Fic: i-80 west, part four a (Brittany/Santana, R)
Title: i-80 west, part four a
Characters: Brittany/Santana (w/ Quinn, Sam, Mike/Tina)
Length: 12.5k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before leaving for college.
A/N: Thanks as always for JJ for all the handholding, sorting out the end, and making sure I stay on point.
They’re the last ones to arrive at Rachel’s for the party and it totally isn’t her fault because Santana had been wandering around her bedroom in her underwear trying to find something to wear and her hands had taken on a life of their own and really needed to feel just how soft Santana’s skin was.
It’s still the softest, most delicate thing she’s ever felt.
And it wasn’t like Santana had been complaining, so.
She recognises Kurt’s car in the driveway alongside Mike’s, and she’s not sure if she’s imagining it or not but she thinks she can hear the faint thump of the stereo in the basement when they knock on the door, even though the point of having the party in the basement is so the sound doesn’t leak out and annoy the neighbours.
Santana squeezes her fingers while they wait for someone to open the door, and when Brittany turns to look at her she smiles and shrugs a little like she doesn’t know what she wants, just staring at her for a minute before murmuring a quiet, “Hi.”
Brittany laughs and nudges her with her shoulder, feeling her cheeks flush pink under Santana’s gaze, and Santana looks down at the ground, still smiling to herself and just a little bit bashful, until Rachel opens the door.
She greets them with her usual beaming smile and a “Ladies!” and a tiny bitchy part of Brittany wonders why Rachel’s dads didn’t just have the house soundproofed years ago.
“Welcome!” Rachel says as she steps aside to let them in, “If you’d like to come in I can tell you the rules for this evening before we-”
Brittany catches herself just before she rolls her eyes, but Santana doesn’t bother to filter herself, holding up her hand and cutting her off with, “Where’s the booze?” before she glances towards the steps to the basement and shrugs out of her jacket.
Rachel deflates, her smile dimming a little before she recovers and says, “Everyone’s in the basement. Noah seems to have put himself in charge of making drinks.” She pauses for just a second, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she watches them move towards the stairs. She shifts a little, twisting her hands together nervously, before she blurts out, “Please don’t throw up on anything or have sex in any of the rooms,” in a rush, like she can’t help herself.
Brittany laughs, and Santana glances at her with shining eyes and a smirk, leaning over to whisper, “New goal for the evening,” into her ear, breath hot against her skin.
+
Walking into a party that’s already started always feels a little weird, like that jolt in your stomach when you think there’s another step and there isn’t; the way it feels too soon and not soon enough when your feet hit the floor. Everyone but Kurt, Mike and Tina are drinking, and everyone’s movements are a little too big and too loud, like they’re trying hard to cover up the sadness starting to creep into the air.
She sees the way everyone is holding on to each other just a little bit too tight, like they’re afraid to let go because the person might be gone if they do, and she feels Santana’s fingers creep into hers at the same time she starts to reach for her hand, so that they meet halfway before Santana pulls her hand closer and wraps her other hand around it too.
They stay like that, both trying to pretend it doesn’t mean anything more than it usually does, but Brittany can feel the tension all the way up Santana’s arm and into her body, like she’s trying to keep herself from holding on too tight.
Brittany glances at her and tightens her grip until Santana turns to look, her happy-sad summer smile on her face as she tugs at her hand, “Dance with me, Britty?”
“Okay,” Brittany mumbles, and lets Santana pull her towards their friends.
Santana leads her onto the makeshift dance floor, which is really just the space in front of the tiny stage with the chairs pushed back to make room, nudging Mercedes with her hip as she goes past and then laughing when Mercedes says they better keep walking if they know what’s good for them, the words tempered by the grin on her face. Santana winds her way through their friends, and Quinn catches onto Brittany’s free hand when she goes past on Artie’s knee, until Brittany laughs and spins on the spot to watch them roll off, not letting go until she has to.
“Stop trying to steal my girl, Fabray!’ Santana calls after her with a laugh, jerked back by the hand Brittany is still holding on to, and Brittany leans in to press a kiss to Santana’s lips just to make her stop.
