Fic: airplanes in the night sky (Brittany/Santana NC-17)
Title: airplanes in the night sky
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 3x05
Wordcount: 2800
Summary: They’ll be going home tomorrow, back to school and Cheerios and real life, but for tonight they have each other, and that’s enough.
Author’s Note: IT’S OKAY YOU GUYS I TOTALLY FIXED IT.
It’s cold away from the heat of the campfire, and Santana snuggles further into her sleeping bag and tries to ignore the late summer breeze blowing through the gap in the door of their tent. Brittany is lying on her back, head half sticking out of the gap, staring up at the night sky, enjoying their last night at camp. Santana tries to ignore the way Brittany’s t-shirt has ridden up, revealing the smooth expanse of stomach, and the way her eyes trail down to Brittany’s hipbones, just sticking out above her shorts.
Things have changed this summer, and Santana isn’t exactly sure what that means. Sometimes now when she looks at Brittany it’s like she’s too bright, and she has to squint and look away. She sees flashes of blond hair and a smile, and it’s like something inside her comes to attention, warmth pooling low in her stomach.
Brittany shifts on her back, legs brushing against Santana bundled up in her sleeping bag, and Santana swallows as her eyes stray to the curve of Brittany’s breasts, and the way they rise and fall as she breathes. It’s the way her eyes sweep over Brittany’s body that she can’t stop, no matter how much she tries, and she tries to tell herself it’s normal to look at her best friend the way she does even though the back of her mind is screaming at her that it isn’t.
The night time is Santana’s favorite, but also something she spends all the daylight hours dreading because she doesn’t understand what it means when she and Brittany share a sleeping bag, legs tangled together so tightly she can’t tell where she ends and Brittany begins. She doesn’t know what it means when Brittany nuzzles closer and kisses her clumsily before they fall asleep, or why she wakes up with her face pressed into Brittany’s neck, lips kissing her collarbone and Brittany’s arms tight around her.
They’d kissed before, a few times. At first it was something for other people, Puck and a crowd of football players cheering them on, but somewhere along the way it became something just for them, hidden away in the safety of their bedrooms where no one else could see. Now it just seems ordinary, and on the one night Brittany had fallen asleep without kissing her goodnight, Santana had stayed awake for hours trying to work out what she’d done wrong, and if it meant that there would be no more kissing. She hadn’t understood the disappointment that had flooded her, or why she’d wanted to scrunch down into her sleeping bag and sob, suddenly sure she’d lost something precious that she’d never get back.
Santana shivers against the breeze again, and the silence is starting to weigh her down, so she nudges Brittany with her foot and says, “What are you looking at, Britt?”
“The lights in the sky,” Brittany says without turning to look at her. She lifts her head to look at her, “Wanna see?”
“It’s probably just a ‘plane,” Santana yawns behind her hand, “And it’s cold.”
Brittany drops her head back down, “I think it’s aliens.”
Santana can hear the smile in her voice and laughs, nudging Brittany in the ribs with her foot, “You’re silly, Britt-Britt.”
Santana nudges Brittany with her feet again, and this time Brittany rolls over and wraps her arms around Santana’s legs. “My legs now,” she sing-songs, then grins at her happily.
Santana laughs and feels the tension go out of her. She knows how to behave when they’re joking around like this, the same Brittany&Santana they’ve been since they were five years old. “Get off!” Santana wiggles in her sleeping back, hoping the shiny material will help her slide free, “I need my legs back.”
“Should have thought about that before you kicked me,” Brittany replies, trying and failing to keep a straight face. She starts to giggle again and pulls Santana’s legs even closer.
Santana squirms and tries to throw her off, but then Brittany is moving, throwing a leg over Santana’s and shifting her weight until she’s straddling Santana’s hips in a way that tugs at Santana low in her belly. Somehow, Brittany spun around in that maneuver as well, and now she stares down at Santana like something important is about to happen, reaching for Santana’s hand and tangling their fingers together.
