Fic: Let's Blame the Heat - (6/?) NC17
Title: Let's Blame the Heat
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: NC17/M
Summary: Santana would like to blame the heat, but it's much more than that; it's all Brittany.
Spoilers: None really, but it's a first-time fic so before they started doing the nasty or telling people about it on the phone.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no money from them.
Chapter Six
With her hands still grasping the steering wheel in her car, Santana calmed her breathing as best she could. She’d call for a cab and get the hell out of there as soon as she felt composed enough to talk. There was no way she could go back into the party now, and she had no idea what she’d say to Brittany. An apology would probably have been a good start, but Santana didn’t want to talk about what they’d been doing. All she could see was Brittany’s crestfallen face, and she doubted she’d be able to explain why she’d shouted at her so meanly without giving herself away.
Brittany hadn’t really done anything wrong, even though Santana wished she could blame her for them almost humping each other in the middle of Mike Chang’s party. Brittany had just been doing what she did; being free and having fun. Santana should have been more careful and she knew it.
She was angry with herself.
Puck would bring this up again, and Brittany would probably have questions too; she had to stop wanting Brittany in the way she did, or at least force herself to stop thinking of her in that way if she was to avoid everybody discovering who she really was.
“Gotta stop,” she muttered to herself, straightening up and taking one last calming breath.
Just as she was about to reach for her cell phone the passenger door opened and Brittany slid into the seat beside her. Instantly, Santana felt her body relax despite how awkward things had just been and how horrid she’d treated Brittany not five minutes ago. It didn’t surprise Santana that Brittany had a small, tentative smile on her lips as she looked over at her.
“Are you mad?” Brittany asked, as if it wasn’t obvious that she was.
Santana sighed and ran a hand through her hair, wishing she were more sober so she could just drive them home. She hated how uncomfortable and embarrassed she felt. Normally, Santana was full of confidence. There had never been a time in her life that she’d wanted to just crawl away into a hole and pretend the world didn’t exist, but she felt like that right now and she hated it.
Brittany wouldn’t understand how she felt, or why she’d suddenly turned into bitch-girl with her, and she couldn’t explain. The word frustrated didn’t even begin to cover how Santana felt about the situation.
“Not mad,” Santana replied, her voice low, guilty.
“You shouted at me,” Brittany pointed out.
Regret weighed heavy on Santana’s heart, but she couldn’t explain why. She just hoped Brittany would accept her apology without question.
“Sorry,” she said, looking at Brittany properly for this first time since she entered the car.
“I don’t understand why,” Brittany continued. “Usually I know when I’ve done something wrong, but . . .”
“Can we just not talk about it?” Santana asked, hoping Brittany could see how uncomfortable she was.
“But it must have been something,” Brittany pressed, her eyes all puppy-dog like and making Santana feel like a world class bitch.
“It was nothing, just. . .” Santana rubbed at her brow. She couldn’t tell her friend that their dancing had meant more to her than what it had to Brittany. “I just got too hot. There’s a fucking heat wave and Chang’s house was like heat wave central.”
It was the best she could do. At least Brittany knew that Santana didn’t like the heat.
“Ok,” Brittany said sullenly, looking down at her lap. “But I don’t think I believe you.”
Sighing deeply, Santana just shook her head. There was no point arguing.
“Just go back in, Brit,” Santana instructed. “I’m gonna call a cab.”
“You’re going home?” Brittany asked, her Santana-slaying pout threatening to appear.
“I told you, I’m hot. I just wanna go home, take a cold shower and . . .”
Maybe that had been a bit too much info, as Brittany raised her eyebrows, a little gleam in her eyes.
“I’ll come with you,” Brittany said.
For a second Santana wasn’t sure if Brittany was offering to actually shower with her or not, but this was Brittany, and Brittany didn’t think along the same lines as Santana. Sure, Brittany was what you could call promiscuous, but in a lot of ways she was an innocent. She often just didn’t see what was right in front of her, especially when it came to sexual connotations.
