Influence - Chapter 14: "The Things We Don't Say" [Brittany/Santana] [Glee] [fic]
Title: Influence
Pairing: Brittany/Santana, mentions of Puck/Santana
Rating: T for language and themes. M in later chapters for physical intimacy.
Spoilers: General season 1
Description: Brittany has spent most of her life being what people believe she is, and nothing more. She starts to realize that this isn’t working, and decides to do something about it. Brittana.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 (part 1) | Chapter 17 (part 2) | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 (part 1) | Chapter 19 (part 2) | Chapter 20 (part 1) | Chapter 20 (part 2) |
Santana didn't sing her ballad. Instead, she took my pinky in hers and pulled me from the choir room, closing the door behind us. I expected to get yelled at for being so brazen, for jeopardizing our secret, or even for calling her "love" in my song. But when the door was closed and we were around the corner, she wrapped her arms once more around my neck, squeezing tighter than she had in the classroom. The hallway was empty, everyone having gone home for the day, and she was completely uninhibited, pressing her face into my neck.
"You have no idea how long I've needed to do that," she said after a few minutes of standing in silence, just hugging. "Jesus Christ, B. It's been over a month."
"I'm sorry," I replied.
"No, I'm sorry," she retorted, pushing me against the lockers at my back and looking me square in the eye. "I should have put a stop to this a week into your strike, but I wanted to respect your wishes. I let you go to those damn parties. I let that fucking kissing list start circulating. I could have stopped it."
"I needed those things to happen, San," I murmured, looking at my shoes. "I needed you to leave me alone. If you hadn't I might not be here right now."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what does that mean?"
"I was just having a hard time," I shrugged, trying to maintain my strength with her hands on my elbows, holding me. "With you, with school, with everything. I wanted something I couldn't have and you being there all the time made it hurt worse."
"You're going to have to stop with the cryptic bullshit, Britt," she said, letting me go and putting her hands on her hips. "Because we talked about all of this a long time ago. You knew where I stood and I thought that we had an understanding. Now you're telling me that I was hurting you by just being around? And what was that song all about? I've been really patient, but I need an explanation. I've always been honest with you. It's not fair."
Fair. That was a laughable concept. "I'm over it, San. Can't we just let it go now?"
"No, I don't think we can."
There really wasn't another way around it. If I wanted her to keep talking to me, I needed an explanation. One that didn't involve my use of excessive amounts of prescription medications, or the fact that my skin exploded every time she touched me. I needed a lie.
"I was having a hard figuring out how we worked together," I said, letting out my breath slowly, taking pieces of everything I didn't want to tell her and coming up with a suitable half-truth. "You and me, we're not the same. You were in my bed every night and the next morning it was like nothing happened. I didn't know how to do that. I got attached. But it's okay now. I got a little taste of what the world outside our little universe is like. I'm okay. I understand how we can work. I figured it out."
She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. "I thought we'd been over that. I thought I was helping by staying with you at night, after Karofsky. Maybe I was being selfish. I liked it, too. Having someone to curl up next to."
"You have Puck," I offered.
"I have Puck for 15 minutes before he finishes," she scoffed. "Then he asks me to make him a sandwich before handing me my panties and telling me to lock up on my way out. And that works for us. That's how we work. That's not what I wanted for you, though. You're my best friend. But at the same time, I can't give you everything you want… wanted. I'm just glad you understand now."
I didn't understand, but I smiled unsurely at her anyway. All I really wanted was my friend back. I'd had enough of the parties, the kissing. As enjoyable as being my own person was, it was just as confusing being on the receiving end of so many propositions following the drastic turn in my reputation. Without the threat of Santana breathing down their necks, boys were approaching me. Girls watched me dance and sidled up to me, encouraged by a few shots of tequila. I was a commodity and I didn't like the attention. I craved not their acceptance, but hers. Even if it came with a few caveats or conditions. "We'll be okay, though, won't we?"
She nodded, returning my smile. "I think so." She didn't look any more convinced than I felt. "Come on, let's get back before they start getting ideas."
She took my hand and I followed her back to the choir room, where she promptly dropped it before opening the door. Eleven pairs of eyes turned to us as we walked back in, and they studied us as we went to our usual places in the back, next to one another.
"So you guys are done pretending you're not fighting, right?" Mercedes asked, breaking the silence.
"We're not fighting," Santana replied, a little too quickly.
"Not anymore," I corrected and gave her a small smile.
"Well, thank god for that," Quinn huffed. "I was getting really sick of listening to Santana complain about your kissing list, Britt. Maybe now you can take her off my hands."
