Fic: Bathtime
Title: Bathtime
Author: fullyajar
Pairings: Brittany/Santana
Spoilers: None.
Summary: A quick look at that date all Brittana fans wished would have been explored a little more.
Rating: PG-13. Not smut this time. :P
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, Glee might just become The Brittana Show.
Word count: ~ 2,000
A/N: A random little fic on my birthday! Although I wish I could say it was, this is not me coming back. It’s me happy, for a moment, after a very hard few months. Enjoy it! I ship Brittana as hard as ever, and am missing the fandom, awesome fanfics, and hilarious tumblr posts very much, but life gets in the way! Someday, my fingers will type easily again! :)
“Would you still like me if I had a beard?”
Santana raises her eyebrows in surprise and the corner of her lips twitch with a smile. She should be used to questions like these by now, but she shakes her head with amusement anyway as fidgets for a moment at the door before the lock clicks closed.
“Of course,” she answers on autopilot, grabbing a couple of towels from the bathroom closet.
“And love me too?”
Santana smiles at the quick rise of happiness at Brittany’s trust that Santana does indeed - despite the years of denial - love her.
“Yes,” she answers simply. Always. It settles some of the nerves in her stomach, because despite her rationalizations that they’ve done this before, that they’re just friends, that more people have seen Brittany without clothes than she’d like to admit, Brittany is, at the moment, very close - and very naked. So, she busies her hands for a second more, and stacks Brittany’s clothes neatly on the bathroom sink.
Brittany doesn’t seem to mind, and Santana hears playful splashes from behind her in the tub. Then -
“Even if looked like this?”
Santana can’t think of a way to avoid this one, so, despite the butterflies in her stomach and the way her hands tighten inadvertently on Brittany’s clothes, she turns partway around - and bursts out laughing.
“Britt…”
The blonde grins, and a droplet of foam falls off the beautifully constructed full philosopher’s beard, complete with sideburns, mustache, and ear fuzz. A lock of foam perched on her forehead finalizes the creation, and Brittany slicks up the foam like a cowlick, winking cheekily.
“Well, would you?”
Santana’s laughs subside to chuckles, and she tilts her head sideways adoringly as she steps closer and hunches down next to the bath, letting her fingers skim lightly across the foamy surface of the water and Brittany’s knee.
“Of course I would. You look great with a beard,” Santana answers simply, and smiles wider when Brittany licks her lips and then scrunches up her face in distaste at the soapy taste.
“Eew.”
Santana chuckles indulgently, and then her hand is at the back of Brittany’s neck and her lips are pressed against her. She’s pretty sure this was not her intention, because the butterflies in her stomach are fluttering in protest - they can’t handle this much excitement - but then she feels a wet hand sliding across her cheek and Brittany kisses her back passionately. Brittany’s tongue slides experimentally across Santana’s lips, and Santana tastes soap, but responds nonetheless, opening her mouth and letting Brittany take the lead. Brittany’s hand pulls at the back of Santana’s neck and Santana rises up to lean into the kiss, but suddenly, the towel beneath her feet slips across the tiles and her hand loses its grip on the side of the tub, and Brittany’s lips and the slight taste of soap disappear instantly as Santana lets out a small noise of surprise and falls backwards onto the tiles. Her bathrobe loosens around the middle, exposing a scandalous amount of thigh, and Santana is pretty sure that Brittany starts laughing as much at her furtive attempt to cover up as the fall itself. Her giggles shake her body in the tub, and the foam beard drips into the water.
“Ha, ha, very funny,” Santana grumbles as she collects herself on the floor.
“You have a beard too now,” Brittany points out, and Santana quickly wipes across her face to dislodge the foam. She’s had enough of beards.
“Happy now?” Santana murmurs moodily, flushing with embarrassment.
Brittany scrunches up her face, but her smile doesn’t falter. “You’re so grumpy. You need to relax. Get in here.”
Santana’s heartbeat spikes. “That - that wasn’t the plan.”
“It is now. Save water. Join me,” Brittany commands playfully, splashing with the foam.
Santana hesitates a moment, biting her lip, but Brittany pouts at her playfully, leaning forward and resting her chin on her overlapped hands in a terribly cliché and equally adorable gesture of hopeful pleading, and Santana caves with lips pursed into a reluctant grin.
“Fine,” she grumbles, keeping up the façade, but either Brittany doesn’t care or she can see right through it, because the bubbly blonde squeals happily and scoots over so the water sloshes around her.