“I wanna be alone,” Santana insisted.
“Why do you wanna be alone now?” Brittany questioned, making Santana scrunch her forehead up in exasperation. “You didn’t wanna be alone a few minutes ago when you wanted me touching you.”
She said it so nonchalantly, as if she didn’t get the implications of it at all. As if she had no clue what it would actually mean if Santana had indeed wanted to be touched by her - which of course she did.
“I . . . I just . . .” Santana didn’t know what to say, feeling her face flush.
She grunted in frustration and put her hands over her face, resting the backs of them against the steering wheel.
“Was I doing it wrong?” Brittany asked, her voice soft, worried.
Was she doing it wrong? There was no doubt in Santana’s mind that Brittany had been doing it all kinds of right, but she shouldn’t have been doing it at all, and Santana shouldn’t have been wanting her to.
“No,” Santana answered honestly, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction as she tried to regain some composure. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then come back in,” Brittany suggested, grabbing the door handle, ready to leave.
“I can’t.”
“But . . .”
“I just can’t,” Santana insisted, looking directly at Brittany.
“That makes me sad,” Brittany said with a definite pout now. “Like an Emu.”
Santana closed her eyes and took a breath, only opening them again when she knew she had the strength to resist.
“I know it does,” Santana told her. “I’ll make it up to you. Just . . . not now.”
Glancing out of the window, Santana could see Puck emerging from the house with some girl she didn’t know, his hand on her backside and a smirk on his face. They were coming down the drive and the last thing Santana wanted was more stupid comments from him that would rile her up and probably clue Brittany in to things she didn’t want Brittany knowing.
Leaning over Brittany’s lap, Santana shoved open the passenger door and gave Brittany a slight push, hoping she’d get the hint.
“You’re really leaving?” Brittany asked, her voice so slight it made Santana want to slap herself for being so abrupt. For being so stupid.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Santana said, desperately trying not to back down and stay there with Brittany, and possibly tell her how she felt, and ruin their friendship.
Reluctantly, Brittany began to get out of the car, her body language clearly indicating that it was the last thing she wanted to do. Before she closed the door she bent down as if to say something, causing Santana to lean forward a little. Taking Santana completely by surprise, Brittany closed the distance between them and kissed Santana on the cheek, lingering a little longer than was probably necessary.
“See you at school,” Brittany said, sounding completely dejected.
Santana said nothing back, too busy wondering if Brittany had ever kissed her on the cheek before, as Brittany closed the door and walked away.
Lifting her hand up to her face, Santana shook her head, baffled, flummoxed, confused at not only Brittany’s actions but her own reaction; Santana’s heart was fluttering in her chest and her head felt full of cotton all of a sudden. Things were getting weird.
She watched as Brittany walked back up to the house, her eyes never leaving Brittany’s curves as she failed to battle away the ideas they gave her. It took a long while for her to pick up her cell phone and call for a cab, but when she eventually made it home Santana was convinced she’d made the right decision. Having Brittany be kind of flirty with her was one temptation too far, and though she doubted Brittany knew exactly what she was doing to her, Santana had to wonder about it.
If Brittany felt the same, did it mean everything would be ok? No, Santana wasn’t dumb enough to believe that. She knew that she still had to keep her distance, physically and emotionally. She couldn’t be gay. There was no way she could be with Brittany even if Brittany was remotely interested. It just couldn’t happen and she was becoming more and more resigned to that fact.
She slept fitfully that night, the alcohol having run through her veins, leaving her feeling dehydrated and a little lost. The way Brittany had danced with her, looked at her, and kissed her on the cheek occupied her thoughts. Santana’s mind was in turmoil and there seemed to be no respite.
When she got to school, having called to tell Brittany’s mom that she couldn’t pick Brittany up that morning because she was running late, Santana felt jittery. She’d already shouted at three other kids, and was about to slap Rachel around the head just for being in her general vicinity as she pulled books from her locker, but she managed to keep her cool enough to walk past her with just a glare.
