Fic: All of Me
“Read another one!” Brittany exclaims, doing another effortless backflip and making Santana’s body bounce on the trampoline.
“Okay,” Santana says with a laugh when the trampoline vibrates under her. She tightens her grip on her magazine when she bounces up and down. “Here’s one: Dear Peggy, I’m the oldest of five siblings and the only girl. My parents are really old-fashioned and divide our chores by what girls and guys traditionally do, which means I have ten times as much work as my brothers! I feel like a maid, what should I do? - Cheerless Cinderella.” Santana scrunches up her face. “Boooring…” She doesn’t even bother to read the advice and continues to read another one when Brittany interrupts:
“Wait! Cinderella wrote to Elle Girl?” she exclaims incredulously. Santana laughs.
“No, just a whiny girl with a lot of chores.”
“Oh.” She sounds disappointed. “Another one.”
Santana skims the page, and finds one that looks promising. “Dear Peggy, I just turned fifteen and I’m really confused. I kissed my best friend at a sleepover, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I think I’m in love with her. Could I be gay? - In Love with my BFF.” Santana frowns. Neeeext…
“Aaw, that’s so sweet, she’s in love with her best friend,” Brittany says with a giggle.
Santana looks up in the twilight in shock. “That’s not sweet, that’s gross.”
Brittany’s face falls, and she stops jumping. “I’m in love with you?” It comes out as a confused question. Santana’s stomach tightens.
“No, you’re not. You love me, but you’re not in love with me.”
“What’s the difference?”
“When you’re in love, you want to kiss and hug and go all the way, and if it’s two girls then they’re lezzies and that’s gross,” Santana explains. “If you love someone, you can just… love them, and not have to do that.”
Brittany tilts her head to the side in confusion and drops down next to Santana, draping an arm over her back. “But I always want to hug you and kiss you as well.”
Santana’s breath catches and her heartbeat speeds up. What? Her eyes go wide when Brittany leans in slowly with a smile and then closes the remaining distance quickly and plants a kiss on her cheek with a giggle.
“See? Not gross.”
Santana’s breathing eases out. “It’s different, B.”
“Okay,” Brittany accepts. If Santana says it is, she believes her. She rolls onto her back and watches the sky as a flock of ducks flies overhead in the darkening light. She points them out to Santana who smiles at her. The Latina turns back to her magazine and continues to read in silence.
She skims over the advice for “In Love with my BFF”: You could be gay, but not necessarily. Girls go through phases all the time, and when you’re your age the lines between friendship and romantic love are often very blurry. Give it some time, and talk to someone about it if your feelings remain. If you do end up being gay, then that’s just who you are, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
Santana scoffs, but something clenches uncomfortably in her stomach and she glances unwittingly at the adorable blonde lying next to her counting the slowly appearing stars. She shakes her head and shivers to clear the unfamiliar feeling, and continues to read.
Dear Peggy, I’m sixteen and never been kissed. I practice kissing on my hand and I do… unconventional things with the showerhead when my parents aren’t home. Is this normal? - Sad Virgin. Santana laughs out loud, and Brittany turns.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just a girl who’s sixteen and hasn’t even kissed yet.”
“Oh.” A pause. “But… aren’t a lot of people like that?”
“Only the lame ones,” Santana replies with a wink. She had her first kiss when she was eleven, and Brittany had been kissed a few months ago on her thirteenth birthday.
“Mmmm,” Brittany hums, and starts connecting stars into shapes with her fingers. Santana reads on.
Dear Sad Virgin, Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal. It’s called masturbation, and in fact, it’s completely healthy - Okay, ick, Santana thinks with a grimace, and stops reading, closing the magazine and pushing it off the side of the trampoline. Too much information.
“Let’s jump for a bit before your mom makes us come inside,” she suggests, and Brittany rolls over excitedly, straddling Santana’s body (the brunette is glad it’s getting dark and Brittany can’t see her blush) before pushing down to get up the momentum to hop up on her feet. Santana follows suit.
A few minutes later, Brittany grabs Santana’s hands, spins them both in a circle, and flops them onto the trampoline. Santana holds on tightly and laughs as the motion carries them back up into the air and bounces them up and down a few more times. When they’re settled, Brittany scoots closer so they’re lying against each other, face-to-face, and panting.
“That was fun.”
“Mm-huh,” Santana hums in agreement.
“I’m all sweaty now, though.” Brittany scrunches up her nose in distaste.
“It’s all the backflips. I don’t know how you do them. You’re amazing,” Santana says softly with a smile.
“Thanks,” Brittany pauses to lean forward and playfully nuzzle Santana’s neck. She mumbles: “Do you want to take a shower?”
“Okay.” She slides herself off the trampoline, and looks back when Brittany doesn’t follow. “Are you coming inside?”
“I want to try a…” Brittany cocks her head, remembering, “‘reverse aerial flip’.”
“What is it?” Santana asks.
Brittany shrugs. “I saw it on YouTube. It looks cool.”
“Be careful,” Santana warns as she watches Brittany flip and land unstably.
“I will,” Brittany answers with a reassuring smile, and shoos her away. “See you in a bit.”
------
Santana runs her hands through her hair and puts back Brittany’s conditioner. She’s glad the bathroom is an annex off Brittany’s room because she’d forgotten to get a towel before undressing and ended up sneaking naked through the house in search of one. Luckily, she’d found one in Brittany’s room almost right away, draped over her computer chair. It smelled like Brittany. Santana approved.
The showerhead sputters above her, and the water turns cold. Santana looks up with a scowl and jumps out of the way. Useless thing. It looks expensive, with different modes and a turning head, but still it sputters. Good for nothing, Santana huffs.
As she waits for the water to heat up again, her mind wanders to what she read in the magazine. Her own first kiss hadn’t been exactly spectacular. It was sloppy and awkward, and she didn’t understand the big deal all that much. Brittany had had a similar experience, though the blonde probably didn’t understand what the point was to begin with. Still, at least neither of them were a walking cliché. ‘Sweet Sixteen and Never Been Kissed.’ Santana shakes her head. Pathetic.
Not only that, she remembers, but the girl actually practiced on her hand. Double pathetic. Santana looks down at her own hand and laughs. Though her first kiss hadn’t been great, she was confident enough in her own ability that she didn’t need to do that. It wouldn’t actually do anything anyway.
She looks back up impatiently at the showerhead. She taps her foot in irritation, but suddenly stills, and glances another look up at the sputtering object. Maybe if she changed the setting…
She reaches up and turns the ring until the water changes to alternating aerated spray. It still sputters. She turns it further, and it changes to mist spray. Well, that’s useless for showering, she thinks in annoyance. Once more, and it turns into a pulsating jet spray. Santana sighs. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out.
She feels the water. It’s not as cold as before; it’s probably because the sputtering has stopped in this setting.
Suddenly, she smirks a bit as she gets an idea. She feels herself blush a little, but this was not the same as making out on your hand. That’s pathetic. This… well… this might actually get some tangible result…
She moves the showerhead down along her abdomen and bites her lip when she feels like laughing at how silly she’s being, but when the water hits lower, her laugh is quickly cut off with a surprised gasp. She pulls the showerhead away when it gets too much, and leans against the shower wall, panting a little. That was definitely not what she expected.
She tries again, pulling the water away a little further to increase the surface area. After a little while, she realizes there’s only really one spot that makes her gasp, and she moves the jet spray until it becomes too much again.