I turned to Santana and gave her a questioning stare, jerking my head toward Quinn, indicating the question without saying a word. You talked to her about me?
She shrugged, rolling her eyes. I read the response as, She was around.
"So, Santana," Mr. Schue said from the front of the room. "How about that ballad?"
She lifted her head in surprise and her mouth hung open for a moment before she shook her head and waved her hand. "Uh, no, it's okay. It doesn't really apply anymore. I mean, I had a song, right? But we were fighting, and now we're not, so it doesn't really-"
"Why don't you come sing it anyway?" Schue interrupted her, that smirk he always carried plastered to his face. "I'm sure Brittany would like to hear it, after she sang for you."
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, gaping like a fish before she failed to come up with a valid excuse for turning that suggestion down. She stood up slowly, going down one step before turning back and taking my wrist, leading me to the chair where she had sat a few minutes before. I looked over at Schue, mouthing a silent "Thank you" while Santana stood next to the piano, her eyes shifting back and forth between two stacks of music. She bit her lip before handing one stack to Brad. He reached out to take it, but at the last minute she yanked back, placing the second stack in his hand instead. She put the unused music in her bag on the floor, while Brad and the band gathered what she'd given them. The pianist smiled with a nod as the guitar player picked out a few chords behind me. Santana moved to stand in front, her back to the group. She shuffled her feet, finding a comfortable stance while the opening notes introduced her song.
I don't know if I can yell any louder
How many times have I kicked you out of here
Or said something insulting
She stood stiffly at first, shifting her weight from one foot to the other while she sang to the floor.
I can be so mean when I wanna be
I am capable of really anything
I can cut you into pieces
When my heart is
Broken
She looked up and her eyes were sad, staring at me like she felt ashamed. Her shoulders loosened and her lids fell shut as the band swelled into the chorus.
Please don't leave me
Please don't leave me
I always say how I don't need you
But it's always gonna come right back to this
Please don't leave me
I watched her hands curl into fists as she belted out the lyrics, and in that moment her voice fit the song better than any she'd ever sung before. She practically screamed over the top of the band, her eyes still squeezed shut, until the chorus eased out and a new verse began. She opened them slowly, and once again looked at me, apologetic.
How did I become so obnoxious
What is it with you that makes me act like this
I've never been this nasty
Can't you tell that this is all just contest
The one that wins will be the one that hits the hardest
But baby I don't mean it
I mean it
I promise
She circled me the chair where I sat, serenading me with this song and begging me to take her back. I already had, and yet she was still singing it with the passion of someone who needed to plead for forgiveness.
Please don't leave me
Please don't leave me
I always say how I don't need you
But it's always gonna come right back to this
Please don't leave me
She was beautiful, standing over me. It was rare that I had to look up to see her, but as she loomed, her voice echoed in the acoustics of the choir room her musical plea that I return to her continued. She seemed so vulnerable, and I wanted to reach out to her. Before I could she pulled away and stood up straight, throwing her head back for the bridge.
I forgot to say out loud
How beautiful you really are to me
I can't be without
You're my perfect little punching bag
And I need you
I'm sorry
At the last line, "I'm sorry," she met my gaze again. I'm pretty sure I was caught somewhere between adoration and awe bordering on hysterical tears, and it reflected in her face when she recognized it, smiling as she sang on.
Please, please don't leave me
Baby please don't leave me
Please don't leave me
I always say how I don't need you
But it's always gonna come right back to this
Please don't leave me
Baby, please, please don't leave me
I threw myself at her before the rest of the group even had a chance to start clapping, enveloping her in a hug that didn't burn, but simply felt right. She'd been so concerned about failing before we'd stood up at the front. She'd been nervous, and I saw now that she'd wanted me back in her life as much as I wanted her. It didn't matter that she couldn't - or wouldn't - reciprocate my feelings. All that mattered was that we were us again. As tortured as we both were, coming back together was easier than ever being apart. She hugged me back and I used my height difference to lift her a few inches off the ground. I watched over her shoulder as she kicked her feet up happily, and the glee club applauded us both.
"You two gonna make out now or what?"
Puck sat slouched in a chair in the second row, smirking facetiously and chomping loudly on a piece of gum. Santana suddenly felt like dead weight in my arms as she was no longer trying to hold herself up on my shoulders. I let her down and she turned angrily to Puck, who held his hands in the air defensively.
"What'd I say?"
"Fuck you, Puckerman," Santana hissed.
"I was planning on that for later, but if you're up for it now, sure." Puck smirked and San made a move to lunge at him.
