own before she stands. "Some of us have an early morning, and I'm sure you want to get back to your hotel and relax, right, B?"
"So is that yes or no to the threesome?" Brittany wants to know, gazing up at her for a moment before her wide, curious eyes dart to Rachel. "Because I've always wondered if Rachel actually tastes like berries."
There's an incoherent squeak from Rachel and (she thinks) a growl from Quinn.
(Kurt buries his head in his hands and mutters, "I don't wanna hear this," while Harry places a comforting hand on his back.)
"And you will keep wondering," Quinn informs her prissily, eyes narrowed dangerously, "because we're so not into that."
Santana snickers. "Actually, Q, I seem to recall you once said you weren't that into that, which implies you might be a little bit into it."
Quinn and Rachel both send her matching glares and responses of, "I'm / She's not," in discordant tandem.
Brittany nonchalantly leans back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Too bad. I'm awesome in bed."
Santana doesn't comment, but her gaze ends up fastened on an empty corner of the wall as she takes another pull from her beer. Her hand, still entwined with Teresa's, isn't quite as comforting as it was just a moment ago.
The evening comes to its inevitable end shortly thereafter. There's really no ignoring Quinn's unsubtle focus on getting everyone up and out of her apartment after the threesome debacle. Kurt is all too eager to leave the lesbian drama behind, and Harry seems just as happy to call it a night. His own interrogation from Brittany earlier in the evening had been far less embarrassing if no less confusing.
Teresa has to bear witness to the goodbye hugs that Brittany bestows on everyone, even experiencing her own—brief but enthusiastic. "We'll talk more next time, Tee," Brittany promises, pulling back with a warm expression. "I can tell Santana wants to keep you." And damn it, it's hard not to like the woman at least a little when she says things like that. It's a little less hard when the hug she finally shares with Santana lingers a little too long for Teresa's liking, complete with whispered promises to call each other soon.
"Are you good to get back to your hotel?" Santana asks with a hint of genuine concern that she might not be, and after meeting the woman, Teresa can understand why. It's not hard to imagine a younger Santana needing to make sure her girlfriend got where she needed to go without getting lost or distracted along the way.
"Oh, I don't have a hotel. I'm sleeping with Lynn again tonight," Brittany casually responds. "She organized the workshop."
Santana only nods, appearing unsurprised by the revelation, but Quinn shakes her head, looking perplexed. "Then why did you…?" she cuts herself off, closing her eyes and puffing out an audible breath, "You know what, never mind."
"We'll walk you down," Santana offers, and Teresa's stomach sinks a little, but she keeps a polite smile on her face as she says her goodnights to Quinn and Rachel.
(She even gets a hug from Rachel, with a whispered reminder that, "I did warn you that tonight would be an experience." There's an encouraging smile when she lets go. "But you have nothing to worry about.")
Teresa wants to believe her, but tonight has been a revelation—one she's not certain she'd wanted to have.
She's quiet as they leave the apartment. Santana's hand seeks hers out, blindly reestablishing the physical connection between them, but it's Brittany she addresses. "So you've got this Lynn's address, right?" Teresa tells herself that the persistent concern for the woman is understandable. After all, nearly everyone had assumed Brittany had gotten lost when she'd been so late to arrive.
Brittany rolls her eyes as she punches the elevator button. "Yes, San. I know her address. She's got a place in Noho, which is totally easy to remember, because, like, no ho, you know, and it's on Bond Street, which is like bondage, which she isn't into, by the way, and the building number is one, and like, who can forget number one 'cause it's the best and so am I." Brittany strikes a pose, as if to indicate her own greatness, and the elevator door rattles open behind her at just that moment, adding to the overall dramatic effect of her declaration. (It's amazing that the thing is actually working today, as rickety as it is.)
Santana laughs. "Guess I don't need to worry."
"You don't," Brittany tells her seriously, stepping into the elevator. "Not about me. Not anymore." Her gaze moves from Santana to Teresa and back again, a soft smile forming on her lips. "But I appreciate you checking in anyway."
Santana's cheeks go a little ruddy, and she glances at the floor, muttering, "Yeah, old habits."