“Strip,” she commands, leering at Santana’s bathrobe-clad body with a little too much enthusiasm.
Santana clears her throat with a chastising huff to cover the way her heartbeat just jumped again and rendered her mute. Brittany’s grin widens when, after a short detour across her legs, her eyes find Santana’s face.
“Are you shy or something?” she accuses playfully.
“No, of course not,” Santana snaps on autopilot.
Brittany’s grin widens, and she scoots back further to make room for Santana. “Good, because that would mean I’ve been sitting here naked for like 20 minutes without having realized that we’re now supposed to be shy around each other…”
Santana’s doubtful mood dissipates instantly. Brittany is right - of course. Between all the quips of innocence, wit, and confusion, once in a while, Brittany comes with such a gem of unintentional clarity that it blindsides Santana. She’s glad she’s had the privilege, for the last decade or so, to usually be the one to carry the small treasures of encouragement and honesty with her in her memories. She smiles, squares her shoulders confidently when Brittany looks back up at her, and lets her bathrobe fall of her shoulders dramatically.
Brittany’s face lights up impossibly more, and she actually claps in excitement. “Yay!” she squeals, and Santana’s shoulders hunch from their theatrical heights as she laughs at Brittany’s delight. She bends down and presses a light kiss to her lips.
“You are wonderful,” she murmurs, and kisses her again. Brittany kisses back eagerly, and they remain as they are for a minute, but then Brittany reaches up a wet hand to brush along Santana’s arm, and Santana’s involuntary shiver makes Brittany pull back instantly.
“You’re getting cold. Get in here.”
Santana complies. She steps in across from Brittany gracefully and lowers herself into the water. The warmth engulfs her, and they settle in across from each other easily.
“God, that feels good…” she murmurs. Her shoulders relax completely and she lets herself dip underwater, sliding her hips involuntarily past Brittany’s inner thighs in the process. She rights herself quickly, looking away nervously. Brittany just smiles at her, and Santana can’t help but smile back and relax into the water. Her head falls back slowly onto the edge of the tub, and the warm water washes away her fears for a moment.
The blonde’s legs slide against Santana’s underwater, the billowing of the water floating their movements and suspending their actions. Brittany’s smile hasn’t faltered a bit, but suddenly, there’s a naughty grin in her eyes, and Santana lets out a gasp of surprise when she feels Brittany’s toes pressing into her inner thigh, and moving undoubtedly higher.
“Brittz!” she exclaims, and pushes her foot away, but Brittany just grins wider and does it again - dangerously closer.
“What?” she chirps innocently, and her other foot joins the fight, nudging into Santana’s side and tickling the spots she knows will have Santana squirming within seconds. Santana narrows her eyes playfully.
“Fine,” she asserts simply, and grabs Brittany’s foot from between her legs to tickle the sole. Brittany’s whole body instantly jerks underwater, sending a wave of it over the edge as she squirms with giggles.
“No! Stop! San! Please, stop!” she squeals between half-delighted and half-desperate cries and quivers.
“Say uncle!” Santana demands with an evil grin. Brittany shakes her head, and her body shakes with it.
“Never!”
“Okay then…” She gives Brittany a moment’s breath and then redoubles her efforts along Brittany’s body, crouching in the water and squeezing above her knees, poking her sides, and finally tickling under her armpits. Brittany writhes under the water, begging for mercy, but when Santana hits the sweet spot, her cry comes out as half a moan, her body jerks and her legs kick out - straight into Santana’s ankles. Once again, the brunette topples over - this time into the churning water and Brittany’s waiting arms.
She freezes. Her hands reach for a steady hold on the floor of the tub, but Brittany is still moving so much beneath her that one hand ends up resting just above her breast while the other is tucked awkwardly against Brittany’s back. She lifts her face to Brittany’s, less than an inch away, and gulps.
This isn’t anything new. Santana’s lost count of how often she’s had Brittany pressed against her in the past, grinding their bodies in a familiar rhythm. They’ve definitely done this before. But that’s exactly the point - they’ve done this before. Before I love you. Before I want to be with you. Before Anything’s possible. Since then, she’s been careful. She’s waited and hoped, never going further than gentle kisses and heartfelt, faithful I love you’s. Because she needs Brittany to know that it’s not just sex - not anymore. She wants Brittany’s anything, and she wants everything to be possible.