And just like that the mood has shifted, and Santana is back in unfamiliar territory, trying to keep her eyes on Brittany’s face. Brittany’s shirt has dropped off one shoulder, and Santana watches the line of her arm as she reaches up to sweep her mussed hair out of her eyes. She looks so beautiful that Santana almost can’t stand it.
Brittany sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and ducks her head, bringing her so close that Santana can count the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks, and she’s never been more thankful for the summer sun. The silence stretches, and Santana is sure Brittany must be able to hear the pounding of her heart.
Brittany leans down, impossibly slowly, her hair falling like a curtain around them, and Santana is so focused on Brittany’s lips that she almost misses the sound of twigs snapping outside their tent. And then a flashlight hits them through the canvas and Brittany flattens herself to Santana, and rolls sideways with a grin whispering, “It’s the aliens!” at the same time a voice outside says, “It’s after lights out, stop giggling and go to sleep.”
Santana recognizes the voice as that of one of the counselors, and she can see two pairs of canvas shoes through the gap in the doorway Brittany left behind her. The beam of the flashlight wobbles and then lowers, and a hand appears to draw their zipper closed. She hears a hushed conversation and then one of the counselors whisperers, “Kids,” dismissively, like she knows so much more than them because she’s graduated high school and they’re about to be sophomores.
If Brittany wasn’t pressed into her side, still holding tightly to one hand, she’d call her a bitch or something, just because, but Brittany holds her down and she couldn’t bring herself to move if she wanted to.
After what feels like forever the light turns and they hear the sound of shoes crunching over twigs and leaves as the counselors disappear back to wherever they came from. Santana doesn’t realize how hard she’s breathing until Brittany shifts on to her side and rests her hand lightly on Santana’s chest, over her heart.
“Your heart’s beating kind of fast,” Brittany whispers, and somehow she gets even closer until she’s all Santana can see in the dark. “Are you scared of the aliens?”
She is scared of the aliens, the people, whatever. What if they’d been caught? What if the counselors had unzipped the tent and found them pressed together in one sleeping bag? What if -
Most of all she’s scared of the way Brittany is looking at her right now, like Brittany knows a secret she won’t share. And she’s scared of the way Brittany’s fingertips brush against her skin like she’s fragile, and all Brittany wants to do is keep her safe.
“San?” Brittany whispers, her hand moving a little higher until her fingers are resting on Santana’s jaw, “Are you okay?”
Yes. No. She can’t find the right words, and she doesn’t think they’d come out anyway. The only thing she can think to do, the only thing she wants to do, is kiss Brittany. So she takes a breath and leans forward until her lips find Brittany’s and Brittany’s fingers tighten momentarily on her jaw.
When Santana pulls back, she’s a little embarrassed to find her hand fisted in Brittany’s t-shirt, and she tries to let go but her hand won’t listen to her. She closes her eyes and moves her head forward again, until it rests against Brittany’s and they’re breathing in the same air.
Santana counts three breaths and then they both move at the same time, searching for each other’s lips in the darkness. Brittany’s hand tugs at her cheek and guides them together, and then Brittany is shifting until she’s on top of Santana, pressing her into the sleeping matt beneath them. Brittany’s tongue pushes into her mouth clumsily, and Santana is suddenly glad for the sleeping bag between them. She’s sure, for just a moment, that without it Brittany would be able to feel the embarrassing heat between her legs, evidence of something she’d rather keep hidden.
They’ve never kissed like this before; it’s never been this desperate or needy, all lips and tongues, and breathy moans swallowed before they escape. Brittany tries to unzip Santana’s sleeping bag without breaking the kiss, but it’s impossible, and when she pulls back, Santana tries to follow, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck so that they end up headbutting each other in the dark and giggling into their kisses.
Brittany finally manages to unfasten the sleeping bag, and then she lifts herself and pulls the cover back roughly, leaning back down to kiss her, bare legs pressed to bare legs. Her free hand comes up between them, brushing against Santana’s breast over her shirt, and Santana jerks before she can help herself, gasping a little into Brittany’s mouth.