“Don’t look her in the eye; she gives me the chills. And I’m almost certain she practises some kind of dark arts,” Rachel said under her breath to Finn as he waited obediently for her.
Santana pretended not to hear; fighting in school was growing old, and really . . . they needed Rachel in Glee so they could win things and look less nerdy. Destroying Rachel’s voice box while she strangled her was not a good idea. She’d get back at her for that comment another time. Maybe after they came back from Nationals as champions later in the year.
So far she hadn’t seen Brittany, but she knew her mom would have driven her to school so there was no chance of her not turning up. . .unless something had happened. Or if Brittany had decided she didn’t want to see Santana. Or if . . .
“Hi,” came Brittany’s voice from behind Santana as she sidled up beside her.
Instantly, Santana smiled, unable to stop herself. Before she could speak, Brittany continued, slowing her pace so that most of the other students rushed past them to class.
“I think I know what’s wrong,” Brittany told her, quietly confident.
Santana’s heart pumped hard, her eyes widening and her hands gripping tightly to her books. Surely Brittany didn’t know. The very idea that Brittany knew made Santana panic. She didn’t want Brittany to know.
“At first I thought it was ‘cause of Puck,” Brittany continued, looking at Santana even as Santana avoided eye contact. “But you don’t even really like Puck, so that’s not it.”
“Brit, don’t . . .”
Brittany interrupted, stopping and standing still in the now empty hall and turning to Santana.
“I know you’re scared,” Brittany said softly.
She reached out and placed a gentle hand on Santana’s forearm, the contact making Santana flinch ever so slightly. This conversation couldn’t happen, but though Santana opened her mouth to speak, no words came out, so she just stood and listened to Brittany. Stood and let the other girl’s sweet voice penetrate every icy corner of her soul.
“I’m scared too,” Brittany went on. “But . . . I was once scared of my cat, until I realised she liked being scratched behind her ear, and that I liked scratching her behind her ear, and then I wasn’t scared anymore.”
Santana raised an eyebrow, unsure what to say to that. Unsure what Brittany even meant.
“You’re like a cat,” Brittany stated, as if that made everything so much clearer.
“Brittany, what are you talking about?” Santana asked, partly because she didn’t understand, and partly because she thought she did kind of understand but didn’t want to acknowledge that she did - even to herself.
Before Brittany got a chance to answer, Sue Sylvester came walking briskly down the hall, her eyes boring into both girls. They should have been in class already, and rather than endure the wrath of Sue they turned quickly and began rushing away before she could reach them.
They hurried around a corner, heading for their Spanish class with Mr Schuester; avoiding a confrontation with the overbearing couch. They knew she wanted an update on Glee club; inside information that would help bring it down, buckle its knees, and leave its budget to the Cheerios. The last thing Sue would want to hear was that they were actually enjoying Glee club and that things were going well for them there. Sue would not take kindly to her Cheerios defecting. It just wouldn’t do.
“That was too close,” Santana said, hearing Sue’s footsteps grow softer as she continued towards her office. “I can’t deal with her today.”
“She smells like the sea on Monday,” Brittany commented with a nod, making Santana scrunch up her brow in confusion.
Sometimes, only Brittany knew for sure why she said the things she did. Santana was happy not to ask about it, or to bring up again what Brittany had been talking about just a few minutes before. Hopefully they could get in to class without anything else being said at all. Santana would deal with the rest of the day as it came upon her; with a determination not to do anything that would make Brittany start guessing at things Santana didn’t want her to guess at.
Santana thought she’d gotten away with avoiding the reason she’d freaked out last night, thankful that she didn’t have to deal with the whole embarrassing situation again, but just before they entered the class, Brittany stopped her with a touch to her arm. She looked into Santana’s dark eyes and smiled gently.
“I love my cat,” Brittany said cryptically.
She then moved in front of Santana and opened the classroom door, disappearing inside as Santana frowned in confusion.
Indeed, Brittany really did sometimes say things that only she understood.