Brittany glances at Teresa, cocking her head to the side. "She's always super protective of her people. Not everyone realizes because she's so growly…"
"Britt," Santana weakly attempts to protest.
"But I think you get it," Brittany barrels on, "because you're one of her people now." Her blue eyes glint knowingly, and she suddenly seems far more intelligent than she had all evening. "Maybe you're even her person." She grins, nodding to herself in satisfaction. She reaches out to cup a hand over Teresa's shoulder. "I like you."
"Uh…thanks," Teresa manages despite being thrown entirely off balance by this entire experience. "Same." Kind of—but it's not like she's going to say otherwise to the woman's face.
Still blushing, Santana squeezes her hand and pulls her closer. "So, I guess we're all good," she mumbles quietly, a look of relief on her face.
And then the elevator doors open again, and Brittany practically skips out, only stopping once they're outside to (almost magically) hail a taxi cab that just happens to be driving by. "We can totally share," she offers, opening the door.
"Nah," Santana declines. "We're headed in the other direction."
"Oh, yeah. I knew that. Morningside Heights." It's an unpleasant reminder that she'd once lived there with Santana in the same studio apartment that Santana still occupies. Brittany shrugs it off like it's nothing, bouncing over to give both Santana and Teresa another quick, one-armed hug before slipping into the car and disappearing into the night.
Teresa takes a deep breath, maybe the first one all evening, and releases it slowly.
Santana shuffles awkwardly next to her. "So, I know that was probably a little weird for you." Understatement. "But thank you for being so cool about it." She takes both of Teresa's hands in her own, smiling gratefully. "I get that Britt can be kinda out there sometimes, but you'll get used to her."
Teresa isn't entirely sure she wants to, but she nods anyway. "Yeah." She takes another breath and gently pulls her hands free. "You should probably call an Uber and get home." She somehow doubts another vacant cab will just conveniently drive past this spot in the next few minutes. "You have an early shift tomorrow."
Santana's smile turns down at the corners and a concerned crinkle appears between her eyebrows. "You mean we, right? You're coming with me." It's more statement than question.
"It's late." Her gaze drifts to the buildings on the opposite side of the street to avoid meeting her girlfriend's eyes. "I figured I'd just stay at my place tonight."
Santana's frown deepens. "Okay, what the hell is happening right now?"
Teresa puffs out a frustrated breath, shaking her head. "I'm just…trying to process tonight, okay? And I'd rather us not get into a fight about it right now."
"Why are we fighting?" Santana demands, genuinely confused and possibly a little worried. "Did I fuck up in some way you're not telling me about?" Everything about her turns defensive in the blink of an eye. "I mean, maybe Brittany went a little overboard with the hugging there, and yeah, I wanted to make sure she wasn't gonna go wandering aimlessly around the city all night, but that doesn't mean we're still into each other. We're friends, and those were friendly things."
Teresa stares at her incredulously. "She propositioned us for a threesome, Santana." That is decidedly not friendly. Brittany is obviously still into her in some way. (And apparently she also might be into Quinn or Rachel or both of them!)
Santana still looks confused. "Yeah, so?"
"That's not normal," Teresa accuses, holding out her hands helplessly.
Santana crosses her arms, shrugging. "It's normal for Britt."
Teresa shakes her head. "I don't even know what to say to that."
Santana purses her lips. "You're pissed."
"I'm not pissed."
"You are," Santana reiterates.
"No. I'm…I'm concerned," she says carefully.
"About what?"
Frustrated, Teresa pushes her fingers through her hair. "Can we please talk about this some other time?" She gestures around them. "When we're not standing in the middle of the street?" There aren't a lot of people wandering around this part of the city at this time of night, but there are enough, and even tucked against the side of Rachel and Quinn's building, they're definitely in a very public place.
"We can if you come home with me," Santana insists, "but we're not leaving this," she waves her hand around, "whatever the hell this is…hanging unresolved." She steps closer, reaching up to cup Teresa's cheek. "You're too fucking important to me," she says, eyes and voice both going soft and quiet.
There's nothing but sincerity in her eyes, and Teresa knows she has a point. They could have left this for another day if Santana hadn't pressed her, but they really can't now, so she nods her reluctant agreement. "Okay. Let's go home."