She leans into the corner of the shower, panting a little more heavily. Her skin, previously cooled down by the lack of hot water, has heated up again, and her face is flushed. She crouches down a little and snakes a hand down, brushing over the spot that had made her gasp before. She continues further, exploring with her fingers, and finds it’s not just that spot that feels good. She brings the showerhead down again, but her hand is in the way, and she realizes she can’t touch herself and use the water at the same time like this… Dilemmas, dilemmas…
Instead, she moves her busy hand to her small breast and rubs across her nipple as the showerhead takes over. The combined feelings make her body shudder, and her thigh muscles tighten inadvertently as her hips buck forward a little, increasing the contact with the pulsating water.
She gasps again, and it turns into a whimper when it gets too much. There’s an ache between her legs now, and she knows that she probably couldn’t stop anymore, even if she wanted to. Which she doesn’t. It just feels too unexpectedly wonderful.
The ache doesn’t go away, and though she can feel herself getting closer (to what, she’s not quite sure, but the pressure is increasing), it’s not enough. If only I had more hands, she thinks, and then laughs at the easy solution. She moves her hand from her breast to behind herself instead, exploring her wet folds and arching her back to reach, and pushes the showerhead down again in the front. When she feels the sensations combine, she gasps loudly, and it turns into a moan when her hips buck against herself and the water instinctively. She moves the showerhead rhythmically, and her moans match the motion, until she’s almost crying out in short, high-pitched gasps.
All of sudden, as the pressure increases to a boiling point, the water gets warm again, and she shrieks out in pain at the unexpected heat. She gives herself a few seconds to recover, and turns the water down to the temperature it was at before. She was so close! Useless thing! she thinks again. When the pain subsides, she brings the showerhead down again, and in her moans, she doesn’t hear the bathroom door open softly.
Brittany sneaks into the bathroom with a concerned expression on her face. She’d heard Santana yell in pain, and thought maybe she’d fallen down or hurt herself somehow. She listens carefully through the shower curtain, and hears continued moans. Maybe she really did hurt herself.
“San?” she asks softly, but she gets no reply. She steps into the bathroom fully. She’d already changed, but she’d left her pajamas in the bathroom so she decided to just wait in her underwear in her room until Santana was done.
Brittany moves the shower curtain aside to see what’s happened. Her mouth falls open at the sight.
Santana is leaning in the corner, her head thrown back against the wall and her eyes closed. She licks her lips between her moans as one hand, reaching down behind herself, moves between her thighs and the other holds the showerhead steady in the front. She bucks her hips slowly in a swelling rhythm and her thighs shake with tension, and her face tenses and relaxes with the building excitement.
Brittany lets out a short, hard breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She feels a blush creeping into her cheeks, but she can’t seem to look away. She stands, and watches as the moans turn into the high-pitched gasps and whimpers. She’s mesmerized. Santana has never looked more gorgeous, more exhilarating, more… sexy. It’s not a word she’s associated with her best friend before, but it fits, and she doesn’t over-think it. Her naked body is covered in a thin layer of water and it gives a shiny glow to her skin. Her panting is bringing her chest up and down, and her small, perky breasts heave beautifully with the movement. Her soaked brown locks tumble across her shoulders and send small rivulets of water trailing down her skin. Brittany follows a droplet as it falls, and then, without a word, steps into the shower and presses Santana’s body further into the corner.
Santana opens her eyes in shock and nearly squeals when Brittany presses against her. It takes her a few seconds to steady her mind and make sure that this is indeed happening. She shuts her eyes tightly and shakes her head desperately, but when she opens her eyes, Brittany is still against her, and she’s reaching up to put a hand softly against her cheek.
“What are you doing here, B?” Santana squeaks, trying to pull away, but Brittany has her trapped. Her hand is trapped awkwardly behind her back, and the other is holding the showerhead loosely at her side, spraying their feet with warm water.
“Don’t know,” Brittany answers honestly, but doesn’t pull away, and roams her eyes across Santana’s face in fascination. Her own cheeks are still flushed, and she smiles when the Latina blushes as well.
Santana has no idea what to say. Part of her (the strongest part) is telling her to run, yell, or push Brittany roughly away. But another part is held spellbound by Brittany’s bright blue eyes and the touch of her skin.
“I heard you yell. I thought you’d gotten hurt. Are you hurt?” Brittany asks when she remembers why she’d come in in the first place.
“No…” Santana stutters, and blushes more. Brittany shifts, and she feels her thigh brush her own; the touch is almost burning, but Santana doesn’t pull away.
“I am,” Brittany murmurs distractedly, running her hand across Santana’s damp face and moving a curl of wet hair behind her ear. Santana stands stock-still, her mind going into overdrive with the combination of the soft touch, the remaining ache between her legs, and her own nerves and worry at having been caught.
“What?” Santana manages.
“I fell with the flip. I chafed open my shoulder and hurt my arm,” Brittany says almost matter-of-factly. Santana’s protective instinct kicks in automatically, overriding all other feelings.
“B! I told you to be careful! Let me see!”
Brittany turns slightly, and Santana gasps at the bright red chafewound across her shoulder. At the top, where the skin is thinnest, she can see a few beads of blood oozing out. She swoons slightly at the sight, and feels Brittany reach out to steady her, trapping her further against the wall. She covers a small gasp at the contact.
“Sweetie, you should have put something on it,” Santana whimpers. Brittany shrugs, but winces at the movement. “Here,” Santana whispers, and turns the ring on the showerhead until it’s in the mist setting again. She hover it over Brittany’s shoulder, and winces when she does as well, but the blood is gone in seconds.
“I’m cold,” Brittany murmurs, and shivers. Santana feels the vibrations against her body. She stays quiet, the tension in her stomach returned now that Brittany is okay.
“Can I try?” Brittany says even more softly, and for the first time, looks away from Santana sheepishly and nods to the showerhead. Santana nods numbly and hands it over. Brittany pouts and shimmies uncomfortably as she tries to push down her underwear with her bad arm, and Santana takes the hint and helps her with them, blushing even further when she sees Brittany completely naked - all of her.
“How do you…” Brittany trails off, holding up the still-spraying showerhead. Santana turns it - the wrong way - and it turns back into its normal setting.
“Wait,” she says, turns up the heat, and takes the showerhead from Brittany to hold it over her head and help her warm up. Brittany shivers again at the change in temperature, and Santana mirrors her. She feels the water run down Brittany’s legs against her own. Brittany feels the shiver and moves closer so that they’re both under the warm jets of water.
The blonde smiles at the closeness and the warmth, some of the unfamiliar tightness in her stomach dissipating.
“Hi,” she whispers tenderly. Her lips are only centimeters from Santana’s.
“Hi,” Santana replies, feeling surprising intimacy flow into the word. She moves a hand to Brittany’s hips to push them both away from the cold shower wall. Brittany mirrors her action and puts a hand at her waist to pull her closer as they stand together in the middle of the shower.
“San?” Brittany asks when Santana looks away shyly.
“Mmm?” She keeps her eyes averted, but she can’t find another place to look. In front of her is Brittany, all of her; her skin shining, her hair glowing, her face captivating, her neck curved beautifully, her breasts pressed up against her, her thighs barely brushing her own… She looks up instead, and finds Brittany’s eyes boring into her own insistently.
“If I just love you, can I still kiss you?”
Santana doesn’t look away, and Brittany’s stare scatters any thoughts or doubts she might have had. She nods, and Brittany leans the remaining few centimeters to press her lips uncertainly against Santana’s.
