Fic: Oak Tree Kiss (Brittany/Santana)

[pew_pew_pew]

Title: Oak Tree Kiss
Rating: PG
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Spoilers: None
Summary: The first kiss.

Santana chases after her; sprints across the wet ground in big, sloppy squelches, crushing blankets of papaya leaves as she fights to stay upright.

She feels her throat seize and her lungs strain for air. Her pulse whooshes and surfaces hot in her cheeks, the throb and buzz of it stinging behind her temples.

Her fingers ache with cold. She tries flexing them, only to feel the joints creak in protest.

She still has no idea why they’re doing this. All she knows is that this morning, Brittany had woken her up with a yank out of bed, begging to finally show her how to climb, and Santana, unable to look away from Britt’s pleading blue eyes, had agreed with all her heart and a nervous feeling in her chest.

Now she prays for the concrete sky to open up one more time, to drown her, to wash her away, because then at least she’d have a good excuse not to ever do this again.

“Come on San!” Britt yells over the wind, turning briefly to check Santana’s not far behind before heading for the towering, burly oak at the edge of the park.

Santana runs and runs and runs. She runs until she thinks she can’t; until she’s grateful that she's being caught in the warm refuge of Brittany's arms. She tries to snuggle. But Brittany pulls away.

“See? It wasn’t so hard,” Britt tells her with a catlike grin, keeping her in a loose embrace and craning her neck up to inspect the monstrosity (challenge) stretched out above them.

Santana stares at Brittany, breathless. She doesn’t dare look up.

There’s something about Britt’s smile, wide and excited, that tugs deeply at the burn in her chest and doesn’t let up. She tries to count Britt’s freckles one by one, cluttered with splatters of mud and rain, cheeks smudged pink. She looks into Britt’s eyes and wants to reach in and take, but she’s not sure what.

Britt giggles, poking her in the side, “Look, silly!”

Santana swallows down her breath. She chews on her lip and chances a peek.

Her knees tremble.

She gulps.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine she’s standing next to a giant. An evil monster-alien-god with knotted arms splaying in all directions, reaching down to claw at the soil and up at the sky, as if it can’t decide whether to stay grounded or fly away.

(Sometimes she feels like that herself.)

They scare her: the thick, jagged branches, covered with ivy and moss like a camouflage snake-skin. Santana wants to reach out and touch, to see if they feel as scaly as they look.

Britt tugs on her raincoat.

“You ready?”

She panics. Of course she’s ready! She’s not a pansy, she’s tough. If her abuela could see her know, she’d say, Get to it, Santanita, you’re a Lopez for heaven’s sake!

So she nods weakly, eyes flickering back and forth between Brittany and the fat, slippery bark. “Um.”

Brittany seems to notice the way Santana’s Converses shift, squealing against the damp earth. She leans in and whispers, like a secret, “Are you scared?”

“What? No!”

Brittany pulls her close.

“I can go first,” she offers, leading them right up to the trunk and running a finger down it. Santana copies her unsurely.

“That way I can figure out where to put my feet and all you have to do is follow!”

Santana shrugs, but it's strained and forced. Her heart starts to hammer in her chest- the idea of Britt hurting herself makes her feel sick.

“N-no. It’s okay. I’ll um…”

“Or you could go first,” Brittany side-steps, not letting go of her hand as she leads them all around the tree to examine. She eyes it carefully, trying to figure out where the good cracks and holes are, “and I’ll be right behind to catch you if you get shaky.”

Santana likes this idea. Briefly, she thinks of Britt’s hands on her, on her hips and around her waist, supporting her. She knows Britt will catch her, just like she always does.

She thinks about Britt’s soft hands and forces down the solitary wave of heat that rises through her.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

Brittany nods once, pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her cheek, twice in succession, and then it’s all over and her heart sinks and she’s being led quickly away from the trunk.

“It’s no good here- too slippery!” Britt explains to her, “How about we follow one of the branches from the ground and then walk our way up?”

Santana nods mutely, trusting she'll be taken care of. She lets herself be helped up onto a thick limb that looks like a misplaced root more than anything else and closes her eyes.

“You can totally do this San! You’re like a gymnast!”

She entertains the idea for a second, imagining she’s balancing on a high beam in a circus, Britt’s hands in her own (like in Titanic) as she steps up right behind her. She remembers the time her Papi taught her to ride her bike, steadying her on either side as she tried not to wobble. Her heart clenches.

They’re not more than a foot off the ground but they walk slowly- at Santana’s insistence- with Brittany guiding their steps. She whispers quiet words of encouragement in Santana’s ear, holding her firmly until the branch begins to slope upwards and Santana realises they’re going to have to crawl.

“Just like The Jungle Book, San, keep your arms and legs around it and slither up,” Brittany nods.

Santana feels light-headed. When she leans over, all she can see is the ground below her, wind whipping hair around her face. She can’t do this.