Santana sighs in relief. "Thank you." Her other hand comes up to join the first, cradling Teresa's face—thumbs resting along her jaw and fingers warm beneath her ears. "I don't know what's going on in your head right now, Rese, but you've gotta know I…" She doesn't immediately say it, instead biting into her lip and looking more vulnerable than Teresa has ever seen her. "I love you," she finally whispers, the words still new and precious between them, "and I really don't want to mess this up."
"I know," Teresa admits, lifting her right hand to cover Santana's left. "Neither do I."
Santana seems reluctant to let her go, but she does, fishing out her phone to order an Uber. They walk to the end of the block in silence and only need to wait a few minutes for the car to arrive. The driver, a youngish woman with purple streaks in her dirty blonde hair, tries to make small talk, but neither of them are much in the mood. Teresa feels bad about it—she'd usually be happily engaging the driver the same way she does her patrons at the bar—but tonight has her too unsettled to be outgoing. She's too lost in her own head.
It's not that she's jealous. Not really. Not in that toxic, possessive way that some people can be.
Oh, it had been an undeniable factor at the start of this, despite her best efforts to ignore it like the mature, trusting adult that she tries so hard to be, but nothing about Santana's behavior toward Brittany had sent up any red flags tonight, so she'd mostly moved past it. After the initial awkwardness, Santana had acted like she was catching up with an old friend, the same as Rachel and Quinn and Kurt, and disregarding Brittany's arguably inappropriate comments about their past and the suggestion of a threesome, the woman hadn't really singled Santana out in a sexual way—at least not any more than she had everyone else in the room, including Kurt and Harry!
No, it's not jealousy that has Teresa suddenly questioning her own relationship with Santana. It's something else entirely, and she really wishes that she could have gone back to her own apartment in Brooklyn and talked to Kate so her best friend could help her out of her weird headspace before she'd need to have this conversation with Santana. But that's not an option, and in what feels like no time at all, they're back at Santana's place, sitting on her couch, and Santana wants to know, "What's going on with you?"
And Teresa has to figure out how to explain it. "I don't know what I was expecting when you told me about Brittany, but it wasn't that." Gorgeous, sure. Talented, yes. Weirdly intuitive, possibly. Sexually brazen, unfortunately so. But not even Rachel's warnings had fully prepared her for the reality of Brittany Pierce, live and in person.
Santana frowns, her posture turning mildly defensive once again. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You carried a torch for that woman for years. She's the reason you never had another serious relationship." Until me almost gets spoken, but Teresa is honestly doubting whether she can place that kind of weight on their relationship right now, and she shakes her head helplessly. "If she's your type…I don't even know what you're doing with me."
And that's the crux of it, really. She's nothing like Brittany. Sure, they're both physically attractive, but even discounting Brittany's eccentricities, the woman is vibrant in a way Teresa doesn't think she could ever match, and that's not even touching on her extremely open sexuality. Christ, Teresa had made Santana wait nearly a month to sleep with her while Brittany apparently has no qualms about having sex with someone she just met.
(Considering Santana's epic little black book, it seems like the instant sex thing might definitely be something she generally prefers in her partners, no matter how long they may or may not stick around after.)
"Okay, first of all," Santana huffs, pointing an accusatory finger at her, "I was not carrying a torch. My avoidance of relationships was about me." She angrily pokes that same finger into her own chest. "I didn't want to put in the work, or…you know," her eyes skitter away self-consciously, "give somebody else the power to disappoint me….or hurt me," she admits reluctantly, but then her gaze snaps back to Teresa, fierce and impassioned. "And more importantly, you not being like Brittany is exactly why I'm into you. It didn't work with her. Why the hell would I want a carbon copy of a failed relationship?" she demands, brows furrowed. "You should get that." She crosses her arms and lifts her chin defiantly. "I mean, I'm nothing like your boring, closeted bitch of an ex."
Teresa drags in a breath as she digests the truth of that, releasing it on a shaky laugh. "Well, maybe the bitch part."