Santana melts, the heat and the water and the feel of Brittany’s lips and body against her own sending vibrations through her that loosen all muscles, and she melts against Brittany’s skin. They remain for a what feels like an eternity, just kissing, soft lips pressed against soft lips, too unsure to do anything more. Santana lets her lips go loose and lazy and feels them heat up when Brittany presses harder, yearning for a response. She nips softly at one of her lips, and Santana hooks her arms around her neck and pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. Her elbow brushes against Brittany’s shoulder, and the blonde gasps in pain.
“I’m sorry!” Santana hisses, pulling away. She frowns apologetically at her friend’s pained expression.
“S’okay,” she whispers, and leans forward again. Santana hooks her arms, one hand still holding the showerhead, around her waist instead. Brittany runs her hands along her body and laces her fingers at the small of Santana’s back.
Santana moans quietly into her lips, and the need and ache of before returns. When she feels Brittany run a hand up her body to cup a breast, she pulls her lips away slightly and just pants into the steamy air. But Brittany doesn’t give her a chance to catch her breath, and pulls her face close again with fingers tangled into her damp hair at the back of her neck.
“B…” Santana breathes, and presses herself forward, straining for contact. Without even knowing what she’s doing, she grinds her hips forward slightly, and Brittany breathes out sharply against her lips.
“Give - give it,” she pants out, and Santana hands her the showerhead. Brittany turns the ring and the water jets out against Santana’s abs.
“I thought you wanted to - ” Santana gasps out.
“No. You looked so breathtaking,” Brittany replies, moving the showerhead between their bodies. She pulls at Santana’s hips and the brunette grinds forward into the spray and her body. Brittany presses another kiss to Santana’s lips, and starts to move the pulsing water in a rhythmic tempo. She’s not sure where to press, exactly, and Santana covers her hand in her own to move it lower.
“There,” she gasps out, digging her nails into Brittany’s hand, and Brittany takes the hint. She continues to kiss Santana between her subdued whines, and pulls their bodies as close as she can until she feels the beat of the water on her own body, and she’s practically grinding with Santana, falling into her rhythm like their bodies were made for it, and nothing else.
Santana is moaning out in pleasure and in tension, refusing to think about the implications of this moment, and just letting herself feel it. She pulls Brittany closer, and realizes the showerhead is actually in the way of feeling all of her, of feeling her toned stomach tense against her own, of feeling their thighs rub together pleasurably, of feeling their breasts pressed together, of feeling Brittany’s hot breath next to her ear or her lips grazing along her neck, and she decides it has to go. She pulls Brittany’s hand away, quickly turns the ring so the setting is back to normal, and hooks it back in its holder. Brittany looks at her curiously, perhaps wondering if she changed her mind or didn’t like it, but Santana kisses the doubts away without a second thought. She grabs Brittany’s hand and pushes it between her legs. Brittany rubs around clumsily again, and Santana guides her fingers, moaning softly, approvingly, when she hits the right spots.
“San…” Brittany breathes, her eyes open wide in awe and wonder. “This is… just…”
“I know,” Santana breathes back, and kisses her.
The warm water runs over their bodies and turns their kiss softer, slicker, and wet. Santana brushes her tongue experimentally against Brittany’s lips, and smiles when she can still taste her, even with all the warm water flowing around their mouths. Brittany mimics her kiss, and the two become a tangle of lips and probing tongues as well as limbs.
Even though most of the touches are uncertain, the kisses clumsy, and the whispers shy and pleading, Santana knows she’s never felt anything more incredible. She feels a fear freeze her insides at the realization, but she pushes it away and focuses on two thoughts held firmly in her mind: This is amazing, and Brittany, I love you.
She wants Brittany to feel what she’s feeling, and presses her fingers between the blonde’s legs. Brittany lets out a shuddering, breathless whimper in surprise, and Santana prays that she can do it right. She feels Brittany’s fingers, aided by her own, and copies their movements as best as she can.
“San, I - I feel it,” Brittany gasps.
“Me too,” Santana whispers back.
Santana tries to kiss her again, but they’re both getting so close, the kiss turns into sloppy open-mouthed gasps and moans and their lips are barely touching anymore, so Santana trails her kisses down Brittany’s neck instead, breathing hotly on her skin every time her fingers push down a little harder or sucking at her skin when she can resist the pleasure. A little longer, and she can’t focus on the kisses anymore, and just lightly rests her head on Brittany’s shoulder and pants against her skin, focusing fully on her own thrusting fingers and making sure Brittany is there with her.
“B,” she pleads against her neck. She barely knows what she’s pleading for.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Brittany replies faithfully, between whimpering moans, and proves it a few seconds later as she comes undone. Her body shudders against Santana’s, and she cries out her name. The jolt of her movement pushes her fingers deeper into Santana, and she comes as well.
The warm water runs slick over their bodies as their cries and breaths add steam to the already damp air. Brittany pulls Santana closer as she feels her legs weaken from the orgasm, and they’re leaning on each other, panting heavily, gratifyingly spent.
“I love you,” Brittany sighs against Santana, still breathing heavily.
Santana’s almost too distracted by the final waves of pleasure coursing through her body to censor herself, and she nearly echoes Brittany’s confession, but she remembers where she is: naked, in her best friend’s arms, after her first time. She can think it all she wants, but saying “I love you” here is a whole lot different than admitting it while snuggled up (fully clothed) on their bed watching Bridget Jones’ Diary or something. She stays silent. Brittany doesn’t seem to mind, and lifts up her face to pepper kisses over her lips and eyes.
“I’m tired,” the amateur tumbler murmurs after a few minutes of light kisses.
“Me too,” Santana mutters. “I’ll get ready for bed. You still need to wash your hair.” She starts to step out of the shower, but Brittany grabs her wrist and turns her back. She plants a hard, confident kiss on her lips with a bright smile, and lets go.
“That felt really good, San.”
Santana turns away, and she can’t help smiling to herself. Yes, it did.
----
A few minutes later, Santana flips through the pages of another magazine. She’s given herself a little upgrade to Cosmopolitan, and she suddenly understands why Brittany’s parents made such a fuss about a confused Brittany buying that magazine instead of CosmoGirl. In the few minutes she’s skimmed it, her sexual vocabulary has practically doubled.
The bathroom door opens, and Santana turns to see Brittany with nothing but a towel - wrapped around her hair, not her body. She looks back down quickly, her heart pounding in her throat.
“Now you look away?” Brittany asks light-heartedly, and ambles to her closet.
Santana swallows, and feels a blush creep into her face.
Brittany dresses (walking back to the bathroom in her underwear with a sheepish, forgetful expression), and then sits on the edge of the bed to brush her hair.
“What are you reading?”
Santana scrapes her throat nervously, and hopes the steady beating of her heart in her throat will let her speak. “Cosmopolitan.” Her voice shakes a bit.
“Ooo, the forbidden magazine,” Brittany jokes with a giggle, and gets up to find and to plug in her blowdryer. Santana looks at her, subconsciously taking in her killer legs and gorgeous body beneath her tank top pajamas and undies.
“Do you want to dry your hair?” Brittany asks, signaling with with the blowdryer.
Santana nods, and says a little more calmly, “I couldn’t find it.”
“Come here, I’ll do it.”
Santana gets up off the bed and stands nervously in front of the mirror while Brittany clips up her own hair. The blonde looks over her shoulder at her reflection, and Santana notices a bright purple hickey on her neck. Brittany runs her fingers over it curiously, appreciatively, and then grins.
“I think it looks kind of nice. Like I got punched by a fairy or something.”
Even with the worry and fear clenching up her stomach and making her heart pound in her throat, Santana can’t help but laugh, and it eases some of the tension. Brittany’s smile becomes even more impossibly luminous at the welcome sound.