“Don’t look down. It’s okay San, just don’t look down,” Brittany tugs softly at her ankle and she glances over her shoulder to see Britt smiling at her.

She takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Okay,” she mutters, “okay, right, okay,” she strangles the branch as she shuffles up an inch at a time, panting through it, clenching her thighs until her muscles twitch.

Brittany scoots up as close as she can, coaxing them higher and higher, seconds crawling by until Santana blindly feels her way in front of her and realises she’s reached bark. Her eyes shoot open and she gasps. “Oh my god!” she squeals, throwing her arms around it and holding on for dear life.

She made it. She's alive. God it feels good to be alive.

But she doesn’t dare move. Her palms hurt and the wet wood feels rough against her cheek but she’s safe, that's all that matters, and she finally allows herself to exhale the moment Brittany catches up and wraps arms around her.

“You did it San,” she beams, pushing her forehead against Santana’s back.

“Oh god.”

“Come on, we can’t stop,” Brittany looks up, contemplating the branch above them. She doesn’t warn Santana as she leaps up and latches onto it, swinging to get her legs around it and roll herself on top.

“Britt, what the hell are you doing? Come back here!”

Brittany smiles. She’s like a monkey. She reaches down and offers her hand to Santana who still embraces the trunk, puffs of cold air escaping every time she opens her mouth.

“No.”

“San, come on!”

Santana shakes her head mutely, squeezing her eyes shut for fear she might cry. She hates crying, most of all when she’s with Brittany.

She wants Britt to think she’s brave, like Indiana Jones- after all, there was that one time, when she gave Puck a black eye after recess, when he’d threatened to stick chewing gum in Britt’s beautiful blonde hair. That was a while ago though, and Santana knows she has to redeem herself.

She grapples with her nerves.

“I can’t,” she sniffs, scratching at the moist bark. It smells horrible, like mould and damp and bugs. Oh god, ew, the bugs. How did she not realise this sooner?

Brittany stretches down even further, until she can almost touch Santana’s head.

“Yes you can, please San, come up.”

When Santana finally looks up, through bleary, watery vision, she sees Brittany's pout. She also sees the determination in her eyes, the belief that she can do it; they can do it together.

“Britt, I-I’m scared!” she sobs, rubbing at her cheeks. Her feet swing on either side of where she’s sitting and a fleeting thought that her sneakers might fall off makes her cry harder.

Brittany shuffles awkwardly. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen San cry before.

“It’s okay, I promise. Take my hand.”

“I can’t.”

“Please San. It’s super cool up here! I think I can see your house! Trust me.”

Santana swallows. She lets out another sob, now full-out blubbering as she manages to get herself standing, body flush against the tree, feet stuck together. She looks like a boy soldier, so stiff and scared.

“Trust me San. Do you trust me?”

She’s trembling. Part of her wants to get up there as fast as she can, so Britt can hold her and calm her, so she can hush her and whisper to her some more. Part of her wants to run straight into her Mami's arms.

She stretches blindly and takes Brittany’s cool, sticky hand, and then she’s being heaved powerfully up, up, up.

“Perfect! Now swing your leg over!”

She manages to hook her foot onto the branch and twists, Britt’s hand coming up under her arm to hoist her securely beside her. When she feels her butt settle itself, she collapses into Brittany’s waiting arms, wailing in absolute terror.

“I want to go home!”

Brittany laughs softly, hugging her and leaving kisses into her hair. “That was so great, you’re so great San, I’m so proud of you,” she strokes her back, over the polyester of her jacket.

Santana feels hot and cold at the same time. She’s sure her nose is red as a tomato, but the back of her neck prickles with nervous sweat that licks at her with each gust of wind. Her temples are sweaty too- it doesn’t help her headache much.

“You want to go up one more?”

Santana doesn’t need to say anything for Brittany to realize that by the look on her face, it’s a resounding ‘no’. She nods in understanding, sliding back to rest her shoulders against the body of the tree.

They’re about a third of the way to the highest point of the highest branch, at the heart of the oak where the branches split and diverge into all directions.

They both know that’s as high as they’ll go for now (or probably ever). Brittany had secretly hoped she could convince San to go a little higher (it wouldn’t take much; a step across to the next branch and some more shuffling up its incline), like in the movies, so they could watch the sunset.

But this is good enough.

They can see the distant skyline through an opening in the leaves that still cling on, just like Santana clings on to Brittany.

Brittany gathers San up close to her and brackets her with her knees so she doesn’t fall.

“I think I’m having a heart attack Britt,” Santana whispers, pushing her nose into Britt’s jaw. Unlike the mouldy bark, Britt smells like sugar and citrus and warm soap, and Santana lets her eyes flutter shut, immersing herself in the comfort she feels.

“Are you still scared?”

Yes. The hard knot in the pit of her stomach lingers, like someone let a swarm of butterflies fly free inside her and then bagged them all into a tight, suffocating net.

“A little.”

Brittany shrugs, “It's okay. I’d never let anything happen to you.” She tilts her head to one side, nuzzling between Santana’s eyebrows.