"Oh, hardee-freaking-har," Santana grumbles, letting her arms fall loose, but she's looking at Teresa like she's ready to keep arguing her case, and really, Teresa only loves her more for it. She supposes that she's being kind of ridiculous—insecure and jealous despite her best intentions. After all, Santana isn't wrong. She's nothing like Olivia, and that's exactly why Teresa is with her now. She'd wanted someone out and proud and loud about who she wants, and Santana is definitely that.
Being with Santana is so much better than Teresa could have ever anticipated when she'd agreed to meet her for coffee that first time, which is probably why tonight has tripped her up more than she'd expected it to. It's not strictly about Brittany, but meeting the woman that Santana had once loved has inadvertently revealed yet another facet of her personality that Teresa needs to paint into the bigger picture. She just needs a moment to slow down and make sure that she still fits in the picture too.
Thinking about it now, she realizes that nothing Santana has said or done tonight should have made Teresa feel that she doesn't.
"I like you bitchy," she promises, reaching across the couch to give Santana's hand a reassuring squeeze. The tension seems to bleed out of her girlfriend's posture at the simple gesture.
"Good, because I like you," Santana assures her, sliding as close as their positions will allow. "I love you," she reiterates, expression turning tender, "and you've got nothing to worry about, Rese. I'm in this with you because I want to be."
"Even if I'm not into threesomes?" She's only partially joking.
Santana shrugs one shoulder. "Eh. They're overrated."
Teresa frowns. "Exactly how many have you had?"
Santana puffs out a breath. "Oh…a...few," she confesses haltingly. "Mostly in high school with Brittany when I was still pretending I wanted guys," she's quick to clarify, "but I'm really not into sharing anymore."
It's the same answer she'd given Brittany earlier, which is, "Good. Neither am I."
Santana's lips curl into a familiar smirk. "Well, then we're on the same page." The smirk disappears as quickly as it had come. "We are, right? We're good with," she gestures back and forth between them, "this whole thing now?"
Teresa nods, smiling at her girlfriend. "We are. I love you," she confesses softly, leaning in to place a soft kiss on Santana's lips. "And I'm sorry," she murmurs, pulling back slightly. "I was being…I don't know." She shakes her head, laughing at herself. "You were right. Tonight was weird for me, but I've stayed friends with a couple of my exes too, so I can't blame you for still wanting Brittany in your life. I'm okay with it." Mostly okay. Okay enough to be cool about it from now on anyway.
Relief flashes in Santana's eyes. "If it helps, we rarely see each other in person these days." Her smirk reappears. "Maybe once a year she'll show up and we'll have to remind her we don't want a threesome."
Teresa finds herself laughing at that, glad that she's even able to now. "She is hot," she can finally admit out loud. "I can see the appeal."
Santana grins. "Flexible too."
"I'm not quite that okay with it yet," Teresa warns her, playfully flicking her thigh.
Santana flinches away with a chuckle. "Hey, I was just stating a fact. She is a dancer."
Teresa rolls her eyes. "You don't need to remind me."
Santana moves then, curling her arm around Teresa and expertly maneuvering them into a more intimate position across the couch. "Maybe I need to remind you how flexible I am."
Warmth washes over Teresa at the new position, tipped back against the cushions with Santana's thigh tucked between her own and the heat of her body blanketing her. It's desire for Santana, yes, but moreso, it's the warm contentment that comes from being on the receiving end of her affection, both physical and emotional. In this moment, gazing up into her girlfriend's fathomless eyes, she doesn't doubt for a moment that she's loved. "It wouldn't hurt," she teases, grinning. "I have a very short memory."
"That's a lie," Santana calls her out with an arched brow, letting her fingers glide over Teresa's hip, "but I'll let it slide if it means we can forget about Brittany and focus on our own little threesome."
The threesome thing has her hesitating again. "Excuse me?"
Santana's answering smirk is positively wicked. "You, me, and that strap-on you like to fuck me with."
Teresa sucks in a sharp breath, and the warmth ignites into an inferno. "I think that's a threesome I can get behind."
"Thought you might," Santana crows smugly before her mouth is otherwise occupied. Her impending early shift at the hospital is forgotten in a matter of seconds, and so is Brittany Pierce.
Teresa is happy to let the past stay firmly in the past when she has her future right here in front of her.