“Though I think it would be nicer to be kissed by you than punched by a fairy. Fairies can be mean,” Brittany continues in an unfathomably logical tone.
“So can I,” Santana points out, a smile still on her face.
“You’re never mean to me.” She says it with such confidence and trust that Santana’s heart jumps even higher, dissipating all of her worry and instead just beating relentlessly half a foot too high, like it needs all the power it can get to pump the exciting, surprising love she’s feeling. Santana gives up the will to contain it, and feels the words on her lips, but Brittany turns on the blowdryer, and the moment passes.
The blonde runs the blowdryer across her hair, the warm air whipping strands into her face and eyes. When a lock catches on her lips, Brittany hooks her fingers over it to pull it away, and Santana is suddenly a lot more aware of the blonde’s touch; her fingers running through her hair, the back of her hands brushing over her neck, and, when her hair is dry, the loving touch of her lips against the skin under her ear.
“Now you’re even more gorgeous,” Brittany mumbles. Santana takes a look in the mirror, and raises a skeptical eyebrow at her poufy, unkempt hair. Brittany catches the look and giggles. It vibrates next to Santana’s ear, and she loses the rhythm of her breathing.
“You are pretty,” Brittany insists. She wraps her arms around Santana’s waist and pulls her close, placing gentle kisses on her collarbone.
“B,” Santana whimpers, and it sounds weak, but she doesn’t know if it’s a plea to stop or to keep going. In the shower (God, the shower…), everything felt so sure and right, but they had had their eyes closed. Santana stares in the mirror, afraid to move, and watches Brittany kiss her. Things are different with eyes open.
Brittany notices her hesitation and stops to look at her in the mirror. She smiles.
“We look good together,” she murmurs. Santana’s heart jumps, but it’s not the pleasant jump of before, the leap of faith that nearly led to I love you. It’s the jumpstart to a running escape.
“B, we can’t… I mean we’re not…” she trails off nervously, and adds, “What would people think?”
“Does it matter what people think?” She sounds like she honestly doesn’t know the answer.
“Yes.” The answer felt more confident in her mind than it sounds off her lips.
“Do they have to know?”
Santana hesitates, and is surprised when she thinks with hope, instead of fear, Why would they have to know? She frowns and thinks a little more confidently, It’s none of their goddamn business. “No, I suppose they don’t,” she answers.
“Well, then that’s okay, isn’t it?” Brittany asks candidly.
Santana sighs in relief. I love you, she thinks, and it carries as much the old, radiant vow of friendship from before tonight as the new, heavy meaning she bit back in the shower. This is Brittany, the happy, quirky girl who dances with such ease you’d think gods were pulling strings on her limbs, who attracts everyone to her by just smiling and brightening up a room, who gives love easily and doesn’t overthink, and who, unknowingly, has her heart.
Brittany kisses her again, and Santana turns her face to catch her lips. After a few minutes, Santana grabs her hand and pulls her to the bed. She tugs back the covers and sits down, out of the tall girl’s reach.
“I don’t want to sleep yet,” Brittany protests, following Santana’s lips clumsily to keep kissing her when the brunette tries to pull away with a smile.
“We don’t have to.”
Brittany catches Santana’s drift and jumps onto her excitedly.
“Oomph,” she utters, and laughs.
“Sorry!” she returns with a giggle, but doesn’t sound it at all. She presses her body further down so one of her legs is nestled between both of Santana’s, and holds herself up on her arms to look at her.
“I adore you,” she whispers, and Santana smiles, offering a kiss, which Brittany eagerly accepts with an open mouth and ready tongue. The two kiss unhurriedly for a while, and Santana responds willingly, pushing away any doubts that remain until the kiss makes the effort unnecessary and they melt away on their own.
After a few minutes, Brittany’s kisses get a little clumsy, and she pushes down awkwardly, too hard. Santana whines in disapproval, but stops when she realizes that Brittany is having trouble holding herself up on her arm.
“Here,” she mumbles, “Turn over.” She rolls the blonde off her and presses her own body on her instead. Their hips collide with a little more force than she expected and Brittany lets out an unexpected happy sigh.
“Do that again.”
Santana grinds her hips forward, and feels it too. She smiles in surprise and recognition.
“Again,” Brittany commands. Santana complies, and Brittany lets out a gasping laugh of liking, opening her mouth to repeat the command, but Santana has beaten her to it. She laughs with her, and pushes her leg further between Brittany’s thighs. The blonde raises her own leg instinctively, and this time, when Santana grinds forward, both their laughs are cut off with gasps. They look at each other meaningfully, and Santana feels her clothes suddenly get far too tight. When did it get so warm in here?
“San… Can we…” Brittany breathes, but Santana cuts her off with a forceful, open-mouthed kiss. Brittany responds eagerly and pulls her even closer, the heat of the kiss and their bodies doubling the sensations. Brittany pushes her hips upward a little, and Santana grinds down again. She blushes at the surprisingly loud moan that escapes her lips, but smiles when she realizes it’s only loud because Brittany was moaning too.
They grind against each other, finding a steady rhythm, until their panting starts to push them to move to a faster beat, and they speed up, muffling each other’s gasps with lips and tongues and teeth. Santana’s pajamas hitch up and pull at her skin, both part of the pleasure and a barrier between feeling Brittany’s bare skin. She briefly considers stopping to take them off and try what they did in the shower again, but this is new as well, and exciting, and feels damn near as good. Brittany grabs her hips and pulls her down a little harder, and they break the kiss when Brittany pushes her head back into the pillow. It’s only been a few minutes of rubbing and heavy breathing, but they’re both new to this, and the kissing alone was already enough to heat them to simmering. With a final push, they both boil over, and Santana bites her lips, hard, to keep from crying out, but it’s no use because she forgets why she wanted to hold back a cry in the first place as waves of pleasure course through her body and the cry escapes her lips anyway in the form of a throaty I love you.
They continue to writhe against each other, but it’s lost the insistence of before as they both ease their bodies down from their orgasms. With a sigh, Santana tumbles down against Brittany, and slides off her slightly. She curls up around her body and breathes in her damp hair with uneven, raspy breaths. She could fall asleep right there, and starts to, but Brittany shifts beneath her and turns her body to face her.
“San,” she says quietly, and brushes her hand over her cheek. Santana opens her eyes, and smiles, remembering both Brittany’s confession and her own. She can see it again in Brittany’s eyes, and leans forward to kiss her softly. They continue to breathe heavily into the gentle kiss, but when their breathing slows down, they pull apart.
Santana closes her eyes and snuggles closer.
“San,” Brittany whispers again, and Santana opens her eyes at her best-friend-turned-lover’s resolute tone.
“I don’t love you,” Brittany says with certainty. Santana’s eyes widen in shock and she feels her heart drop and her stomach clench. Brittany couldn’t be saying this. She’d just confessed the opposite before their second time. And she, Santana, had just said the words herself, and she hadn’t even regretted it. And now… She starts to pull away from Brittany’s embrace and turns her face away to hide the small tears she’s sure will squeeze out, because she’s Santana Lopez, and Santana doesn’t let anyone see her cry, but Brittany lifts her face up and kisses her with conviction and a small, reassuring laugh. “I don’t love you,” she repeats, and holds Santana’s gaze. “I’m in love with you.”
The tears still squeeze out, but Santana lets Brittany see them. She’s seen all of me now, she thinks, and, with a smile, her worry floats away and her heart shifts a few inches too high again. She whispers her confession against Brittany’s lips: “I’m in love with you too.”