“Okay?” Brittany whispers again, low against her throat.
“Yes,” Santana gasps out, fingers digging into Brittany’s back. She bites her lip and swallows another gasp as Brittany sucks on the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Are you …okay?”
Brittany raises her head to look Santana in the eye, and nods, “I’m okay.”
“Okay,” Santana whispers as she watches Brittany come closer again.
There’s intent in the kisses, and in the way Brittany touches her. Santana knows this is leading somewhere, and it’s somewhere she wants to go. They haven’t talked about it, but they never do, afraid of what it means for their friendship if they make out sometimes, afraid for what it means for her if she likes it.
All Santana knows if she doesn’t want Brittany to stop.
Brittany shifts her weight until she’s between Santana’s legs, and then her hand moves a little lower, over the plane of her stomach and settling there, just over her belly button.
Santana’s lips are swollen from the pressure of Brittany’s kisses, one hand tangled in Brittany’s hair to keep her close, the other slung over her back, fingers digging into her shoulder blade. She sucks Brittany’s tongue into her mouth greedily, trying to communicate without words what she needs and what she wants.
After a moment, Brittany’s hand moves lower again, plucking at the drawstring on Santana’s shorts and then she stops again, pulling back from Santana’s mouth to find her eyes.
Brittany says, “Can I -“ at the same time Santana says “I want -“ and then Brittany’s fingers are inside her shorts, pushing past her panties and finding slick heat. Brittany doesn’t move for a moment, just breathes hard and rests her forehead against Santana’s, looking for a reaction.
“Britt--” Santana half chokes, half moans, and then Brittany moves her fingers.
Santana clings to Brittany desperately, whimpering against her lips. She knows they have to be quiet, but she can’t seem to stop the noises she’s making, little gasps that cut through Brittany’s shallow breathing.
They kiss clumsily; Santana’s breath keeps hitching in her throat and she jerks back each time, breaking the contact to suck in air. She can feel the pressure building within her, and she bucks her hips against Brittany’s hand desperately, unsure exactly what’s she’s seeking. And then Brittany presses a little harder, and Santana gasps again, raggedly. That’s what she was looking for.
She comes apart against Brittany’s fingers, arms tightening around Brittany’s neck as Brittany presses kisses to her jaw. She shudders as Brittany’s fingers slow, hyper aware of every move they make, and the way her body feels, sated and heavy. Brittany pulls her hand away slowly, curling her fingers into her chest like they’re something precious.
It’s silent but for the sound of their breathing, and nothing Santana could say would express what she’s feeling right now, lying there with Brittany half on top of her and half next to her. It’s peaceful, somehow, like everything is slowly slipping into focus and making sense, and the only thing she wants is to give that feeling to Brittany, any way she can.
Brittany is running her fingers over Santana’s arm absently, head resting on Santana’s shoulder when Santana turns her head to find Brittany’s lips again.
She shifts her weight to the side and rolls them so that she’s straddling Brittany’s hips, head bowed to avoid the top of the tent. Santana sits there for a moment, taking in Brittany’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips, watching the way Brittany’s breath catches when she brushes her fingers against her hips.
She pushes the bottom of Brittany’s t-shirt up, fingers trailing over the smooth skin there, and then leans down to press a kiss against the soft skin. Brittany squirms, one hand sliding round to the back of Santana’s head and tangling in her hair. She sits up again, Brittany’s hand sliding round to cup her cheek, and then pushes Brittany’s shirt a little higher until she finds her bra.
Brittany watches her as her fingers brush against the fabric, like she wants to touch her but doesn’t know how, and then she drops her hand to cover Santana’s and push it inside her bra. Santana stares down at her hand like she can’t believe it’s attached to her, feeling Brittany’s nipple harden against her fingers. She finds Brittany’s eyes again, dark and hooded, and then she leans down to kiss her again.
