Brittany laid on her back, panting like she'd just had the workout of her life.
Well, maybe she had.
She was pretty sure sex with Santana had resulted in her losing consciousness for a few seconds. She seemed to remember everything in fragments — Santana's fingers filling her up, her tongue at her earlobe, then her nipples, then her clitoris. That overwhelming feeling of fullness. Santana's teeth gently biting the flesh of her neck. Finally, those moments of sweet release, scratching at Santana's back while she'd had the best orgasm of her life.
The brunette, whose breathing was starting to return to normal, rested on top of her, her head on Brittany's shoulder and one finger lazily tracing Brittany's still-erect nipple.
"Can we do this every night?" Santana asked quietly, not even putting in the effort to sit up and look at Brittany.
The blonde chuckled. The idea was sexy as hell, but only Santana could make such a request sound so cute.
"I'm desperately hoping so," she replied, playing with Santana's curls.
Her body was tired, but she felt wide awake. Having sex with Santana had completely reinvigorated her. She was pretty sure she could take on the world right now and win. Maybe Santana was the one with the magic hoo-ha.
"Brittany?" the brunette asked, still lazily tracing her nipple. It was starting to tickle the longer she got away from her orgasm.
"Mmm?"
At this, Santana finally sat up with an adventurous glint in her eyes. "I'm not tired."
Brittany chuckled, sitting up to give her a quick peck. She was adorable.
"Neither am I. What do you want to do now?"
Santana smiled. "I think we should go look at the stuff on Grace. I want to find her. I want her side of the story. Maybe she's with Maggie after all."
Brittany returned her smile, loving these moments that made Santana so adorable — when she let go of all the cynicism and showed a little bit of hope. This sounded like the perfect adventure to take together.
"Okay, let's do it."
Brittany went to sit up again, but Santana held her down with a hand on her shoulder. The adventurous glint in her eyes had turned slightly mischievous again.
"But first, I think you should come take another shower with me. And I think you should let me have my way with you in there."
Brittany gulped. Santana's rapid shifts from cute to sexy as hell always left her head spinning.
The brunette gave her another quick peck before getting off the bed. Standing in the doorway to her bathroom, she turned around and gave Brittany her famous grin.
"I dare you to remain standing."
Then, she walked inside, leaving Brittany with a quickly returning wetness and a desire to take on that rather difficult dare.
Grace would just have to hold on a little bit longer.
Brittany rested her back against hard, cool stones and closed her eyes. The cool surface felt good against her skin, which was buzzing with heat and energy all over. Somewhere off to the side, hot water was spraying down her body. She felt it rolling down quickly, dripping off her chin and fingertips when it reached places it could slide no further.
With her eyes still closed, she reached down in front of her and wound her fingers through dark, wet hair. A soft moan escaped Santana's lips as she did it, and Brittany opened her eyes. Santana's shower was a mosaic of gray stones, large and modern like the rest of her condo.
The blonde lowered her eyes to see Santana on her knees. Her hands rested on Brittany's thighs, and her lips and tongue were paying superb attention to Brittany's nether regions. Brittany spread her legs a bit more and felt her back slide down the shower wall a few more inches. Randomly, she thought of Santana's dare and wondered if she'd end up on the floor after all. Thankfully, Santana's hands felt strong on her legs and made her feel steadier. Without them, she'd already have fallen to the ground, because every swipe of Santana's tongue up her center made every muscle in her body want to stop working all at once.
"Fuck San, don't stop," she pleaded roughly. It was barely over a whisper.
Santana hummed her compliance, sending vibrations up Brittany's core and waves of pleasure through her whole body. Slowly, her right hand traveled behind Brittany's left leg, and she lifted gently, letting the blonde's thigh rest on her shoulder.
She wanted better access.
At this angle, and with only one foot firmly on the ground, Brittany closed her eyes and let her head fall back again. She would meet the floor tonight. It was only a matter of when.