They just look at each other, absorbing the sight and savoring their memories, before wrapping their arms around the other’s waist and kissing each other tenderly to sleep.
“Okay,” Santana says with a laugh when the trampoline vibrates under her. She tightens her grip on her magazine when she bounces up and down. “Here’s one: Dear Peggy, I’m the oldest of five siblings and the only girl. My parents are really old-fashioned and divide our chores by what girls and guys traditionally do, which means I have ten times as much work as my brothers! I feel like a maid, what should I do? - Cheerless Cinderella.” Santana scrunches up her face. “Boooring…” She doesn’t even bother to read the advice and continues to read another one when Brittany interrupts:
“Wait! Cinderella wrote to Elle Girl?” she exclaims incredulously. Santana laughs.
“No, just a whiny girl with a lot of chores.”
“Oh.” She sounds disappointed. “Another one.”
Santana skims the page, and finds one that looks promising. “Dear Peggy, I just turned fifteen and I’m really confused. I kissed my best friend at a sleepover, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I think I’m in love with her. Could I be gay? - In Love with my BFF.” Santana frowns. Neeeext…
“Aaw, that’s so sweet, she’s in love with her best friend,” Brittany says with a giggle.
Santana looks up in the twilight in shock. “That’s not sweet, that’s gross.”
Brittany’s face falls, and she stops jumping. “I’m in love with you?” It comes out as a confused question. Santana’s stomach tightens.
“No, you’re not. You love me, but you’re not in love with me.”
“What’s the difference?”
“When you’re in love, you want to kiss and hug and go all the way, and if it’s two girls then they’re lezzies and that’s gross,” Santana explains. “If you love someone, you can just… love them, and not have to do that.”
Brittany tilts her head to the side in confusion and drops down next to Santana, draping an arm over her back. “But I always want to hug you and kiss you as well.”
Santana’s breath catches and her heartbeat speeds up. What? Her eyes go wide when Brittany leans in slowly with a smile and then closes the remaining distance quickly and plants a kiss on her cheek with a giggle.
“See? Not gross.”
Santana’s breathing eases out. “It’s different, B.”
“Okay,” Brittany accepts. If Santana says it is, she believes her. She rolls onto her back and watches the sky as a flock of ducks flies overhead in the darkening light. She points them out to Santana who smiles at her. The Latina turns back to her magazine and continues to read in silence.
She skims over the advice for “In Love with my BFF”: You could be gay, but not necessarily. Girls go through phases all the time, and when you’re your age the lines between friendship and romantic love are often very blurry. Give it some time, and talk to someone about it if your feelings remain. If you do end up being gay, then that’s just who you are, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
Santana scoffs, but something clenches uncomfortably in her stomach and she glances unwittingly at the adorable blonde lying next to her counting the slowly appearing stars. She shakes her head and shivers to clear the unfamiliar feeling, and continues to read.
Dear Peggy, I’m sixteen and never been kissed. I practice kissing on my hand and I do… unconventional things with the showerhead when my parents aren’t home. Is this normal? - Sad Virgin. Santana laughs out loud, and Brittany turns.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just a girl who’s sixteen and hasn’t even kissed yet.”
“Oh.” A pause. “But… aren’t a lot of people like that?”
“Only the lame ones,” Santana replies with a wink. She had her first kiss when she was eleven, and Brittany had been kissed a few months ago on her thirteenth birthday.
“Mmmm,” Brittany hums, and starts connecting stars into shapes with her fingers. Santana reads on.
Dear Sad Virgin, Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal. It’s called masturbation, and in fact, it’s completely healthy - Okay, ick, Santana thinks with a grimace, and stops reading, closing the magazine and pushing it off the side of the trampoline. Too much information.
“Let’s jump for a bit before your mom makes us come inside,” she suggests, and Brittany rolls over excitedly, straddling Santana’s body (the brunette is glad it’s getting dark and Brittany can’t see her blush) before pushing down to get up the momentum to hop up on her feet. Santana follows suit.
A few minutes later, Brittany grabs Santana’s hands, spins them both in a circle, and flops them onto the trampoline. Santana holds on tightly and laughs as the motion carries them back up into the air and bounces them up and down a few more times. When they’re settled, Brittany scoots closer so they’re lying against each other, face-to-face, and panting.
“That was fun.”
“Mm-huh,” Santana hums in agreement.
“I’m all sweaty now, though.” Brittany scrunches up her nose in distaste.
“It’s all the backflips. I don’t know how you do them. You’re amazing,” Santana says softly with a smile.
“Thanks,” Brittany pauses to lean forward and playfully nuzzle Santana’s neck. She mumbles: “Do you want to take a shower?”
“Okay.” She slides herself off the trampoline, and looks back when Brittany doesn’t follow. “Are you coming inside?”
“I want to try a…” Brittany cocks her head, remembering, “‘reverse aerial flip’.”
“What is it?” Santana asks.
Brittany shrugs. “I saw it on YouTube. It looks cool.”
“Be careful,” Santana warns as she watches Brittany flip and land unstably.
“I will,” Brittany answers with a reassuring smile, and shoos her away. “See you in a bit.”
------
Santana runs her hands through her hair and puts back Brittany’s conditioner. She’s glad the bathroom is an annex off Brittany’s room because she’d forgotten to get a towel before undressing and ended up sneaking naked through the house in search of one. Luckily, she’d found one in Brittany’s room almost right away, draped over her computer chair. It smelled like Brittany. Santana approved.
The showerhead sputters above her, and the water turns cold. Santana looks up with a scowl and jumps out of the way. Useless thing. It looks expensive, with different modes and a turning head, but still it sputters. Good for nothing, Santana huffs.
As she waits for the water to heat up again, her mind wanders to what she read in the magazine. Her own first kiss hadn’t been exactly spectacular. It was sloppy and awkward, and she didn’t understand the big deal all that much. Brittany had had a similar experience, though the blonde probably didn’t understand what the point was to begin with. Still, at least neither of them were a walking cliché. ‘Sweet Sixteen and Never Been Kissed.’ Santana shakes her head. Pathetic.
Not only that, she remembers, but the girl actually practiced on her hand. Double pathetic. Santana looks down at her own hand and laughs. Though her first kiss hadn’t been great, she was confident enough in her own ability that she didn’t need to do that. It wouldn’t actually do anything anyway.
She looks back up impatiently at the showerhead. She taps her foot in irritation, but suddenly stills, and glances another look up at the sputtering object. Maybe if she changed the setting…
She reaches up and turns the ring until the water changes to alternating aerated spray. It still sputters. She turns it further, and it changes to mist spray. Well, that’s useless for showering, she thinks in annoyance. Once more, and it turns into a pulsating jet spray. Santana sighs. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out.
She feels the water. It’s not as cold as before; it’s probably because the sputtering has stopped in this setting.
Suddenly, she smirks a bit as she gets an idea. She feels herself blush a little, but this was not the same as making out on your hand. That’s pathetic. This… well… this might actually get some tangible result…
She moves the showerhead down along her abdomen and bites her lip when she feels like laughing at how silly she’s being, but when the water hits lower, her laugh is quickly cut off with a surprised gasp. She pulls the showerhead away when it gets too much, and leans against the shower wall, panting a little. That was definitely not what she expected.
She tries again, pulling the water away a little further to increase the surface area. After a little while, she realizes there’s only really one spot that makes her gasp, and she moves the jet spray until it becomes too much again.