She knows what to do now, when Brittany starts whimpering underneath her. She slides her hand lower and under the band of Brittany’s shorts, slowly, like she still can’t believe this is happening. She isn’t ready for the wetness she finds there, that she caused, and the way she feels a sympathetic twitch between her own legs.
She isn’t ready for how touching Brittany feels - like she’s touching Brittany and herself at the same time, but different, and better, and more all at once.
Brittany arches up underneath her, searching for her lips, and Santana licks into her mouth slowly, savoring the feel of it. They settle into a rhythm, rocking against each other slowly, Santana’s hand sliding between their bodies. Brittany’s breathing has gotten shallow again, like she can’t quite get her breath, and she’s starting to moan a little lower in her throat every time Santana moves against her.
It feels like they’ve been locked together like this forever, like there’s nothing and no-one in the world but them, and Santana isn’t sure she wants to wake up to a world where things go back to the way they were before.
She holds on to Brittany as she shudders and gasps against her, burying her face in Santana’s hair as she comes in an attempt to hide the sounds she’s making. Santana hears every single one.
They lie in the dark trying to catch their breath, so close they can breathe each other in, but trying to put themselves back together.
It feels like an age before Brittany shifts beneath her, and then she looks up at her with shy eyes and a bashful smile. Santana feels the smile on her own face, and kisses her once, softly, before resting her head on Brittany’s chest. Brittany’s arms come up and wrap around her, and Santana feels safe in the way that she only ever does with Brittany, and has ever since they were little.
She doesn’t want to ask what this means for them, she just wants to remember the feeling of Brittany kissing her forehead and pulling her closer, tucking the sleeping bag around them more tightly. They’ll be going home tomorrow, back to school and Cheerios and real life, but for tonight they have each other, and that’s enough.
Santana’s starting to nod off when she hears of the hum of the plane flying overheard. She jerks awake and murmurs, “Is that the aliens?” before she realizes what she’s saying. Then she ducks her head, embarrassed.
Brittany’s arms tighten around her, half a smile on her face that makes her look much older than she is. “Yes,” she murmurs against Santana’s forehead drowsily, “But I’ll keep you safe.”
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 3x05
Wordcount: 2800
Summary: They’ll be going home tomorrow, back to school and Cheerios and real life, but for tonight they have each other, and that’s enough.
Author’s Note: IT’S OKAY YOU GUYS I TOTALLY FIXED IT.
It’s cold away from the heat of the campfire, and Santana snuggles further into her sleeping bag and tries to ignore the late summer breeze blowing through the gap in the door of their tent. Brittany is lying on her back, head half sticking out of the gap, staring up at the night sky, enjoying their last night at camp. Santana tries to ignore the way Brittany’s t-shirt has ridden up, revealing the smooth expanse of stomach, and the way her eyes trail down to Brittany’s hipbones, just sticking out above her shorts.
Things have changed this summer, and Santana isn’t exactly sure what that means. Sometimes now when she looks at Brittany it’s like she’s too bright, and she has to squint and look away. She sees flashes of blond hair and a smile, and it’s like something inside her comes to attention, warmth pooling low in her stomach.
Brittany shifts on her back, legs brushing against Santana bundled up in her sleeping bag, and Santana swallows as her eyes stray to the curve of Brittany’s breasts, and the way they rise and fall as she breathes. It’s the way her eyes sweep over Brittany’s body that she can’t stop, no matter how much she tries, and she tries to tell herself it’s normal to look at her best friend the way she does even though the back of her mind is screaming at her that it isn’t.
The night time is Santana’s favorite, but also something she spends all the daylight hours dreading because she doesn’t understand what it means when she and Brittany share a sleeping bag, legs tangled together so tightly she can’t tell where she ends and Brittany begins. She doesn’t know what it means when Brittany nuzzles closer and kisses her clumsily before they fall asleep, or why she wakes up with her face pressed into Brittany’s neck, lips kissing her collarbone and Brittany’s arms tight around her.