“You’re a dork,” Brittany whispers when they break apart, but Santana just grins and wraps her arms around her waist to pull her closer again.
+
They’ve only been dancing for a few minutes when Mike taps Santana on the shoulder and asks if he can cut in with a goofy grin, and Santana pretends to glare at him for a moment before she nods her head.
“I’m gonna go find Sam,” she says, and Brittany is so busy watching her walk away over Mike’s shoulder that she almost forgets to listen to what he’s saying.
She snaps back in and hears, “...tell me I’m doing the right thing,” and she blinks at him for a minute, trying to catch up with the conversation.
“You’re doing the right thing,” she says automatically.
“Britt!” Mike shifts on his feet restlessly, half spinning away and then back again to face her, and she can’t help noticing the fact that it’s almost a dance step, like he can’t help but move in time with the beat thumping out of the speakers, and her feet twitch a little like they want to join in.
“Sorry,” she mumbles quietly, seeing the look on his face.
“I brought it with me,” he says, pulling her off the dance floor and into the little alcove that houses the washing machine. “I still didn’t give it to her.”
“Why not?” Brittany fixes him with a look, “I thought you wanted to.”
“I do but- You know what happened with Finn and Rachel. God, what was I thinking?” he looks like a little boy all of a sudden, the way he did in kindergarten before they really knew each other, and she just shakes her head because he’s almost as useless as Santana is sometimes.
“A promise ring isn’t a wedding ring,” she says quickly, trying to find his eyes. “And you and Tina aren’t Rachel and Finn, okay?”
He nods just once, and swallows, “I can do this. I can do this.” The second one comes out more like a question than he probably intended, and he shakes his head and looks away.
“You totally got this,” Brittany agrees quickly, but she’s not sure he’s even listening anymore because his eyes have latched onto Tina on the other side of the room, and she knows how that goes.
Her eyes go to Santana of their own accord, watching the way she’s laughing and leaning against Sam for support, and she smiles at Mike sheepishly when he catches her looking, the exact same expression on his face.
“We got really lucky didn’t we?” he says softly, glancing over at Tina again, and when she nods bashfully he pulls her into a hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her a little, just because. “Thanks, Britt.”
“You go get her Mikey,” she says as she lets him go, and he grins and turns, striding across the room to reach for Tina’s hand and twirl her into a dance, perfectly in time with the music just like always.
+
She stands still and breathes when he’s gone, content for just a second to lean against the wall and watch their friends, trying to fix the way Mike spins in his sneakers next to Tina and how Quinn stands laughing next to Sam and Santana into her mind. She watches everyone else too; sees the way Kurt and Blaine are draped over each other on the couches and keep moving closer every time they get more than four inches apart, how Mercedes is talking to Sugar and looking at her kind of like she’s crazy, how Rachel is trying to talk to Kurt and Blaine but Finn hovers nearby, trying to insert himself into the conversation until Puck grab his arm and drags him away, pressing a cup into his hand as they go.
When her eyes find Santana again, she’s already gazing back at her, a shy smile on her face that turns into a grin when their eyes meet. She looks a little embarrassed that she’s been caught, but she doesn’t look away, just shrugs and keeps on looking, eyes soft and shining like Brittany is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
She feels like she and Santana are the only ones in the room, and she knows a blush is creeping into her cheeks the longer they stand there, until the tips of her ears burn and she laughs and rubs at her forehead with her fist while Santana’s grin widens, like she’s won something they weren’t even playing for.
After a moment Santana swings her arm forward and holds up a bottle of something that looks suspiciously like tequila, her smile turning wicked, and Brittany shakes her head as Santana says something to Sam and then crosses the room towards her, bottle dangling loosely in her left hand.
“Tequila?” Brittany asks once Santana gets to her, wrinkling her nose.
“It makes me happy,” Santana sings, voice cracking a little as she starts to laugh, and Brittany rolls her eyes because it doesn’t actually, and she’s held her hair back while she throws up enough times to know.
