Santana's eyes flew wide open. "You will? You'll write a review? A...a good review?"

Brittany paused, still giving herself time to back out. But who was she fooling? She couldn't say no to Santana, not when her eyes looked so hopeful. "I'll write a good review."

"Oh Britt," Santana said, throwing her arms around Brittany's neck. "Thank you so much."

Brittany chuckled as she set her mug down this time. "Your food is good...really good."

Santana smiled against her neck before she looked down at Brittany. "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Just imagine—if Spite likes it enough, I could be on one of the first pages of Cuisine. How badass is that?"

"Pretty impressive." Brittany nodded.

Santana bit her lip. "But I think...well, now I'm more psyched about reading your review."

"Why? 'Cause you know it'll boost your ego?" Brittany grinned.

"Bitch!" Santana laughed, then blushed. "No, because...gah, because it's you."

"Aww. Well, I'll make sure to type like the wind then, so I can give my editor my best work ever as fast as possible," Brittany teased.

Santana looked down at Brittany's lips, bitting her own as she husked, "I don't want you to exhaust your wicked fingers though. Well, not on typing, that is."

Brittany's eyes popped open. Santana's warm breath was on her lips and she could feel her fingers gently toying with the small hairs at the nape of her neck. She'd never had chills crawl up her skin so fast.

"T-that's, um, well. I never got your fascination with my hands."

Santana smirked. "Oh come on, I'm sure if you Googled lesbian hands, a picture of your fingers would pop up. Newsflash babe, they're like, lesbian nirvana. Sappho would have written so many poems about them—"

"Santana!" Brittany hushed, face crimson.

"What? It's true."

"Still," Brittany grumbled. "It's weird. We don't do that stuff anymore."

Santana arched an eyebrow. "That stuff? You mean sex? Fucking? Mating?" She laughed.

"You are so crude," Brittany sighed.

"Mmm, you used to like it."

"Keywords: used to."

"Oh please."

"Don't start."

"No, this is just typical Brittany. You always deny the truth, but when it comes down to it, you're just as crude as I am."

"Am not."

"Oh yeah? 'Fuck me good, Santana,'" she mimicked Brittany. "'Eat me out in the movie theater, Santana. Suck my—'"

Brittany crashed her lips against hers, effectively cutting her off. After a beat, she pushed Santana on her back and settled between her legs, growling a "shut up" against her mouth.

Santana swallowed her surprised yelp and thrust her hips forward, grinding roughly into her. She arched up into Brittany, tipping her hips to create more friction and relieve the burn between her legs. It was amazing how Brittany got her so wound up so quickly.

"Britt—clothes," she said in a breathless moan. Brittany's breasts mashed against hers, but as she felt her nipples harden, she was surprised Brittany had already gotten back up.

"What are you—"

"You're tired," Brittany groaned, standing up and taking a step away from the couch. "I—we shouldn't. It's no good when you're tired," she stammered for an excuse.

Santana let out an offended snort. "Are you fucking serious? Brittany, this is the goddamn second time—"

"Santana," Brittany rushed to say. Then, in a softer voice, she whispered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. You just...I'm not used to having you around me. I–I don't know how to be your friend."

She remembered what she'd promised herself a few days ago. She remembered as Santana's tongue had been sucking hers, and the thought had made her pull away like she'd been burned. In a way, she had.

They couldn't go down this road again. She could see all the similar patterns in their little game of words: the closeness that led to what ifs, the warmth and kindness of Santana that led to wondering...maybe...perhaps...things could be different? But then came the bitter, bitter words and harsh truths that led to anger-fueled kisses and crazed actions.

She'd told herself that she and Santana could banter lightly, be their flirty selves, and allow themselves that. But it had changed, hadn't it? When she'd seen Santana at her most vulnerable on the step of her house...god, Brittany had let her promise slip away. Still, she knew she was right in telling Santana that she didn't know how to act around her.

Maybe she had been wrong to break up so abruptly with her. Perhaps a clean break would have worked better in the long run; at least there would have been closure. Was that what they needed? The definite "we had good times, but now it's over"? Brittany shook her head; that couldn't be it. She refused to believe it.

"Brittany..." Santana murmured, pulling her out of her thoughts. She was standing in front of her now, taking both her hands in hers.

"Let's just go to bed, okay?" Brittany swallowed. She knew what Santana would say, and she also knew she didn't have it in her to shoot her down a second time. With a sad smile, she slipped her hands out of Santana's.

Santana fidgeted. "Well...can we at least cuddle? Friends cuddle, no?"

Brittany chuckled. "Yeah, friends cuddle. But S—"

"No funny business. Promise."Brittany held her all night. Santana slept with her lips close to her neck, but somehow they'd managed to not kiss even once. She felt her steady breath near her ear, and for a while she wondered how Santana seemed so small in her arms. She was glad she was asleep though, and hopefully she would wake up well-rested and ready to knock Susan Spite down a peg or two.

Brittany chuckled to herself; sometimes, even she forgot she was talking about herself.

At 11 AM, Brittany's eyes flew open, and she turned around hastily when she realized Santana had left. On the right side of the bed, however, was a note.

Britt -

Thank you so much for everything. Last night was...everything I remember about being with you. I felt safe, warm and cared for.

I had to leave early—my mom and aunt are stopping by for lunch today, yikes! I hope you'll come to the restaurant this week; after all it's your job now, right? ;)

See you soon,

Santana

Brittany let herself fall back on her bed, covering her face with the paper as she remembered her hasty promise from last night. She was screwed, so very screwed.