They’d kissed before, a few times. At first it was something for other people, Puck and a crowd of football players cheering them on, but somewhere along the way it became something just for them, hidden away in the safety of their bedrooms where no one else could see. Now it just seems ordinary, and on the one night Brittany had fallen asleep without kissing her goodnight, Santana had stayed awake for hours trying to work out what she’d done wrong, and if it meant that there would be no more kissing. She hadn’t understood the disappointment that had flooded her, or why she’d wanted to scrunch down into her sleeping bag and sob, suddenly sure she’d lost something precious that she’d never get back.
Santana shivers against the breeze again, and the silence is starting to weigh her down, so she nudges Brittany with her foot and says, “What are you looking at, Britt?”
“The lights in the sky,” Brittany says without turning to look at her. She lifts her head to look at her, “Wanna see?”
“It’s probably just a ‘plane,” Santana yawns behind her hand, “And it’s cold.”
Brittany drops her head back down, “I think it’s aliens.”
Santana can hear the smile in her voice and laughs, nudging Brittany in the ribs with her foot, “You’re silly, Britt-Britt.”
Santana nudges Brittany with her feet again, and this time Brittany rolls over and wraps her arms around Santana’s legs. “My legs now,” she sing-songs, then grins at her happily.
Santana laughs and feels the tension go out of her. She knows how to behave when they’re joking around like this, the same Brittany&Santana they’ve been since they were five years old. “Get off!” Santana wiggles in her sleeping back, hoping the shiny material will help her slide free, “I need my legs back.”
“Should have thought about that before you kicked me,” Brittany replies, trying and failing to keep a straight face. She starts to giggle again and pulls Santana’s legs even closer.
Santana squirms and tries to throw her off, but then Brittany is moving, throwing a leg over Santana’s and shifting her weight until she’s straddling Santana’s hips in a way that tugs at Santana low in her belly. Somehow, Brittany spun around in that maneuver as well, and now she stares down at Santana like something important is about to happen, reaching for Santana’s hand and tangling their fingers together.
And just like that the mood has shifted, and Santana is back in unfamiliar territory, trying to keep her eyes on Brittany’s face. Brittany’s shirt has dropped off one shoulder, and Santana watches the line of her arm as she reaches up to sweep her mussed hair out of her eyes. She looks so beautiful that Santana almost can’t stand it.
Brittany sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and ducks her head, bringing her so close that Santana can count the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks, and she’s never been more thankful for the summer sun. The silence stretches, and Santana is sure Brittany must be able to hear the pounding of her heart.
Brittany leans down, impossibly slowly, her hair falling like a curtain around them, and Santana is so focused on Brittany’s lips that she almost misses the sound of twigs snapping outside their tent. And then a flashlight hits them through the canvas and Brittany flattens herself to Santana, and rolls sideways with a grin whispering, “It’s the aliens!” at the same time a voice outside says, “It’s after lights out, stop giggling and go to sleep.”
Santana recognizes the voice as that of one of the counselors, and she can see two pairs of canvas shoes through the gap in the doorway Brittany left behind her. The beam of the flashlight wobbles and then lowers, and a hand appears to draw their zipper closed. She hears a hushed conversation and then one of the counselors whisperers, “Kids,” dismissively, like she knows so much more than them because she’s graduated high school and they’re about to be sophomores.
If Brittany wasn’t pressed into her side, still holding tightly to one hand, she’d call her a bitch or something, just because, but Brittany holds her down and she couldn’t bring herself to move if she wanted to.
After what feels like forever the light turns and they hear the sound of shoes crunching over twigs and leaves as the counselors disappear back to wherever they came from. Santana doesn’t realize how hard she’s breathing until Brittany shifts on to her side and rests her hand lightly on Santana’s chest, over her heart.
“Your heart’s beating kind of fast,” Brittany whispers, and somehow she gets even closer until she’s all Santana can see in the dark. “Are you scared of the aliens?”