She comes closer, leaning into her a little like she’s going to kiss her, but all Brittany can smell is the liquor on her breath so she presses a kiss to Santana’s cheek instead. “Where did you even get a bottle of tequila?”
“Puck gave it to me,” Santana shrugs and holds the bottle up in front of her face to peer at how much is left. “He said it was for old time’s sake,” she pulls her face a little at that and then reaches her free hand over to tug at Brittany’s fingers, her expression turning happy again quickly. “Do a shot with me, Britty,” she says sweetly, swinging their hands between them, “I think there’s lime around here somewhere.”
“Lime and salt,” Brittany says softly, because giving in was just sort of inevitable but there’s no way she’s drinking the stuff without something to cover the taste, and Santana grins and pulls her over to the table under the stairs that’s doubling as a bar for the evening, still gripping the bottle tightly.
She picks up a couple of shot glasses before discarding them again, and then comes up with one that’s mostly clean and sets it down on the table carefully, sweeping a couple of bottles out of the way. She pours the tequila slowly until it’s almost up to the lip of the glass, and then screws the top back on the bottle before setting it down next to her elbow on the table so it’s still in reach.
She grins at Brittany and nudges the shot a little closer before pushing a couple more bottles out of the way and finding the salt shaker, and then plucking a wedge of lime from a tupperwear tub hiding behind the vodka. “Rachel wouldn’t let Puck keep the knife down here,” she says by way of explanation. “And don’t ask about the old lady tupperwear.”
“Gross,” Brittany mumbles, wrapping her fingers around the salt shaker.
She watches Santana twirl the lime in her fingers and smirk, “Ready Britt-Britt?”
Brittany nods, and Santana looks like the cat that got the cream as she puts the wedge of lime between her teeth and leans towards her, eyes flashing as she comes closer.
She kind of wants to wipe the smirk off of Santana’s face, just because Santana won the looking game and thinks she can win this one too, and she leans forward to lick a trail up Santana’s neck to that spot behind her ear that makes her shudder, taking her time and sucking slowly until she feels Santana tremble a little and thread a hand into her hair to try and pull her closer.
Brittany pulls back with a lazy smirk, shakes the salt out against Santana’s skin, checking it’s stuck there before leaning in to lick it off, then throws back the shot and wraps her mouth around the lime between Santana’s teeth and sucks, making sure to brush her tongue against Santana’s lips as she does so, until Santana whimpers and presses herself against her.
Brittany breaks the kiss to pull the lime out of her mouth, and watches Santana compose herself enough to grumble, “I hate you,” with a little shudder and roll of her eyes, and then Brittany grins and shakes her head at the look on Santana’s face.
“No you don’t,” Brittany says through her smirk, reaching for her again to pull her closer.
“No I don’t,” Santana agrees, against her lips.
+
They do another couple of shots, laughing into each other’s mouths and sucking the lime taste from their lips, pulling their faces as the liquor burns their throats. Brittany has never liked the taste of tequila but she likes the part with the lime and the salt and Santana kissing her in between, sucking her bottom lip between both of hers and cupping her cheek to steady herself, in a way that more than makes up for it.
They don’t finish the bottle, and Santana glances around them before hiding it under the table as though that’s going to stop people from finding it, and then she laughs and pours them both a vodka lemonade before pulling Brittany over to the couch against the back wall, curling up next to her and lying with her head in Brittany’s lap.
She’s content enough to sprawl there and watch everyone else have a good time, and Brittany rubs her fingers against Santana’s spine until Santana’s whole body relaxes into her, curling around her own like Lord Tubbington does when she rubs behind his ears. It’s kind of peaceful despite the noise all around them, and Santana feels warm and reassuring where she’s pressed into Brittany’s side.
And it’s not like she’s going to lose Santana or anything because Brittany’s pretty sure someone tied them together when they were kids with this stretchy invisible string stuff that you can never break just in case, but she’s kind of glad that Santana’s so close just the same.