She leans into the corner of the shower, panting a little more heavily. Her skin, previously cooled down by the lack of hot water, has heated up again, and her face is flushed. She crouches down a little and snakes a hand down, brushing over the spot that had made her gasp before. She continues further, exploring with her fingers, and finds it’s not just that spot that feels good. She brings the showerhead down again, but her hand is in the way, and she realizes she can’t touch herself and use the water at the same time like this… Dilemmas, dilemmas…
Instead, she moves her busy hand to her small breast and rubs across her nipple as the showerhead takes over. The combined feelings make her body shudder, and her thigh muscles tighten inadvertently as her hips buck forward a little, increasing the contact with the pulsating water.
She gasps again, and it turns into a whimper when it gets too much. There’s an ache between her legs now, and she knows that she probably couldn’t stop anymore, even if she wanted to. Which she doesn’t. It just feels too unexpectedly wonderful.
The ache doesn’t go away, and though she can feel herself getting closer (to what, she’s not quite sure, but the pressure is increasing), it’s not enough. If only I had more hands, she thinks, and then laughs at the easy solution. She moves her hand from her breast to behind herself instead, exploring her wet folds and arching her back to reach, and pushes the showerhead down again in the front. When she feels the sensations combine, she gasps loudly, and it turns into a moan when her hips buck against herself and the water instinctively. She moves the showerhead rhythmically, and her moans match the motion, until she’s almost crying out in short, high-pitched gasps.
All of sudden, as the pressure increases to a boiling point, the water gets warm again, and she shrieks out in pain at the unexpected heat. She gives herself a few seconds to recover, and turns the water down to the temperature it was at before. She was so close! Useless thing! she thinks again. When the pain subsides, she brings the showerhead down again, and in her moans, she doesn’t hear the bathroom door open softly.
Brittany sneaks into the bathroom with a concerned expression on her face. She’d heard Santana yell in pain, and thought maybe she’d fallen down or hurt herself somehow. She listens carefully through the shower curtain, and hears continued moans. Maybe she really did hurt herself.
“San?” she asks softly, but she gets no reply. She steps into the bathroom fully. She’d already changed, but she’d left her pajamas in the bathroom so she decided to just wait in her underwear in her room until Santana was done.
Brittany moves the shower curtain aside to see what’s happened. Her mouth falls open at the sight.
Santana is leaning in the corner, her head thrown back against the wall and her eyes closed. She licks her lips between her moans as one hand, reaching down behind herself, moves between her thighs and the other holds the showerhead steady in the front. She bucks her hips slowly in a swelling rhythm and her thighs shake with tension, and her face tenses and relaxes with the building excitement.
Brittany lets out a short, hard breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She feels a blush creeping into her cheeks, but she can’t seem to look away. She stands, and watches as the moans turn into the high-pitched gasps and whimpers. She’s mesmerized. Santana has never looked more gorgeous, more exhilarating, more… sexy. It’s not a word she’s associated with her best friend before, but it fits, and she doesn’t over-think it. Her naked body is covered in a thin layer of water and it gives a shiny glow to her skin. Her panting is bringing her chest up and down, and her small, perky breasts heave beautifully with the movement. Her soaked brown locks tumble across her shoulders and send small rivulets of water trailing down her skin. Brittany follows a droplet as it falls, and then, without a word, steps into the shower and presses Santana’s body further into the corner.
Santana opens her eyes in shock and nearly squeals when Brittany presses against her. It takes her a few seconds to steady her mind and make sure that this is indeed happening. She shuts her eyes tightly and shakes her head desperately, but when she opens her eyes, Brittany is still against her, and she’s reaching up to put a hand softly against her cheek.
“What are you doing here, B?” Santana squeaks, trying to pull away, but Brittany has her trapped. Her hand is trapped awkwardly behind her back, and the other is holding the showerhead loosely at her side, spraying their feet with warm water.
“Don’t know,” Brittany answers honestly, but doesn’t pull away, and roams her eyes across Santana’s face in fascination. Her own cheeks are still flushed, and she smiles when the Latina blushes as well.
Santana has no idea what to say. Part of her (the strongest part) is telling her to run, yell, or push Brittany roughly away. But another part is held spellbound by Brittany’s bright blue eyes and the touch of her skin.
“I heard you yell. I thought you’d gotten hurt. Are you hurt?” Brittany asks when she remembers why she’d come in in the first place.
“No…” Santana stutters, and blushes more. Brittany shifts, and she feels her thigh brush her own; the touch is almost burning, but Santana doesn’t pull away.
“I am,” Brittany murmurs distractedly, running her hand across Santana’s damp face and moving a curl of wet hair behind her ear. Santana stands stock-still, her mind going into overdrive with the combination of the soft touch, the remaining ache between her legs, and her own nerves and worry at having been caught.
“What?” Santana manages.
“I fell with the flip. I chafed open my shoulder and hurt my arm,” Brittany says almost matter-of-factly. Santana’s protective instinct kicks in automatically, overriding all other feelings.
“B! I told you to be careful! Let me see!”
Brittany turns slightly, and Santana gasps at the bright red chafewound across her shoulder. At the top, where the skin is thinnest, she can see a few beads of blood oozing out. She swoons slightly at the sight, and feels Brittany reach out to steady her, trapping her further against the wall. She covers a small gasp at the contact.
“Sweetie, you should have put something on it,” Santana whimpers. Brittany shrugs, but winces at the movement. “Here,” Santana whispers, and turns the ring on the showerhead until it’s in the mist setting again. She hover it over Brittany’s shoulder, and winces when she does as well, but the blood is gone in seconds.
“I’m cold,” Brittany murmurs, and shivers. Santana feels the vibrations against her body. She stays quiet, the tension in her stomach returned now that Brittany is okay.
“Can I try?” Brittany says even more softly, and for the first time, looks away from Santana sheepishly and nods to the showerhead. Santana nods numbly and hands it over. Brittany pouts and shimmies uncomfortably as she tries to push down her underwear with her bad arm, and Santana takes the hint and helps her with them, blushing even further when she sees Brittany completely naked - all of her.
“How do you…” Brittany trails off, holding up the still-spraying showerhead. Santana turns it - the wrong way - and it turns back into its normal setting.
“Wait,” she says, turns up the heat, and takes the showerhead from Brittany to hold it over her head and help her warm up. Brittany shivers again at the change in temperature, and Santana mirrors her. She feels the water run down Brittany’s legs against her own. Brittany feels the shiver and moves closer so that they’re both under the warm jets of water.
The blonde smiles at the closeness and the warmth, some of the unfamiliar tightness in her stomach dissipating.
“Hi,” she whispers tenderly. Her lips are only centimeters from Santana’s.
“Hi,” Santana replies, feeling surprising intimacy flow into the word. She moves a hand to Brittany’s hips to push them both away from the cold shower wall. Brittany mirrors her action and puts a hand at her waist to pull her closer as they stand together in the middle of the shower.
“San?” Brittany asks when Santana looks away shyly.
“Mmm?” She keeps her eyes averted, but she can’t find another place to look. In front of her is Brittany, all of her; her skin shining, her hair glowing, her face captivating, her neck curved beautifully, her breasts pressed up against her, her thighs barely brushing her own… She looks up instead, and finds Brittany’s eyes boring into her own insistently.
“If I just love you, can I still kiss you?”
Santana doesn’t look away, and Brittany’s stare scatters any thoughts or doubts she might have had. She nods, and Brittany leans the remaining few centimeters to press her lips uncertainly against Santana’s.
Santana melts, the heat and the water and the feel of Brittany’s lips and body against her own sending vibrations through her that loosen all muscles, and she melts against Brittany’s skin. They remain for a what feels like an eternity, just kissing, soft lips pressed against soft lips, too unsure to do anything more. Santana lets her lips go loose and lazy and feels them heat up when Brittany presses harder, yearning for a response. She nips softly at one of her lips, and Santana hooks her arms around her neck and pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. Her elbow brushes against Brittany’s shoulder, and the blonde gasps in pain.