She is scared of the aliens, the people, whatever. What if they’d been caught? What if the counselors had unzipped the tent and found them pressed together in one sleeping bag? What if -
Most of all she’s scared of the way Brittany is looking at her right now, like Brittany knows a secret she won’t share. And she’s scared of the way Brittany’s fingertips brush against her skin like she’s fragile, and all Brittany wants to do is keep her safe.
“San?” Brittany whispers, her hand moving a little higher until her fingers are resting on Santana’s jaw, “Are you okay?”
Yes. No. She can’t find the right words, and she doesn’t think they’d come out anyway. The only thing she can think to do, the only thing she wants to do, is kiss Brittany. So she takes a breath and leans forward until her lips find Brittany’s and Brittany’s fingers tighten momentarily on her jaw.
When Santana pulls back, she’s a little embarrassed to find her hand fisted in Brittany’s t-shirt, and she tries to let go but her hand won’t listen to her. She closes her eyes and moves her head forward again, until it rests against Brittany’s and they’re breathing in the same air.
Santana counts three breaths and then they both move at the same time, searching for each other’s lips in the darkness. Brittany’s hand tugs at her cheek and guides them together, and then Brittany is shifting until she’s on top of Santana, pressing her into the sleeping matt beneath them. Brittany’s tongue pushes into her mouth clumsily, and Santana is suddenly glad for the sleeping bag between them. She’s sure, for just a moment, that without it Brittany would be able to feel the embarrassing heat between her legs, evidence of something she’d rather keep hidden.
They’ve never kissed like this before; it’s never been this desperate or needy, all lips and tongues, and breathy moans swallowed before they escape. Brittany tries to unzip Santana’s sleeping bag without breaking the kiss, but it’s impossible, and when she pulls back, Santana tries to follow, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck so that they end up headbutting each other in the dark and giggling into their kisses.
Brittany finally manages to unfasten the sleeping bag, and then she lifts herself and pulls the cover back roughly, leaning back down to kiss her, bare legs pressed to bare legs. Her free hand comes up between them, brushing against Santana’s breast over her shirt, and Santana jerks before she can help herself, gasping a little into Brittany’s mouth.
“Okay?” Brittany whispers again, low against her throat.
“Yes,” Santana gasps out, fingers digging into Brittany’s back. She bites her lip and swallows another gasp as Brittany sucks on the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Are you …okay?”
Brittany raises her head to look Santana in the eye, and nods, “I’m okay.”
“Okay,” Santana whispers as she watches Brittany come closer again.
There’s intent in the kisses, and in the way Brittany touches her. Santana knows this is leading somewhere, and it’s somewhere she wants to go. They haven’t talked about it, but they never do, afraid of what it means for their friendship if they make out sometimes, afraid for what it means for her if she likes it.
All Santana knows if she doesn’t want Brittany to stop.
Brittany shifts her weight until she’s between Santana’s legs, and then her hand moves a little lower, over the plane of her stomach and settling there, just over her belly button.
Santana’s lips are swollen from the pressure of Brittany’s kisses, one hand tangled in Brittany’s hair to keep her close, the other slung over her back, fingers digging into her shoulder blade. She sucks Brittany’s tongue into her mouth greedily, trying to communicate without words what she needs and what she wants.
After a moment, Brittany’s hand moves lower again, plucking at the drawstring on Santana’s shorts and then she stops again, pulling back from Santana’s mouth to find her eyes.
Brittany says, “Can I -“ at the same time Santana says “I want -“ and then Brittany’s fingers are inside her shorts, pushing past her panties and finding slick heat. Brittany doesn’t move for a moment, just breathes hard and rests her forehead against Santana’s, looking for a reaction.
“Britt--” Santana half chokes, half moans, and then Brittany moves her fingers.
Santana clings to Brittany desperately, whimpering against her lips. She knows they have to be quiet, but she can’t seem to stop the noises she’s making, little gasps that cut through Brittany’s shallow breathing.
They kiss clumsily; Santana’s breath keeps hitching in her throat and she jerks back each time, breaking the contact to suck in air. She can feel the pressure building within her, and she bucks her hips against Brittany’s hand desperately, unsure exactly what’s she’s seeking. And then Brittany presses a little harder, and Santana gasps again, raggedly. That’s what she was looking for.