An hour later, Brittany sat down on Santana's couch. Her hair was still wet, and her legs felt significantly wobbly. Had she even washed in the shower? She wasn't entirely sure. In what she hoped was a surreptitious gesture, she twirled a bit of damp hair around her finger and smelled it. Santana's shampoo. Whew.
At that moment, the brunette herself appeared from the hallway. Her hair, also damp, was falling in little waves around her face. Brittany found herself smiling and once again marveling at Santana's beauty.
With a confident wink at Brittany, she too sat down on the couch, and they both looked at the laptop on the coffee table in front of them. The information about Grace was right there, waiting for them.
"Ready?" Brittany asked in a hushed tone. This information was too special for loud words.
Santana nodded, her look of confidence gone, replaced by apprehension. She opened the laptop and hit the power button.
Five minutes later, they were sifting through more information than Brittany had ever imagined there could be about a person. Then again, she thought, after living approximately 90 years, there were probably a great deal of things to know about said person.
"She still lives in Georgia. She never left," Santana said quietly, possibly more to herself than to Brittany.
Grace Kirk, as she became known after she married, was an 89-year old widow. Her husband, it seemed, had been a casualty of the war he'd so proudly fought in.
Maggie had written about them dancing and professing their love for one another at their wedding. How short-lived that love must have been.
"She never remarried?" Brittany asked, noting that she still wore the name of her late husband, as well as the lack of any additional marriage licenses in the sea of information.
"I don't think so. There's nothing about that in here. You'd think there would be if she'd remarried."
Brittany narrowed her eyes at the screen. An idea — or, rather, a hope — was beginning to form in her mind.
"Kids?" Brittany asked, aiming for a neutral tone.
Santana shook her head slowly, scanning the material. She glanced up at Brittany to offer a sweet smile before looking back down, but the blonde's expression must have given too much away. Santana looked at her curiously.
"Britt…?" She said it slowly, and Brittany was sure the same idea was entering her mind. "You don't think…?"
"Why not?!" Brittany exclaimed dramatically. Yes, the hope had run away with her.
"Santana, she loved Maggie. She probably loved the man she married too, but we don't know that. For all we know, he was just a way out for her." She rushed forward, the words trying to keep up with her racing thoughts. "It sucks, but he died. What if she went back to Maggie afterwards? What if they spent all this time together? She never got remarried, she never had any kids."
Skepticism erupted all over Santana's face. She wore it well.
"Britt," she said gently, as if using a softer tone would sound like less of a rejection, "there's nothing about Maggie in here."
Brittany was ready with her retort; she'd already thought about that. "Why would there be? If they had gone back to each other, what document would have that information? They probably kept it a secret if they did."
Brittany's words hung in the air. They tugged at Santana's skepticism and eventually gave way to something that looked a lot like hope in her brown eyes.
"You really think…maybe?" she asked quietly, looking down at the laptop screen again. She didn't need to finish the sentence or even form a complete thought.
"It's possible," Brittany said. Both of them were now staring at the screen.
Minutes passed in silence. Suddenly, without any obvious trigger, Santana took her eyes off the computer and looked at the blonde.
"I want to call her in the morning."
Brittany blinked in response.
"Her number is here, and I've decided that I want to call it."
Two more blinks.
"Brittany, say something? Please?"
Call Grace? Hear the story firsthand? Dialing that number could easily destroy their newfound hope in a matter of seconds.
"Santana, are you sure? Are you sure you want to know?"
The brunette looked down and began twisting her fingers together anxiously. "Yes, I…for some reason, I just…I just need to know."
Brittany took Santana's hands in her own to stop the twisting. She knew the story meant more to her, that Maggie's fate meant more to her. She wasn't going to argue.
"Okay." It wasn't permission. It was agreement.
Her brown eyes snapped up, and Brittany's favorite smile was playing on her lips.
Without either of them needing to speak the words, they both stood up from the couch to get ready for bed. As Brittany laid there, surrounded by Santana's warmth and scent, her thoughts of love, broken hearts, hope, and a 1940s love story all turned into dreams.