Mr. Schue got to his feet and stuck his hands between Puck and Santana, still clapping awkwardly, and ushering the two of us back our seats. "Great job, Santana. Very powerful. As happy as I am that you two have made up, we need to keep the language to a minimum here, okay? Now, who's next?"
The other took their turns, but neither of us were paying attention. She had draped her calves over my knees, sitting sideways in her chair while my fingers ran lightly up and down her shins. Studying the way her skin wrapped her muscles, flawless in their design, could have distracted me for days. She, for her part, pushed my bangs off my forehead, took my hair down from its ponytail and ran her fingers through it.
"They're going to think we're a couple after that song," I told her as we left rehearsal later, pinkies locked.
"No, they won't," she replied firmly, as though her denying it would make it so. "We're just going back to the way things were before."
"Sex isn't dating," I intoned, recalling every single time we'd said this phrase over the course of our relationship.
"Right," she agreed. "Sex isn't dating. And they can't know about that."
We were both silent as we entered the parking lot, and she made to walk toward the new car her parents had gotten her after she'd passed her driver's test. She stopped and turned when I didn't follow her.
"I keep forgetting," she sighed, fingering the keys in her hand. "I went home alone every day for weeks. I got used to not having someone waiting for me."
"Maybe it's a good thing," I said softly, watching her hands fidgeting. "We both learned how to live without each other. I know it hurt for a while, but now… now it can be easy."
She smiled. "Easy. We do like that word, don't we?"
"You do," I shrugged. "So I like it, too. Sometimes complicated is better, though. More interesting, for sure."
Santana looked back at her keys and turned them over in her hand, not arguing with me. She gestured to the red sports car parked a few spaces away. "So… do you wanna go for a ride?"
"I thought you'd never ask," I grinned and bolted for the car. "Shotgun!"
She drove around without speaking, but there was a small smile on her face that let me know it was okay to be comfortable in the silence. The new car smell lingered around us, even with the windows down in the chill of the fall evening. We didn't have a direction, per se, or a destination. For an hour we drove in circles around the Lima city limits before she unexpectedly diverted us onto I-75 and took it north, merging into rush hour traffic and turning the music on after rolling the windows up. She sang softly to herself, her iPod synced to the speakers so she knew what songs were up next on her playlist.
Your baby blues
So full of wonder
Your curly Q's
Your contagious smile
I watched her singing, thinking about her ballad again. It wasn't exactly a ballad, but it had served its purpose. It had told a story, just like Schue had said it would, and our story was that Santana needed me as much as I needed her. It had been so long since I'd seen her like this: calm, comfortable, just relaxing. The scenery flew by quickly around us, and before I knew it I'd lost track of where we were. It didn't seem to matter to either of us.
"I like it when you sing," I said absently, hearing the song change and listening as she shifted keys to mold her voice to the male lead on the vocals. "I liked it when you sang to me."
We expected something, something better than before
We expected something more
Do you really think you can just put it in safe
Behind a painting
Lock it up and leave?
Walk away now
And you're gonna start a war
"Hm?" she asked, turning to me, her eyes heavy-lidded in her contentment, not hearing what I'd said in the midst of the song.
"I like it when you sing," I repeated, putting my hand on hers, which was resting on the shifter in the center console between us. "Your song today, it was beautiful. You should do it more often."
She blushed and slipped her hand out from under mine to take hold of the steering wheel. "I didn't want to sing that to you," she replied nervously. "I was hoping Schue would let me out of it, after… after what you sang."
"I'm glad he didn't."
Her cheeks flushed pinker, her hands tightening on the wheel. "I meant it. Every word. I know what we have is… complicated. But I think we can make it easy, as long as we both understand one another. I didn't understand where you were coming from, before. I hurt you, and I'm so sorry, B. But you're the best thing in my life, no matter what. I know you're going through something, and I want so much for you to trust me enough to tell me about it, but I-"
I cut her off, mid-sentence. "This isn't about trust, San. I just… You're right. This is complicated. And there are things I need to keep to myself, so I don't rely on you for everything. You're the strong one. I need to be strong sometimes, too."
"I know that, B, but I was just trying protect you."
I sighed and shook my head. "When are you going to learn? You can't protect me from everything. Frankly, I'm not going to let you."
She sat up straighter and just nodded, falling silent again in thought. The song switched over once more, and she started humming, tapping her finger lightly on the leather of the wheel as she took an exit off the freeway and merging into a turning lane. She drove in a U to cross over the busy road we'd just been on, made another turn, and we were back on the freeway. This time we headed south, back to Lima.