Santana watches everyone while Brittany watches Santana watching, running her fingers through strands of Santana’s hair where she’s made it wavy, following the contours until she gets to the ends then starting all over again. Santana catcalls at their friends occasionally but there’s no malice in it, except for maybe when she starts shouting things about Finn’s awful dancing when he starts to shuffle around the dance floor, and Brittany has to hide a grin behind her hand.
They sip at their drinks, Brittany slowly and Santana a little quicker, and Brittany can feel the edges of everything starting to get a little buzzy, only it doesn’t really feel all that different because the whole summer has started to feel like that lately. It’s in the way lights seem too bright, the mirror ball spinning in the ceiling and throwing specks of light everywhere, and it’s in the way everyone has smiles on their faces that are kind of sad, like they know it’s all coming to an end.
Santana glances up at her out of the corners of her eyes, almost like she’s hoping Brittany won’t notice, and Brittany squeezes her hand a little, tangling their fingers together more tightly, and hears Santana sigh happily under the music.
+
Someone has a playlist of all the songs they’ve ever sung together in glee club, and when Somebody To Love comes on, Santana snuggles a little closer and hums along happily with a grin on her face.
“I like this song,” Brittany whispers like it’s a secret, and Santana twists to look at her, eyes shining.
Her smile widens and her eyes sparkle, and then she says, “You just liked the way I looked in that shirt and tie,” with a little shrug of her shoulders and the smirk that means she’s teasing.
Brittany laughs and shoves at her a little, watching as Santana absorbs the force then somehow moves even closer, hooking her arm around Brittany’s legs and holding on.
“Oh,” Brittany deadpans, “That must be it.”
Santana laughs and presses her lips into Brittany’s thigh, then turns to look up at her again, grinning stupidly while Artie starts loudly singing his parts along with the recording, wheeling himself round Mercedes while she sings Rachel’s verse part and then laughing every time Finn glares at them. Mercedes starts ad-libbing over the end section like she can’t help herself, swaying a little while everyone starts to cheer, and Santana pushes herself up on her elbows to get a better look.
“Y’go Wheezy,” she shouts across the room, “Troubletones represent!” with this little wave of her hand that Brittany suspects is supposed to be all thug or something but just ends up being adorable, and Mercedes turns to crook a finger at Santana and beckon her closer, and then Santana’s on her feet and joining in, wailing loudly and a little bit out of key before Brittany even realises she’s gone.
They take it in turns trying to outdo each other, both of them singing ridiculous runs until their voices crack and strain against the higher notes, neither wanting to be the first to give in, and then they collapse against each other laughing when Mercedes hits a note that Brittany thinks maybe breaks her ears because she can’t hear it right and wrap their arms around each other as they gasp for breath.
+
After, Santana sinks back down onto the couch next to her, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping one arm around them. She’s still breathing hard like she’s run a race, and she bumps her head against Brittany’s shoulder, until Brittany slides her arm around her and pulls her close. “Your voice is so beautiful it breaks my ears,” Brittany whispers softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the shell of her ear, and Santana squirms next to her, trying to pull away but somehow ending up closer than she was to begin with.
“Pretty words,” Santana murmurs almost to herself, tilting her head up to kiss the underside of Brittany’s chin. “Say more pretty words, pretty girl.”
“I love you,” Brittany whispers, watching Santana’s eyes go impossibly soft and deep before she pushes herself up to bring their lips together.
The kiss is gentle and lingering, Santana’s hand on the back of her head keeping her close and still, their noses and foreheads touching each time the kiss breaks. It feels like Santana is trying to put them back together again like those old two-headed, four-armed and four-legged people Santana had told her about shyly one night in the quiet of her room, and Brittany knows it’s because she said the prettiest words of all.
+
They only stop kissing when Artie wheels over and coughs loudly, and Brittany untangles herself from Santana a little to see Quinn sitting in his lap, curled into his chest with one arm around his neck and the other clutching an open bottle of whiskey.