Brittany’s laughs subside to exhausted pants, and her hand slides along Santana’s spine, coming to rest languidly on her lower back and twirling absent-minded curls of her hair around her fingers.
“You’re so evil,” she murmurs as her breathing slows down and her body deflates. Santana feels the gush of water between their bodies before it’s skin on skin again, and takes in a nervous breath that shudders just enough for Brittany to feel it on her stomach. She looks at Santana inquisitively. There’s a pause as Brittany’s eyes lock with hers, and Santana’s breath releases with equal nerves. Then -
“Are you scared?”
The question comes out of nowhere - and everywhere. Everywhere where Santana’s mind has wandered in the recent past. To hallways filled with leering football players, jading her on to “prove it” or hissing dyke into her ear as they pass. To cross necklaces brandished as evidence and broken picture frames turned down on the fireplace. To friends hunching their shoulders involuntarily when she brushes past them, apologizing with guilty looks or uncertain smiles. To losing Brittany - against all odds, the fear is so there, that Santana’s heart clenches, and she can’t stop herself. The questions form on her tongue. What are we? Are we dating? Are we telling people? What about my parents, about Cheerios, about Glee club, about school?
And…
Can you really love me?
The last one burns on her tongue fiercer than the rest, and she opens her mouth to beg it, but Brittany’s pensive stare turns innocent again, and she wriggles beneath Santana.
“I know what can help. My duckie always shows me how to float. Like if you’re scared of the water or the bubbles, he will help you float.”
Santana holds her breath as Brittany searches around the edge of the tub with her free hand, and studies her face - the tilt of her eyebrows, the wave of her water-laden locks, the well-used laugh-lines, and the startling blue eyes darting around the edge of the tub and narrowing with disappointment when she comes up empty-handed. Brittany’s shrug pulls her out of her engrossed reverie.
“Oh well. I’ll hold on to you then,” Brittany says simply. Her arms circle around Santana’s body and pull her close. “I won’t let you go.”
Santana lets out the breath she was holding, and lets her body rest into Brittany’s arms. I won’t either, she thinks, and closes her eyes with the sense of calm the thought brings.
Her tongue no longer burns to ask that final question. She already knows the answer.
Author: fullyajar
Pairings: Brittany/Santana
Spoilers: None.
Summary: A quick look at that date all Brittana fans wished would have been explored a little more.
Rating: PG-13. Not smut this time. :P
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, Glee might just become The Brittana Show.
Word count: ~ 2,000
A/N: A random little fic on my birthday! Although I wish I could say it was, this is not me coming back. It’s me happy, for a moment, after a very hard few months. Enjoy it! I ship Brittana as hard as ever, and am missing the fandom, awesome fanfics, and hilarious tumblr posts very much, but life gets in the way! Someday, my fingers will type easily again! :)
“Would you still like me if I had a beard?”
Santana raises her eyebrows in surprise and the corner of her lips twitch with a smile. She should be used to questions like these by now, but she shakes her head with amusement anyway as fidgets for a moment at the door before the lock clicks closed.
“Of course,” she answers on autopilot, grabbing a couple of towels from the bathroom closet.
“And love me too?”
Santana smiles at the quick rise of happiness at Brittany’s trust that Santana does indeed - despite the years of denial - love her.
“Yes,” she answers simply. Always. It settles some of the nerves in her stomach, because despite her rationalizations that they’ve done this before, that they’re just friends, that more people have seen Brittany without clothes than she’d like to admit, Brittany is, at the moment, very close - and very naked. So, she busies her hands for a second more, and stacks Brittany’s clothes neatly on the bathroom sink.
Brittany doesn’t seem to mind, and Santana hears playful splashes from behind her in the tub. Then -
“Even if looked like this?”
Santana can’t think of a way to avoid this one, so, despite the butterflies in her stomach and the way her hands tighten inadvertently on Brittany’s clothes, she turns partway around - and bursts out laughing.
“Britt…”
The blonde grins, and a droplet of foam falls off the beautifully constructed full philosopher’s beard, complete with sideburns, mustache, and ear fuzz. A lock of foam perched on her forehead finalizes the creation, and Brittany slicks up the foam like a cowlick, winking cheekily.
“Well, would you?”
Santana’s laughs subside to chuckles, and she tilts her head sideways adoringly as she steps closer and hunches down next to the bath, letting her fingers skim lightly across the foamy surface of the water and Brittany’s knee.