She comes apart against Brittany’s fingers, arms tightening around Brittany’s neck as Brittany presses kisses to her jaw. She shudders as Brittany’s fingers slow, hyper aware of every move they make, and the way her body feels, sated and heavy. Brittany pulls her hand away slowly, curling her fingers into her chest like they’re something precious.
It’s silent but for the sound of their breathing, and nothing Santana could say would express what she’s feeling right now, lying there with Brittany half on top of her and half next to her. It’s peaceful, somehow, like everything is slowly slipping into focus and making sense, and the only thing she wants is to give that feeling to Brittany, any way she can.
Brittany is running her fingers over Santana’s arm absently, head resting on Santana’s shoulder when Santana turns her head to find Brittany’s lips again.
She shifts her weight to the side and rolls them so that she’s straddling Brittany’s hips, head bowed to avoid the top of the tent. Santana sits there for a moment, taking in Brittany’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips, watching the way Brittany’s breath catches when she brushes her fingers against her hips.
She pushes the bottom of Brittany’s t-shirt up, fingers trailing over the smooth skin there, and then leans down to press a kiss against the soft skin. Brittany squirms, one hand sliding round to the back of Santana’s head and tangling in her hair. She sits up again, Brittany’s hand sliding round to cup her cheek, and then pushes Brittany’s shirt a little higher until she finds her bra.
Brittany watches her as her fingers brush against the fabric, like she wants to touch her but doesn’t know how, and then she drops her hand to cover Santana’s and push it inside her bra. Santana stares down at her hand like she can’t believe it’s attached to her, feeling Brittany’s nipple harden against her fingers. She finds Brittany’s eyes again, dark and hooded, and then she leans down to kiss her again.
She knows what to do now, when Brittany starts whimpering underneath her. She slides her hand lower and under the band of Brittany’s shorts, slowly, like she still can’t believe this is happening. She isn’t ready for the wetness she finds there, that she caused, and the way she feels a sympathetic twitch between her own legs.
She isn’t ready for how touching Brittany feels - like she’s touching Brittany and herself at the same time, but different, and better, and more all at once.
Brittany arches up underneath her, searching for her lips, and Santana licks into her mouth slowly, savoring the feel of it. They settle into a rhythm, rocking against each other slowly, Santana’s hand sliding between their bodies. Brittany’s breathing has gotten shallow again, like she can’t quite get her breath, and she’s starting to moan a little lower in her throat every time Santana moves against her.
It feels like they’ve been locked together like this forever, like there’s nothing and no-one in the world but them, and Santana isn’t sure she wants to wake up to a world where things go back to the way they were before.
She holds on to Brittany as she shudders and gasps against her, burying her face in Santana’s hair as she comes in an attempt to hide the sounds she’s making. Santana hears every single one.
They lie in the dark trying to catch their breath, so close they can breathe each other in, but trying to put themselves back together.
It feels like an age before Brittany shifts beneath her, and then she looks up at her with shy eyes and a bashful smile. Santana feels the smile on her own face, and kisses her once, softly, before resting her head on Brittany’s chest. Brittany’s arms come up and wrap around her, and Santana feels safe in the way that she only ever does with Brittany, and has ever since they were little.
She doesn’t want to ask what this means for them, she just wants to remember the feeling of Brittany kissing her forehead and pulling her closer, tucking the sleeping bag around them more tightly. They’ll be going home tomorrow, back to school and Cheerios and real life, but for tonight they have each other, and that’s enough.
Santana’s starting to nod off when she hears of the hum of the plane flying overheard. She jerks awake and murmurs, “Is that the aliens?” before she realizes what she’s saying. Then she ducks her head, embarrassed.
Brittany’s arms tighten around her, half a smile on her face that makes her look much older than she is. “Yes,” she murmurs against Santana’s forehead drowsily, “But I’ll keep you safe.”