“Can we help you?” Santana snarks before anyone gets a chance to say anything, hand still threaded into Brittany’s hair and rubbing softly behind her ear, and Artie looks kind of sheepish and a little bit afraid, just sort of by habit.
“Quinn wanted to come over here,” Artie says by way of explanation, and Brittany knows he’s fighting hard not to look away from Santana’s glare.
“Quinn can walk,” Santana replies quickly, eyes shifting over to look at her pointedly.
“Rides are more fun,” Quinn says carelessly, pressing a kiss to Artie’s cheek before she scrambles off him and hands him the whiskey. “And I miss my wheels.”
Something about the way she says it makes Brittany think that she isn’t talking about the chair.
Artie blushes furiously and spins himself around to wheel away, glancing back over his shoulder a couple of times as he goes, and Santana rolls her eyes and huffs, looking as though she wants to say something but doesn’t at the same time.
“Tell me you didn’t just let the only alcohol you had roll off with Artie,” Santana says eventually, as Quinn stares down at them, Santana’s legs still in Brittany’s lap, Brittany’s hand still tucked just under the bottom of Santana’s dress against her thigh.
Quinn shakes her head in exasperation as Santana scoffs, “What kind of friend are you?”
“What kind of friends are you? You’re supposed to be at a party with your friends-the last party with your friends-not making out in a corner,” Quinn snaps back, holding her hand out to Brittany. “Come and dance.”
Brittany takes her hand at once, glancing at Santana apologetically and sliding out from underneath her legs.
“Okay fine,” Santana says with a sigh when they both stand there looking down at her, “But drinks first.”
+
Brittany leaves Santana with Quinn while she goes to the bathroom, holding hands and twirling round each other in time to some Florence + the Machine song she only half recognises but knows Santana and Tina love, and watches the way the mirror ball sends lights dancing over their smiling faces as they sing along before she ducks out of the room.
The bathroom’s occupied, so she leans back against the wall to wait, listening to the muffled song coming from the basement with a faint smile on her face and mumbles “Shake it out, shake it out,” along to the chorus tunelessly.
She’s lost in the beat when the door opens, and she has to blink a couple of times before the figure in the door smiling at her tightly turns into Kurt, “Hey Britt.”
“What’s up?” she replies automatically, still half in the other room with her vodka lemonade and Quinn and Santana, nodding along as the song finishes.
“Just enjoying the soiree,” he says, with a little wave of his hand, but it looks wrong somehow, like his heart isn’t really in it.
“Okay,” Brittany wrinkles her nose a little and looks at him closely to check if he’s making a joke. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you have too much to drink? I could get you a glass of water.” She watches him peer down the stairs to find Blaine, hanging on Rachel’s arm and laughing at something she said, and she realises there’s more wrong than a glass of water can fix.
Kurt doesn’t say anything, just watches Blaine with this kind of heartbreak expression on his face that Brittany recognises as the look Santana wears sometimes when they’re lying in the dark tracing each other’s faces with their fingertips and kissing clumsily.
She doesn’t really know how something can be happy and sad at the same time, how something can be so beautiful and wonderful that it makes you hurt, but it can, and the whole night is starting to feel a little like that without her even noticing.
“You’re gonna miss him,” it’s not really a question but he nods anyway, before rubbing a hand over his face.
“You’re really lucky, Britt,” Kurt says eventually, with a sad little half smile on his face, before he walks away.
+
When Brittany goes back into the basement, Santana’s dancing up on Sam and laughing, shaking her ass at him outrageously with this massive smirk on her face while she croons lines from Trouty Mouth over the top of the song coming from the CD player and tries to poke at his lips with her fingers. Sam’s laughing too and trying to push her away, but she keeps coming back and shouts the words louder every time he protests.
It’s so ridiculous that Brittany just stops and stares, a smile creeping onto her face the longer she watches them.
“I almost feel sorry for him,” Quinn says as she comes to stand next to her, huffing out a laugh when Santana wraps her arms around Sam’s neck and tries to pull him closer. “They’re ridiculous.”