I don't play well with the other kids
They know that I'm dangerous
It's evident I'm different
My punishment is imminent
"What was the other song you were going to sing?" I asked as we neared the Lima exit, the songs fading in and out on her iPod, and beginning to repeat after our long drive. It was pitch black, other than the occasional streetlight on the service drive above the freeway. The clock read 11:30, which meant we were both going to miss curfew.
"Huh?" She seemed surprised by the question, more so than just me breaking the quiet in the cabin of the small car.
"You had two songs ready for the ballad," I told her, and she stiffened slightly. "You gave Brad one, but what was the other?"
She shook her head slowly. "It doesn't matter."
Santana didn't want to tell me, and I didn't want to force it from her. "Maybe one day you can sing it for me. When you want to."
She relaxed a bit and nodded. "Maybe I will."
Her car slowed to a stop outside my dark house, and she shifted into park, idling near the curb. I looked out the window, dreading going into my empty bedroom and sleeping there alone, after everything that happened that day. I had already missed my dose for the evening, and even so, it didn't hurt so much, having her close. If being apart for a month had taught me anything, it was that I could survive without her, but with her, I was actually living.
"Do you want me to come in?" she asked after a beat, when I didn't immediately exit the car.
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
Her shoulders slumped, her face resigned. "No, but I've missed you." She said this like she wanted me to invite her. To make it okay for her to want to sleep in my bed with me, as though nothing had happened. I wanted it as much as she did, but neither of us could say that out loud without confronting the ever-present elephant. I reached out and, hesitantly, put my hand on her knee, testing the waters. Like a warning, I received a sharp shock of static when my fingers touched her skin that made both of us jump, and I pulled back quickly.
"We can try again another time," she sighed, running her hand over the area where I had shocked her. "It's been a long day. We could both use some time. You know, to think."
"Right," I agreed, tucking my hands inside the pockets of my Cheerios jacket. "Goodnight, Santana."
I moved to get out of the car and felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and she was there, nothing between us but the air escaping our lungs, having crawled over the center divider to perch on her knees on the seat I had just vacated. She pulled me back down by the lapel of my coat and pressed her soft lips to my cheek, her face lingering there after. Her breath was warm and thready in my ear. My heart leapt unexpectedly in my chest.
"I'm sorry," she said again. "For everything." She sat back in the driver's seat as I straightened up, my knees wobbling beneath me.
"I know," I replied, and shut her passenger door behind me. I walked slowly up the driveway without turning back, listening to her pull away and turn the corner.
"I know."
***
I was surprised to find the red sports car I'd spent so many hours in the night before sitting in my driveway the following morning. Santana was idling there when I opened my door to leave for school, and her face lit up as I climbed in the passenger side.
"Morning, B," she greeted, handing me a cup of coffee. I tasted it: skim milk and 3 sugars, just how I liked it.
"Morning," I replied, settling into the deep bucket of the car seat with a smile. "A girl could get used to this."
"I'll be picking you up from now on," she said firmly, as though I would argue with her. Walking a mile to school each morning was not what I'd consider a fun activity. Especially now that it was getting colder, and soon winter would set in, making it a trudge through two feet of snow, the result of secondary cold fronts from the lakes just north of Ohio.
"You don't need to convince me," I responded, taking another sip of my coffee as she backed out of the driveway.
We spent a week re-acclimating ourselves to one another, but it felt comfortable being back in the same room and not having to feign an interest in the other's activities. I kept to my regimen, two in the morning, three at lunch, one at night, just to keep myself stable. Her pinky in mine no longer made my whole arm ache, and the cheek kisses, like the one she'd given me in the car, became regular occurrences - but always out of sight of prying eyes. She still dropped me off at my front door each night, kissed me goodbye in the driveway and then went home. As close as we were becoming, neither of us were prepared for what a sleepover would mean.
It was two Fridays later when she and I felt mutually comfortable enough for her to come inside when we arrived at my house. Whether or not she would stay was something I'd neglected to ask, but just having her in my living room again was enough. The last time we'd met here, I was recovering from withdrawal symptoms, and telling her I didn't want to see her for a while. Two months, and the same nervous energy from that day made my stomach shuffle uncomfortably.
She sat next to me on the couch while we watched an ancient animated movie involving talking ducks, a small token of her gratitude at being allowed back in my home. Somewhere between the opening credits and the part where the littlest duck gets lost in the forest, she had leaned against me, her head resting in the crook of my neck on my shoulder, with her arm linked through mine. Had it not been for the fact that that she'd actually lifted my arm to slide hers under it, I might not have noticed her shifting closer through the first fifteen minutes of the movie. I watched her as she tucked her legs up underneath her and pressed her side against mine. The too-long red sweatpants we'd been issued for the winter months of Cheerios practice bunched adorably around her bare feet, and she wrapped the excess fabric around them to keep against the cold.