“I’m sorry!” Santana hisses, pulling away. She frowns apologetically at her friend’s pained expression.
“S’okay,” she whispers, and leans forward again. Santana hooks her arms, one hand still holding the showerhead, around her waist instead. Brittany runs her hands along her body and laces her fingers at the small of Santana’s back.
Santana moans quietly into her lips, and the need and ache of before returns. When she feels Brittany run a hand up her body to cup a breast, she pulls her lips away slightly and just pants into the steamy air. But Brittany doesn’t give her a chance to catch her breath, and pulls her face close again with fingers tangled into her damp hair at the back of her neck.
“B…” Santana breathes, and presses herself forward, straining for contact. Without even knowing what she’s doing, she grinds her hips forward slightly, and Brittany breathes out sharply against her lips.
“Give - give it,” she pants out, and Santana hands her the showerhead. Brittany turns the ring and the water jets out against Santana’s abs.
“I thought you wanted to - ” Santana gasps out.
“No. You looked so breathtaking,” Brittany replies, moving the showerhead between their bodies. She pulls at Santana’s hips and the brunette grinds forward into the spray and her body. Brittany presses another kiss to Santana’s lips, and starts to move the pulsing water in a rhythmic tempo. She’s not sure where to press, exactly, and Santana covers her hand in her own to move it lower.
“There,” she gasps out, digging her nails into Brittany’s hand, and Brittany takes the hint. She continues to kiss Santana between her subdued whines, and pulls their bodies as close as she can until she feels the beat of the water on her own body, and she’s practically grinding with Santana, falling into her rhythm like their bodies were made for it, and nothing else.
Santana is moaning out in pleasure and in tension, refusing to think about the implications of this moment, and just letting herself feel it. She pulls Brittany closer, and realizes the showerhead is actually in the way of feeling all of her, of feeling her toned stomach tense against her own, of feeling their thighs rub together pleasurably, of feeling their breasts pressed together, of feeling Brittany’s hot breath next to her ear or her lips grazing along her neck, and she decides it has to go. She pulls Brittany’s hand away, quickly turns the ring so the setting is back to normal, and hooks it back in its holder. Brittany looks at her curiously, perhaps wondering if she changed her mind or didn’t like it, but Santana kisses the doubts away without a second thought. She grabs Brittany’s hand and pushes it between her legs. Brittany rubs around clumsily again, and Santana guides her fingers, moaning softly, approvingly, when she hits the right spots.
“San…” Brittany breathes, her eyes open wide in awe and wonder. “This is… just…”
“I know,” Santana breathes back, and kisses her.
The warm water runs over their bodies and turns their kiss softer, slicker, and wet. Santana brushes her tongue experimentally against Brittany’s lips, and smiles when she can still taste her, even with all the warm water flowing around their mouths. Brittany mimics her kiss, and the two become a tangle of lips and probing tongues as well as limbs.
Even though most of the touches are uncertain, the kisses clumsy, and the whispers shy and pleading, Santana knows she’s never felt anything more incredible. She feels a fear freeze her insides at the realization, but she pushes it away and focuses on two thoughts held firmly in her mind: This is amazing, and Brittany, I love you.
She wants Brittany to feel what she’s feeling, and presses her fingers between the blonde’s legs. Brittany lets out a shuddering, breathless whimper in surprise, and Santana prays that she can do it right. She feels Brittany’s fingers, aided by her own, and copies their movements as best as she can.
“San, I - I feel it,” Brittany gasps.
“Me too,” Santana whispers back.
Santana tries to kiss her again, but they’re both getting so close, the kiss turns into sloppy open-mouthed gasps and moans and their lips are barely touching anymore, so Santana trails her kisses down Brittany’s neck instead, breathing hotly on her skin every time her fingers push down a little harder or sucking at her skin when she can resist the pleasure. A little longer, and she can’t focus on the kisses anymore, and just lightly rests her head on Brittany’s shoulder and pants against her skin, focusing fully on her own thrusting fingers and making sure Brittany is there with her.
“B,” she pleads against her neck. She barely knows what she’s pleading for.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Brittany replies faithfully, between whimpering moans, and proves it a few seconds later as she comes undone. Her body shudders against Santana’s, and she cries out her name. The jolt of her movement pushes her fingers deeper into Santana, and she comes as well.
The warm water runs slick over their bodies as their cries and breaths add steam to the already damp air. Brittany pulls Santana closer as she feels her legs weaken from the orgasm, and they’re leaning on each other, panting heavily, gratifyingly spent.
“I love you,” Brittany sighs against Santana, still breathing heavily.
Santana’s almost too distracted by the final waves of pleasure coursing through her body to censor herself, and she nearly echoes Brittany’s confession, but she remembers where she is: naked, in her best friend’s arms, after her first time. She can think it all she wants, but saying “I love you” here is a whole lot different than admitting it while snuggled up (fully clothed) on their bed watching Bridget Jones’ Diary or something. She stays silent. Brittany doesn’t seem to mind, and lifts up her face to pepper kisses over her lips and eyes.
“I’m tired,” the amateur tumbler murmurs after a few minutes of light kisses.
“Me too,” Santana mutters. “I’ll get ready for bed. You still need to wash your hair.” She starts to step out of the shower, but Brittany grabs her wrist and turns her back. She plants a hard, confident kiss on her lips with a bright smile, and lets go.
“That felt really good, San.”
Santana turns away, and she can’t help smiling to herself. Yes, it did.
----
A few minutes later, Santana flips through the pages of another magazine. She’s given herself a little upgrade to Cosmopolitan, and she suddenly understands why Brittany’s parents made such a fuss about a confused Brittany buying that magazine instead of CosmoGirl. In the few minutes she’s skimmed it, her sexual vocabulary has practically doubled.
The bathroom door opens, and Santana turns to see Brittany with nothing but a towel - wrapped around her hair, not her body. She looks back down quickly, her heart pounding in her throat.
“Now you look away?” Brittany asks light-heartedly, and ambles to her closet.
Santana swallows, and feels a blush creep into her face.
Brittany dresses (walking back to the bathroom in her underwear with a sheepish, forgetful expression), and then sits on the edge of the bed to brush her hair.
“What are you reading?”
Santana scrapes her throat nervously, and hopes the steady beating of her heart in her throat will let her speak. “Cosmopolitan.” Her voice shakes a bit.
“Ooo, the forbidden magazine,” Brittany jokes with a giggle, and gets up to find and to plug in her blowdryer. Santana looks at her, subconsciously taking in her killer legs and gorgeous body beneath her tank top pajamas and undies.
“Do you want to dry your hair?” Brittany asks, signaling with with the blowdryer.
Santana nods, and says a little more calmly, “I couldn’t find it.”
“Come here, I’ll do it.”
Santana gets up off the bed and stands nervously in front of the mirror while Brittany clips up her own hair. The blonde looks over her shoulder at her reflection, and Santana notices a bright purple hickey on her neck. Brittany runs her fingers over it curiously, appreciatively, and then grins.
“I think it looks kind of nice. Like I got punched by a fairy or something.”
Even with the worry and fear clenching up her stomach and making her heart pound in her throat, Santana can’t help but laugh, and it eases some of the tension. Brittany’s smile becomes even more impossibly luminous at the welcome sound.
“Though I think it would be nicer to be kissed by you than punched by a fairy. Fairies can be mean,” Brittany continues in an unfathomably logical tone.