“We could go dirty dance next to them. San would get so jealous she’d definitely stop,” Brittany suggests, taking her drink back from Quinn and swallowing a mouthful, frowning a little and swirling it around to try and mix the vodka back into the lemonade.
Quinn swirls the straw round her cup, mixing it until the coke starts to foam up a little, and then she takes a sip delicately and chuckles when Santana latches onto Sam’s arm and swings from it as he tries to fling her off. “Wouldn’t you mind? Having to dance with me?”
“Why would I mind? I’d get to dance with two pretty girls tonight,” Brittany says, grinning roguishly, flirty and half serious until Quinn bursts out laughing.
“Brittany,” she says, colouring just a little in a way that makes her even prettier somehow.
“What? It’s true,” Brittany shrugs and sips at her drink, watching as Santana smacks Sam’s ass and then bursts out laughing when he looks scandalized.
“I should probably go help him,” Brittany says through her grin and Quinn frowns a little like she can’t believe Brittany is about to ruin her fun.
“Spoil sport,” Quinn huffs, chewing on her straw, but she doesn’t make any move to help so Brittany steps towards them alone, trying to be sneaky so Santana doesn’t see her coming.
The song has switched to some hip hop number that Brittany can’t remember the name of, and Santana gives up on Trouty Mouth and starts dancing like she’s a background dancer in a rap video instead, all hips and thrusts and slamming her hands down. It’s the most ridiculous thing Brittany’s ever seen, but Santana still looks good doing it, which isn’t really fair, especially with the way she’s canting her hips out on every other beat so that Brittany can’t tear her eyes away.
Santana closes her eyes and loses herself to the music, and it takes Sam a few seconds to realise she’s stopped paying attention to him, and then he takes a couple of steps backwards and away, grinning at Brittany and flashing her a thumbs up as he goes. Brittany’s more interested in the way Santana’s hips are moving than Sam disappearing so she waits until the beat comes back around before she presses herself into Santana’s back, matching her body to Santana’s and sliding her fingers down Santana’s sides to find her hips and sway them to the thuds of the kick drum. “You dance good, shorty.”
“You’re my shorty,” Santana says immediately, but she presses herself backwards into Brittany’s body all the same, one hand coming up to reach backwards and tangle into Brittany’s hair.
“But I’m taller than you,” Brittany says into her ear, pressing a kiss there to prove it when the beat drops, just because.
“Shh,” Santana says, somehow managing to pull her even closer with the hand in her hair, and Brittany feels her eyes drift shut of their own accord as she breathes her in, perfume and shampoo and tequila all mingled together.
“Just dance,” Santana says, so Brittany does.
+
Their drinks run out, and Santana says she’ll make more, pulling the cup from Brittany’s hand before she can really disagree. She feels light and airy, like nothing’s quite real, and she spins in slow circles in time with the music, just waiting for Santana to come back.
She opens her eyes when she feels a hand creep into hers, and finds Quinn in front of her looking a little embarrassed, “Wanna dance?”
“Hey,” Brittany grins, and twirls Quinn under her arm until she’s smiling too and having to lean into Brittany’s side to keep herself upright.
“Stop making the room spin,” Quinn laughs, fingers clutching at Brittany’s sleeve as she wobbles a little on her feet.
“Okay,” Brittany says with a grin, pulling her closer so she can wrap her arms around her and pick her up, spinning them both on the spot until Quinn is laughing against her ear and all she can see is a halo of blonde whipping around their heads.
+
Santana clatters into them while they’re spinning, nearly spilling their drinks but managing not to, and Brittany takes in the flush on her cheeks and the shine in her eyes before she says, “You had more tequila didn’t you?”
“No,” Santana says, shaking her head harder than she needs to, then, “Yeah. But I gave the rest of the bottle to Puck.”
“Tequila makes you sick, baby,” Brittany pouts a little and moves closer, toying with the strap of Santana’s dress and brushing her fingers against her shoulder, remembering all the times she’d found her curled up in a bathroom at parties their sophomore year, whimpering and calling her name.