“I know.”

Their hands fumble blindly until Santana manages to link her fingers around Brittany’s wrist. She places it in her lap and quietly draws patterns over her lifeline as Britt draws patterns over her scalp.

She thinks of so many things: how and if they’ll manage to get back down, whether they’ll be best friends for ever, what they’ll do when they grow up, if they’ll always live near each other, if they’ll always love each other.

That last part, she doesn’t really know what it means but she’ll figure it out.

She almost falls asleep, lulled by Brittany's whispered Don't worrys and I'll protect yous, when Brittany fingers her hair and manages to clumsily wind locks of it too tight between her fingers.

“S-sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Santana smiles, looking up into Britt’s wide eyes. She’s so pretty; summer-pretty; she’s the prettiest girl Santana’s ever seen (even prettier than Quinn, she thinks secretly).

She tries to count the freckles again. One, two, three, she makes it to seventeen before she realises it’s getting kind of dark. The smattering of mud has dried, tiny specks forming constellations on the high apples of Brittany’s cheeks. She cups them and runs her thumbs over them, smudging and smoothing the slightly damp skin in time with the flicker of Brittany’s pale eyelashes.

Her Mami always taught her that staring was rude and Santana makes it a point to only do so when she needs to stare someone down.

But this doesn't count.

Britt doesn’t seem to mind. She sits statue still, cool as marble, lips quivering a little when Santana strokes over them once.

Her face glows in the fading sun. Santana can see the sky in the corner of her vision, pomegranate pink bleeding into grape-juice purple. She knows it’s beautiful, as any sunset is, but her eyes stay on Britt, on the tentative beginnings of her smile.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing. You have mud on your face.”

Brittany’s face falls and she frowns in embarrassment, “Oh. Sorry.”

“I like it. It’s like you have twice as many freckles.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm,” Santana unzips the top of her rain coat and reaches into the front pouch of her dungarees, fishing out a wrinkled tissue. She gives the corner a lick and wipes it just below Brittany’s eye.

Brittany waits patiently.

When she’s done, Santana gives a bashful giggle.

“Thanks San.”

“I wish…I wish I had something to give you; like a flower or- or candy. I don’t have anything,” she digs into every pocket she can find but comes up empty handed.

“But why?”

Why? Santana has seen a lot of movies. On weekends, her Mami lets her crawl into bed with her, into cool, crisp sheets where her Papi should be.

And when he works nights, Santana sneaks in early in the morning and they watch Breakfast At Tiffany’s and Roman Holiday and Some Like It Hot. She takes notes (mentally, of course). She’s seen enough to know that girls like flowers and candy and quick, soft kisses.

She’s never kissed anyone before, not the way boys kiss girls.

“Because. You know,” she scrunches her nose, sniffing at Brittany's curious gaze.

“You don’t have to give me anything.”

The thing is, Santana thinks she might like to. She likes the way Britt makes her feel. Sometimes it scares her and she stays up way past her bedtime, trying to understand it. But mostly she feels giddy and full and she wonders if Britt feels it too.

“Britt?”

“Uhuh.”

Santana licks her lips. She notices the way Britt stares at them and her heart thuds.

“Britt, do you want to…”

“What's wrong San?”

“Would it be okay if…I think I want to…”

It’s amazing how obviously realization dawns on Brittany’s face because the moment it happens, she gives a bashful, crooked smile and reaches up to push tiny curls of hair from Santana’s temple, distracting herself, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Do you understand what I’m trying to…” she croaks, watching the way Brittany closes her eyes and leans into her.

“Okay.”

And then she whispers ‘I’m going to kiss you’ and does.

She knows she should keep her eyes open until the last moment but she gets nervous and they squeeze shut of their own accord and then their noses bump and their lips meet, closed and innocent in a first kiss.

Santana aims for a mere brush, a slip-slide to mirror the drops she’d seen run off the leaves lower down.

Something keeps her still though; she listens to the evening breeze hush-hush around them; to how hard Britt breathes, or maybe it’s her.

Either way, Britt’s fingers tickle lightly over her temples and into her hair and Santana can do nothing except move impossibly close and wait.

She gets so dizzy, so light.

Brittany pulls away first, slowly, lips popping gently as they part. Her hot breath licks at Santana’s mouth and she gasps.

“Britt.”

“Hi.”

Santana searches for blue eyes, lids heavy and half-mast.

There’s a dull, pulsing ache in her belly, like she’s done something wrong and wonderful. It blooms up through her until she’s weak and aching all over and only Brittany’s arms can keep her from falling apart.

“Again?” Britt whispers, toying with the string of Santana’s hood.

“Okay, please.”

It’s so huge- Santana knows it- what’s happening between them. It means so much, she can already feel the way it’s changing her and opening her, like an overflowing glass ready to spill.

At the heart of this oak, in the darkness of fall, Santana’s braved so many things but this one thing, this one, might just be the biggest yet.