Santana followed with a shrug.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: NC17/M
Summary: Santana would like to blame the heat, but it's much more than that; it's all Brittany.
Spoilers: None really, but it's a first-time fic so before they started doing the nasty or telling people about it on the phone.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no money from them.
Chapter Six
With her hands still grasping the steering wheel in her car, Santana calmed her breathing as best she could. She’d call for a cab and get the hell out of there as soon as she felt composed enough to talk. There was no way she could go back into the party now, and she had no idea what she’d say to Brittany. An apology would probably have been a good start, but Santana didn’t want to talk about what they’d been doing. All she could see was Brittany’s crestfallen face, and she doubted she’d be able to explain why she’d shouted at her so meanly without giving herself away.
Brittany hadn’t really done anything wrong, even though Santana wished she could blame her for them almost humping each other in the middle of Mike Chang’s party. Brittany had just been doing what she did; being free and having fun. Santana should have been more careful and she knew it.
She was angry with herself.
Puck would bring this up again, and Brittany would probably have questions too; she had to stop wanting Brittany in the way she did, or at least force herself to stop thinking of her in that way if she was to avoid everybody discovering who she really was.
“Gotta stop,” she muttered to herself, straightening up and taking one last calming breath.
Just as she was about to reach for her cell phone the passenger door opened and Brittany slid into the seat beside her. Instantly, Santana felt her body relax despite how awkward things had just been and how horrid she’d treated Brittany not five minutes ago. It didn’t surprise Santana that Brittany had a small, tentative smile on her lips as she looked over at her.
“Are you mad?” Brittany asked, as if it wasn’t obvious that she was.
Santana sighed and ran a hand through her hair, wishing she were more sober so she could just drive them home. She hated how uncomfortable and embarrassed she felt. Normally, Santana was full of confidence. There had never been a time in her life that she’d wanted to just crawl away into a hole and pretend the world didn’t exist, but she felt like that right now and she hated it.
Brittany wouldn’t understand how she felt, or why she’d suddenly turned into bitch-girl with her, and she couldn’t explain. The word frustrated didn’t even begin to cover how Santana felt about the situation.
“Not mad,” Santana replied, her voice low, guilty.
“You shouted at me,” Brittany pointed out.
Regret weighed heavy on Santana’s heart, but she couldn’t explain why. She just hoped Brittany would accept her apology without question.
“Sorry,” she said, looking at Brittany properly for this first time since she entered the car.
“I don’t understand why,” Brittany continued. “Usually I know when I’ve done something wrong, but . . .”
“Can we just not talk about it?” Santana asked, hoping Brittany could see how uncomfortable she was.
“But it must have been something,” Brittany pressed, her eyes all puppy-dog like and making Santana feel like a world class bitch.
“It was nothing, just. . .” Santana rubbed at her brow. She couldn’t tell her friend that their dancing had meant more to her than what it had to Brittany. “I just got too hot. There’s a fucking heat wave and Chang’s house was like heat wave central.”
It was the best she could do. At least Brittany knew that Santana didn’t like the heat.
“Ok,” Brittany said sullenly, looking down at her lap. “But I don’t think I believe you.”
Sighing deeply, Santana just shook her head. There was no point arguing.
“Just go back in, Brit,” Santana instructed. “I’m gonna call a cab.”
“You’re going home?” Brittany asked, her Santana-slaying pout threatening to appear.
“I told you, I’m hot. I just wanna go home, take a cold shower and . . .”
Maybe that had been a bit too much info, as Brittany raised her eyebrows, a little gleam in her eyes.
“I’ll come with you,” Brittany said.
For a second Santana wasn’t sure if Brittany was offering to actually shower with her or not, but this was Brittany, and Brittany didn’t think along the same lines as Santana. Sure, Brittany was what you could call promiscuous, but in a lot of ways she was an innocent. She often just didn’t see what was right in front of her, especially when it came to sexual connotations.
“I wanna be alone,” Santana insisted.