She looks at Santana through her lashes and slides her hands round to the small of her back, palms flat against her spine, feeling Santana lean into her a little more and watching her bite her lip. “Santana,” she says softly, finding her eyes and waiting.
Santana looks back at her for a second, the grin falling from her face, and Brittany knows she’s going to give in even before she sighs and holds her drink out to Quinn. “Do you want this? I need to go get a glass of water.”
Quinn takes it with wide eyes, watching Santana glance at Brittany like she’s seeking approval before she slinks off, and then laughs a little, like she can’t believe that just happened.
“What?” Brittany asks innocently, sipping at her drink and watching Santana disappear up the stairs.
+
She’s dancing with Mike and Tina when Santana taps her on the shoulder looking sheepish, and she squeaks a little when Brittany pulls her into her arms, hands finding her hips and sliding around her waist as she rests her lips against Santana’s forehead.
“Feeling better?”
Santana nods her head against her. “Thank you for taking care of me, Britty,” she says in a sweet little voice, quietly so no one else can hear.
Brittany shrugs because what else would she do? and she feels Santana snuggle into her a little more, bumping her forehead against her chin.
Brittany kisses the soft skin between her eyebrows again and then pulls back a little to look down at her, offering her the rest of her drink, “Do you want this? I’ve got too many bubbles in me to drink anymore. I think I could float if you put me in the ocean.”
“You could be like my life preserver.” Santana grins, taking the drink from her hand and swallowing what’s left before glancing around to check Rachel isn’t near and dropping the cup on the floor.
“Okay,” Brittany murmurs, looking down as Santana looks up, her arms creeping around Brittany’s neck as she stands up on her tiptoes and closes the distance between them.
+
Somehow Puck talks Rachel into doing a shot of tequila before the bottle runs out, and Santana stops dancing to watch because she says it’s going to be hilarious, especially when Rachel says she’ll do it without the salt and lime with this little look at Finn like she’s challenging him to something.
Puck pours the shots, one for him and Rachel and then one for Santana when she whines a little and glances sideways at Brittany, and then Brittany sighs because she knows she’s going to end up with one too.
Rachel peers into the glass suspiciously and wrinkles her nose at the smell, and Santana rolls her eyes and nudges Puck, slurring, “Let’s show her how to do it,” while she wraps her fingers carefully around the glass.
Puck’s never been one to back away from a challenge, so he grabs his own and grins, whispers something to Santana that Brittany doesn’t catch but makes Santana snort, and then they both clink their glasses together and throw them back with a casualness Brittany knows they’ve had to practice because she can still remember the first time the two of them had tequila at a party and she found them curled up together in Matt Rutherford’s bathtub looking like they were about to die.
She still remembers how scared she’d been and how she’d shouted at Puck for an hour before she’d managed to get Santana upright and take her home, and she remembers how Santana had admitted, quietly and apologetically three weeks later, that she was the one who got the liquor without meeting her eyes.
Rachel watches them and swallows a little, eyes wide as she glances down at her glass again. Brittany almost feels sorry for her, but it’s not like taking a shot of tequila is hard, so she just drinks hers back with a little grimace as the liquor burns down her throat-she misses the part with the lime and Santana’s mouth to be honest-then looks at Rachel until she picks up her glass and swallows again. “It smells like gasoline,” she says to no-one at all as she brings it closer, and then braces herself and throws it back.
Her eyes widen but she doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even cough which Brittany had half expected, and Puck slaps her on the back and laughs. “Fuck yeah!” he crows, taking the opportunity to divide the last liquor in the bottle between the four glasses like he hopes no one will notice.
And then Santana leans forward and pulls Rachel into a hug-Rachel kind of stiffens a bit and squeaks at the contact-and then Santana’s patting her on the back magnanimously and saying, “Y’did good,” like it’s the highest honour she could bestow.
Brittany rolls her eyes and is the first one to knock her second drink back, reaching for Santana’s hand to pull her away before Santana knows what’s happening, her shot standing forgotten on the table.
part four b