“Of course I would. You look great with a beard,” Santana answers simply, and smiles wider when Brittany licks her lips and then scrunches up her face in distaste at the soapy taste.
“Eew.”
Santana chuckles indulgently, and then her hand is at the back of Brittany’s neck and her lips are pressed against her. She’s pretty sure this was not her intention, because the butterflies in her stomach are fluttering in protest - they can’t handle this much excitement - but then she feels a wet hand sliding across her cheek and Brittany kisses her back passionately. Brittany’s tongue slides experimentally across Santana’s lips, and Santana tastes soap, but responds nonetheless, opening her mouth and letting Brittany take the lead. Brittany’s hand pulls at the back of Santana’s neck and Santana rises up to lean into the kiss, but suddenly, the towel beneath her feet slips across the tiles and her hand loses its grip on the side of the tub, and Brittany’s lips and the slight taste of soap disappear instantly as Santana lets out a small noise of surprise and falls backwards onto the tiles. Her bathrobe loosens around the middle, exposing a scandalous amount of thigh, and Santana is pretty sure that Brittany starts laughing as much at her furtive attempt to cover up as the fall itself. Her giggles shake her body in the tub, and the foam beard drips into the water.
“Ha, ha, very funny,” Santana grumbles as she collects herself on the floor.
“You have a beard too now,” Brittany points out, and Santana quickly wipes across her face to dislodge the foam. She’s had enough of beards.
“Happy now?” Santana murmurs moodily, flushing with embarrassment.
Brittany scrunches up her face, but her smile doesn’t falter. “You’re so grumpy. You need to relax. Get in here.”
Santana’s heartbeat spikes. “That - that wasn’t the plan.”
“It is now. Save water. Join me,” Brittany commands playfully, splashing with the foam.
Santana hesitates a moment, biting her lip, but Brittany pouts at her playfully, leaning forward and resting her chin on her overlapped hands in a terribly cliché and equally adorable gesture of hopeful pleading, and Santana caves with lips pursed into a reluctant grin.
“Fine,” she grumbles, keeping up the façade, but either Brittany doesn’t care or she can see right through it, because the bubbly blonde squeals happily and scoots over so the water sloshes around her.
“Strip,” she commands, leering at Santana’s bathrobe-clad body with a little too much enthusiasm.
Santana clears her throat with a chastising huff to cover the way her heartbeat just jumped again and rendered her mute. Brittany’s grin widens when, after a short detour across her legs, her eyes find Santana’s face.
“Are you shy or something?” she accuses playfully.
“No, of course not,” Santana snaps on autopilot.
Brittany’s grin widens, and she scoots back further to make room for Santana. “Good, because that would mean I’ve been sitting here naked for like 20 minutes without having realized that we’re now supposed to be shy around each other…”
Santana’s doubtful mood dissipates instantly. Brittany is right - of course. Between all the quips of innocence, wit, and confusion, once in a while, Brittany comes with such a gem of unintentional clarity that it blindsides Santana. She’s glad she’s had the privilege, for the last decade or so, to usually be the one to carry the small treasures of encouragement and honesty with her in her memories. She smiles, squares her shoulders confidently when Brittany looks back up at her, and lets her bathrobe fall of her shoulders dramatically.
Brittany’s face lights up impossibly more, and she actually claps in excitement. “Yay!” she squeals, and Santana’s shoulders hunch from their theatrical heights as she laughs at Brittany’s delight. She bends down and presses a light kiss to her lips.
“You are wonderful,” she murmurs, and kisses her again. Brittany kisses back eagerly, and they remain as they are for a minute, but then Brittany reaches up a wet hand to brush along Santana’s arm, and Santana’s involuntary shiver makes Brittany pull back instantly.
“You’re getting cold. Get in here.”
Santana complies. She steps in across from Brittany gracefully and lowers herself into the water. The warmth engulfs her, and they settle in across from each other easily.
“God, that feels good…” she murmurs. Her shoulders relax completely and she lets herself dip underwater, sliding her hips involuntarily past Brittany’s inner thighs in the process. She rights herself quickly, looking away nervously. Brittany just smiles at her, and Santana can’t help but smile back and relax into the water. Her head falls back slowly onto the edge of the tub, and the warm water washes away her fears for a moment.