“Why do you wanna be alone now?” Brittany questioned, making Santana scrunch her forehead up in exasperation. “You didn’t wanna be alone a few minutes ago when you wanted me touching you.”
She said it so nonchalantly, as if she didn’t get the implications of it at all. As if she had no clue what it would actually mean if Santana had indeed wanted to be touched by her - which of course she did.
“I . . . I just . . .” Santana didn’t know what to say, feeling her face flush.
She grunted in frustration and put her hands over her face, resting the backs of them against the steering wheel.
“Was I doing it wrong?” Brittany asked, her voice soft, worried.
Was she doing it wrong? There was no doubt in Santana’s mind that Brittany had been doing it all kinds of right, but she shouldn’t have been doing it at all, and Santana shouldn’t have been wanting her to.
“No,” Santana answered honestly, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction as she tried to regain some composure. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then come back in,” Brittany suggested, grabbing the door handle, ready to leave.
“I can’t.”
“But . . .”
“I just can’t,” Santana insisted, looking directly at Brittany.
“That makes me sad,” Brittany said with a definite pout now. “Like an Emu.”
Santana closed her eyes and took a breath, only opening them again when she knew she had the strength to resist.
“I know it does,” Santana told her. “I’ll make it up to you. Just . . . not now.”
Glancing out of the window, Santana could see Puck emerging from the house with some girl she didn’t know, his hand on her backside and a smirk on his face. They were coming down the drive and the last thing Santana wanted was more stupid comments from him that would rile her up and probably clue Brittany in to things she didn’t want Brittany knowing.
Leaning over Brittany’s lap, Santana shoved open the passenger door and gave Brittany a slight push, hoping she’d get the hint.
“You’re really leaving?” Brittany asked, her voice so slight it made Santana want to slap herself for being so abrupt. For being so stupid.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Santana said, desperately trying not to back down and stay there with Brittany, and possibly tell her how she felt, and ruin their friendship.
Reluctantly, Brittany began to get out of the car, her body language clearly indicating that it was the last thing she wanted to do. Before she closed the door she bent down as if to say something, causing Santana to lean forward a little. Taking Santana completely by surprise, Brittany closed the distance between them and kissed Santana on the cheek, lingering a little longer than was probably necessary.
“See you at school,” Brittany said, sounding completely dejected.
Santana said nothing back, too busy wondering if Brittany had ever kissed her on the cheek before, as Brittany closed the door and walked away.
Lifting her hand up to her face, Santana shook her head, baffled, flummoxed, confused at not only Brittany’s actions but her own reaction; Santana’s heart was fluttering in her chest and her head felt full of cotton all of a sudden. Things were getting weird.
She watched as Brittany walked back up to the house, her eyes never leaving Brittany’s curves as she failed to battle away the ideas they gave her. It took a long while for her to pick up her cell phone and call for a cab, but when she eventually made it home Santana was convinced she’d made the right decision. Having Brittany be kind of flirty with her was one temptation too far, and though she doubted Brittany knew exactly what she was doing to her, Santana had to wonder about it.
If Brittany felt the same, did it mean everything would be ok? No, Santana wasn’t dumb enough to believe that. She knew that she still had to keep her distance, physically and emotionally. She couldn’t be gay. There was no way she could be with Brittany even if Brittany was remotely interested. It just couldn’t happen and she was becoming more and more resigned to that fact.
She slept fitfully that night, the alcohol having run through her veins, leaving her feeling dehydrated and a little lost. The way Brittany had danced with her, looked at her, and kissed her on the cheek occupied her thoughts. Santana’s mind was in turmoil and there seemed to be no respite.
When she got to school, having called to tell Brittany’s mom that she couldn’t pick Brittany up that morning because she was running late, Santana felt jittery. She’d already shouted at three other kids, and was about to slap Rachel around the head just for being in her general vicinity as she pulled books from her locker, but she managed to keep her cool enough to walk past her with just a glare.