“So can I,” Santana points out, a smile still on her face.
“You’re never mean to me.” She says it with such confidence and trust that Santana’s heart jumps even higher, dissipating all of her worry and instead just beating relentlessly half a foot too high, like it needs all the power it can get to pump the exciting, surprising love she’s feeling. Santana gives up the will to contain it, and feels the words on her lips, but Brittany turns on the blowdryer, and the moment passes.
The blonde runs the blowdryer across her hair, the warm air whipping strands into her face and eyes. When a lock catches on her lips, Brittany hooks her fingers over it to pull it away, and Santana is suddenly a lot more aware of the blonde’s touch; her fingers running through her hair, the back of her hands brushing over her neck, and, when her hair is dry, the loving touch of her lips against the skin under her ear.
“Now you’re even more gorgeous,” Brittany mumbles. Santana takes a look in the mirror, and raises a skeptical eyebrow at her poufy, unkempt hair. Brittany catches the look and giggles. It vibrates next to Santana’s ear, and she loses the rhythm of her breathing.
“You are pretty,” Brittany insists. She wraps her arms around Santana’s waist and pulls her close, placing gentle kisses on her collarbone.
“B,” Santana whimpers, and it sounds weak, but she doesn’t know if it’s a plea to stop or to keep going. In the shower (God, the shower…), everything felt so sure and right, but they had had their eyes closed. Santana stares in the mirror, afraid to move, and watches Brittany kiss her. Things are different with eyes open.
Brittany notices her hesitation and stops to look at her in the mirror. She smiles.
“We look good together,” she murmurs. Santana’s heart jumps, but it’s not the pleasant jump of before, the leap of faith that nearly led to I love you. It’s the jumpstart to a running escape.
“B, we can’t… I mean we’re not…” she trails off nervously, and adds, “What would people think?”
“Does it matter what people think?” She sounds like she honestly doesn’t know the answer.
“Yes.” The answer felt more confident in her mind than it sounds off her lips.
“Do they have to know?”
Santana hesitates, and is surprised when she thinks with hope, instead of fear, Why would they have to know? She frowns and thinks a little more confidently, It’s none of their goddamn business. “No, I suppose they don’t,” she answers.
“Well, then that’s okay, isn’t it?” Brittany asks candidly.
Santana sighs in relief. I love you, she thinks, and it carries as much the old, radiant vow of friendship from before tonight as the new, heavy meaning she bit back in the shower. This is Brittany, the happy, quirky girl who dances with such ease you’d think gods were pulling strings on her limbs, who attracts everyone to her by just smiling and brightening up a room, who gives love easily and doesn’t overthink, and who, unknowingly, has her heart.
Brittany kisses her again, and Santana turns her face to catch her lips. After a few minutes, Santana grabs her hand and pulls her to the bed. She tugs back the covers and sits down, out of the tall girl’s reach.
“I don’t want to sleep yet,” Brittany protests, following Santana’s lips clumsily to keep kissing her when the brunette tries to pull away with a smile.
“We don’t have to.”
Brittany catches Santana’s drift and jumps onto her excitedly.
“Oomph,” she utters, and laughs.
“Sorry!” she returns with a giggle, but doesn’t sound it at all. She presses her body further down so one of her legs is nestled between both of Santana’s, and holds herself up on her arms to look at her.
“I adore you,” she whispers, and Santana smiles, offering a kiss, which Brittany eagerly accepts with an open mouth and ready tongue. The two kiss unhurriedly for a while, and Santana responds willingly, pushing away any doubts that remain until the kiss makes the effort unnecessary and they melt away on their own.
After a few minutes, Brittany’s kisses get a little clumsy, and she pushes down awkwardly, too hard. Santana whines in disapproval, but stops when she realizes that Brittany is having trouble holding herself up on her arm.
“Here,” she mumbles, “Turn over.” She rolls the blonde off her and presses her own body on her instead. Their hips collide with a little more force than she expected and Brittany lets out an unexpected happy sigh.
“Do that again.”
Santana grinds her hips forward, and feels it too. She smiles in surprise and recognition.
“Again,” Brittany commands. Santana complies, and Brittany lets out a gasping laugh of liking, opening her mouth to repeat the command, but Santana has beaten her to it. She laughs with her, and pushes her leg further between Brittany’s thighs. The blonde raises her own leg instinctively, and this time, when Santana grinds forward, both their laughs are cut off with gasps. They look at each other meaningfully, and Santana feels her clothes suddenly get far too tight. When did it get so warm in here?
“San… Can we…” Brittany breathes, but Santana cuts her off with a forceful, open-mouthed kiss. Brittany responds eagerly and pulls her even closer, the heat of the kiss and their bodies doubling the sensations. Brittany pushes her hips upward a little, and Santana grinds down again. She blushes at the surprisingly loud moan that escapes her lips, but smiles when she realizes it’s only loud because Brittany was moaning too.
They grind against each other, finding a steady rhythm, until their panting starts to push them to move to a faster beat, and they speed up, muffling each other’s gasps with lips and tongues and teeth. Santana’s pajamas hitch up and pull at her skin, both part of the pleasure and a barrier between feeling Brittany’s bare skin. She briefly considers stopping to take them off and try what they did in the shower again, but this is new as well, and exciting, and feels damn near as good. Brittany grabs her hips and pulls her down a little harder, and they break the kiss when Brittany pushes her head back into the pillow. It’s only been a few minutes of rubbing and heavy breathing, but they’re both new to this, and the kissing alone was already enough to heat them to simmering. With a final push, they both boil over, and Santana bites her lips, hard, to keep from crying out, but it’s no use because she forgets why she wanted to hold back a cry in the first place as waves of pleasure course through her body and the cry escapes her lips anyway in the form of a throaty I love you.
They continue to writhe against each other, but it’s lost the insistence of before as they both ease their bodies down from their orgasms. With a sigh, Santana tumbles down against Brittany, and slides off her slightly. She curls up around her body and breathes in her damp hair with uneven, raspy breaths. She could fall asleep right there, and starts to, but Brittany shifts beneath her and turns her body to face her.
“San,” she says quietly, and brushes her hand over her cheek. Santana opens her eyes, and smiles, remembering both Brittany’s confession and her own. She can see it again in Brittany’s eyes, and leans forward to kiss her softly. They continue to breathe heavily into the gentle kiss, but when their breathing slows down, they pull apart.
Santana closes her eyes and snuggles closer.
“San,” Brittany whispers again, and Santana opens her eyes at her best-friend-turned-lover’s resolute tone.
“I don’t love you,” Brittany says with certainty. Santana’s eyes widen in shock and she feels her heart drop and her stomach clench. Brittany couldn’t be saying this. She’d just confessed the opposite before their second time. And she, Santana, had just said the words herself, and she hadn’t even regretted it. And now… She starts to pull away from Brittany’s embrace and turns her face away to hide the small tears she’s sure will squeeze out, because she’s Santana Lopez, and Santana doesn’t let anyone see her cry, but Brittany lifts her face up and kisses her with conviction and a small, reassuring laugh. “I don’t love you,” she repeats, and holds Santana’s gaze. “I’m in love with you.”
The tears still squeeze out, but Santana lets Brittany see them. She’s seen all of me now, she thinks, and, with a smile, her worry floats away and her heart shifts a few inches too high again. She whispers her confession against Brittany’s lips: “I’m in love with you too.”
They just look at each other, absorbing the sight and savoring their memories, before wrapping their arms around the other’s waist and kissing each other tenderly to sleep.