The blonde’s legs slide against Santana’s underwater, the billowing of the water floating their movements and suspending their actions. Brittany’s smile hasn’t faltered a bit, but suddenly, there’s a naughty grin in her eyes, and Santana lets out a gasp of surprise when she feels Brittany’s toes pressing into her inner thigh, and moving undoubtedly higher.
“Brittz!” she exclaims, and pushes her foot away, but Brittany just grins wider and does it again - dangerously closer.
“What?” she chirps innocently, and her other foot joins the fight, nudging into Santana’s side and tickling the spots she knows will have Santana squirming within seconds. Santana narrows her eyes playfully.
“Fine,” she asserts simply, and grabs Brittany’s foot from between her legs to tickle the sole. Brittany’s whole body instantly jerks underwater, sending a wave of it over the edge as she squirms with giggles.
“No! Stop! San! Please, stop!” she squeals between half-delighted and half-desperate cries and quivers.
“Say uncle!” Santana demands with an evil grin. Brittany shakes her head, and her body shakes with it.
“Never!”
“Okay then…” She gives Brittany a moment’s breath and then redoubles her efforts along Brittany’s body, crouching in the water and squeezing above her knees, poking her sides, and finally tickling under her armpits. Brittany writhes under the water, begging for mercy, but when Santana hits the sweet spot, her cry comes out as half a moan, her body jerks and her legs kick out - straight into Santana’s ankles. Once again, the brunette topples over - this time into the churning water and Brittany’s waiting arms.
She freezes. Her hands reach for a steady hold on the floor of the tub, but Brittany is still moving so much beneath her that one hand ends up resting just above her breast while the other is tucked awkwardly against Brittany’s back. She lifts her face to Brittany’s, less than an inch away, and gulps.
This isn’t anything new. Santana’s lost count of how often she’s had Brittany pressed against her in the past, grinding their bodies in a familiar rhythm. They’ve definitely done this before. But that’s exactly the point - they’ve done this before. Before I love you. Before I want to be with you. Before Anything’s possible. Since then, she’s been careful. She’s waited and hoped, never going further than gentle kisses and heartfelt, faithful I love you’s. Because she needs Brittany to know that it’s not just sex - not anymore. She wants Brittany’s anything, and she wants everything to be possible.
Brittany’s laughs subside to exhausted pants, and her hand slides along Santana’s spine, coming to rest languidly on her lower back and twirling absent-minded curls of her hair around her fingers.
“You’re so evil,” she murmurs as her breathing slows down and her body deflates. Santana feels the gush of water between their bodies before it’s skin on skin again, and takes in a nervous breath that shudders just enough for Brittany to feel it on her stomach. She looks at Santana inquisitively. There’s a pause as Brittany’s eyes lock with hers, and Santana’s breath releases with equal nerves. Then -
“Are you scared?”
The question comes out of nowhere - and everywhere. Everywhere where Santana’s mind has wandered in the recent past. To hallways filled with leering football players, jading her on to “prove it” or hissing dyke into her ear as they pass. To cross necklaces brandished as evidence and broken picture frames turned down on the fireplace. To friends hunching their shoulders involuntarily when she brushes past them, apologizing with guilty looks or uncertain smiles. To losing Brittany - against all odds, the fear is so there, that Santana’s heart clenches, and she can’t stop herself. The questions form on her tongue. What are we? Are we dating? Are we telling people? What about my parents, about Cheerios, about Glee club, about school?
And…
Can you really love me?
The last one burns on her tongue fiercer than the rest, and she opens her mouth to beg it, but Brittany’s pensive stare turns innocent again, and she wriggles beneath Santana.
“I know what can help. My duckie always shows me how to float. Like if you’re scared of the water or the bubbles, he will help you float.”
Santana holds her breath as Brittany searches around the edge of the tub with her free hand, and studies her face - the tilt of her eyebrows, the wave of her water-laden locks, the well-used laugh-lines, and the startling blue eyes darting around the edge of the tub and narrowing with disappointment when she comes up empty-handed. Brittany’s shrug pulls her out of her engrossed reverie.
“Oh well. I’ll hold on to you then,” Brittany says simply. Her arms circle around Santana’s body and pull her close. “I won’t let you go.”
Santana lets out the breath she was holding, and lets her body rest into Brittany’s arms. I won’t either, she thinks, and closes her eyes with the sense of calm the thought brings.
Her tongue no longer burns to ask that final question. She already knows the answer.