“Don’t look her in the eye; she gives me the chills. And I’m almost certain she practises some kind of dark arts,” Rachel said under her breath to Finn as he waited obediently for her.
Santana pretended not to hear; fighting in school was growing old, and really . . . they needed Rachel in Glee so they could win things and look less nerdy. Destroying Rachel’s voice box while she strangled her was not a good idea. She’d get back at her for that comment another time. Maybe after they came back from Nationals as champions later in the year.
So far she hadn’t seen Brittany, but she knew her mom would have driven her to school so there was no chance of her not turning up. . .unless something had happened. Or if Brittany had decided she didn’t want to see Santana. Or if . . .
“Hi,” came Brittany’s voice from behind Santana as she sidled up beside her.
Instantly, Santana smiled, unable to stop herself. Before she could speak, Brittany continued, slowing her pace so that most of the other students rushed past them to class.
“I think I know what’s wrong,” Brittany told her, quietly confident.
Santana’s heart pumped hard, her eyes widening and her hands gripping tightly to her books. Surely Brittany didn’t know. The very idea that Brittany knew made Santana panic. She didn’t want Brittany to know.
“At first I thought it was ‘cause of Puck,” Brittany continued, looking at Santana even as Santana avoided eye contact. “But you don’t even really like Puck, so that’s not it.”
“Brit, don’t . . .”
Brittany interrupted, stopping and standing still in the now empty hall and turning to Santana.
“I know you’re scared,” Brittany said softly.
She reached out and placed a gentle hand on Santana’s forearm, the contact making Santana flinch ever so slightly. This conversation couldn’t happen, but though Santana opened her mouth to speak, no words came out, so she just stood and listened to Brittany. Stood and let the other girl’s sweet voice penetrate every icy corner of her soul.
“I’m scared too,” Brittany went on. “But . . . I was once scared of my cat, until I realised she liked being scratched behind her ear, and that I liked scratching her behind her ear, and then I wasn’t scared anymore.”
Santana raised an eyebrow, unsure what to say to that. Unsure what Brittany even meant.
“You’re like a cat,” Brittany stated, as if that made everything so much clearer.
“Brittany, what are you talking about?” Santana asked, partly because she didn’t understand, and partly because she thought she did kind of understand but didn’t want to acknowledge that she did - even to herself.
Before Brittany got a chance to answer, Sue Sylvester came walking briskly down the hall, her eyes boring into both girls. They should have been in class already, and rather than endure the wrath of Sue they turned quickly and began rushing away before she could reach them.
They hurried around a corner, heading for their Spanish class with Mr Schuester; avoiding a confrontation with the overbearing couch. They knew she wanted an update on Glee club; inside information that would help bring it down, buckle its knees, and leave its budget to the Cheerios. The last thing Sue would want to hear was that they were actually enjoying Glee club and that things were going well for them there. Sue would not take kindly to her Cheerios defecting. It just wouldn’t do.
“That was too close,” Santana said, hearing Sue’s footsteps grow softer as she continued towards her office. “I can’t deal with her today.”
“She smells like the sea on Monday,” Brittany commented with a nod, making Santana scrunch up her brow in confusion.
Sometimes, only Brittany knew for sure why she said the things she did. Santana was happy not to ask about it, or to bring up again what Brittany had been talking about just a few minutes before. Hopefully they could get in to class without anything else being said at all. Santana would deal with the rest of the day as it came upon her; with a determination not to do anything that would make Brittany start guessing at things Santana didn’t want her to guess at.
Santana thought she’d gotten away with avoiding the reason she’d freaked out last night, thankful that she didn’t have to deal with the whole embarrassing situation again, but just before they entered the class, Brittany stopped her with a touch to her arm. She looked into Santana’s dark eyes and smiled gently.
“I love my cat,” Brittany said cryptically.
She then moved in front of Santana and opened the classroom door, disappearing inside as Santana frowned in confusion.
Indeed, Brittany really did sometimes say things that only she understood.
Santana followed with a shrug.