I relished in the fact that I remained Half Out, my vision still hazy around my edges and I was blissfully disinterested in the small brunette subtly wrapping herself around me. The movie was engaging, despite the fact that it was older than both of us put together and designed to entertain preschoolers. She knew my fascination with ducks and took full advantage, squirreling her way into my abdomen until her arms were wrapped around my ribcage, and her head was pressed just below my collarbone. There was no other comfortable way to sit than to wrap one arm around her shoulder, and allow her to continue her desperate burrowing. I felt her breathing slow against me, and the tight grip she had around my torso loosened as she fell lightly into sleep.
I was afraid to move, fearing waking her, and disturbing this sense of utter peace that had settled over the room. The movie played quietly in the background, but I'd stopped paying attention. The warmth of her body radiated off her like a furnace, enveloping me in a cocoon as I absently stroked her bare upper arm where my hand had fallen. The room was still, with the exception of the soft humming from the television. We hadn't bothered turning the lights on when we'd sat down, what with the afternoon light streaming through the open curtains of my front windows. But now the sun had set, and the only light came from the street lamp near the curb.
Beside me, from the recesses of Santana's backpack, came a harsh buzzing. I checked her carefully before moving, but she didn't stir. Reaching into the bag I pulled out her phone, pressing my thumb to the keypad to unlock it. Puck's name flashed brightly in the darkened room, with a short message below it.
Let's hook it up tonight
I debated deleting it without telling her. I thought about texting back that she was sleeping, that we were really tired from all the sex we'd just had. I considered calling him and telling him to grow up, leave her alone if he wasn't going to commit. But I also knew what would happen if she'd found out I'd done any of those things. We'd go back to our cold silence. That was a more unacceptable outcome than her leaving me there to go sleep with him.
"San," I whispered, laying my palm flat against her arm and shaking softly.
"Mmmph," she mumbled, pressing her face into my breast.
"Puck is texting you." I let out an involuntary shudder at her proximity.
She heaved but didn't sit up. "Tew hm t fuff umph."
"What?" Another shudder as she mumbled once again, her fists balled up in the fabric of my shirt.
"Tell him to fuck off," she repeated, finally lifting her mouth away from my body. "I'm comfortable here."
I looked back at the phone and bit my lip. "Are you sure? He wants to hook up."
She snapped her head up and snatched the phone from my hand. "Gimme." I watched her thumbs move furiously over the keys. She hit send with more anger than anyone ought to direct at a cell phone, and threw it back into her bag before returning to her spot beneath my arm. A minute later the phone buzzed again.
"Goddamn it," she hissed. "Ignore it."
But I couldn't. It felt compulsory. I needed to know what he said to her that might make her jump up and leave. I grabbed the phone and read the message she had sent him first.
Can't i'm with B. Maybe tmrw.
She lifted her head to see why I was fidgeting, and her eyes went wide when she noticed that I still had her phone in my hand. She made to lunge at me, trying to pull it out of my grasp, but I ducked away and read his reply.
Tell me about your panties
I fell backward onto the couch, suddenly finding the entire situation terribly funny. She threw herself on top of me, but I tucked the phone behind my back, between the couch cushions and myself. Her hands probed as deep as they could, grazing my sides and tickling me. I writhed underneath her, shrieking.
"He wants to know about your panties, San!" I shouted, drowning out her angry pleas for her phone. "What should I tell him?"
"Nothing!" she returned, her knees on either side of my waist, pinning me to the couch. "What the hell, B? Give me my phone!"
I twisted, fast and hard, so I was on my stomach and had better leverage to push her off and squirm away. I scrambled onto the floor and toward the kitchen, tapping out a new message as I went.
Not wearing any
"Sending!" I shouted from the next room, but she was already right behind me, her expression caught between anger and hysterical pride.
"What did you send to him?" she shrieked, launching herself across the foyer and tackling me into the kitchen wall. "Brittany, I swear to god, I'll-"
The phone buzzed in my hand and I spun so her chest was against my back. I hunched to protect my hold on the phone and scrolled to Puck's newest message.
You are smokin' and when i think about you i get so hard
"Oh my god!" I screeched and slapped her hands away as she reached around me to snatch at the phone. "Seriously, San? He must have the biggest cock in the world because these lines are so bad."
I used the strength I had that she did not to give her a soft hip check, and she stumbled backward. I darted back into the living room, shouting out my reply as I typed it.
"Do you think i'm too hot? What do you think he'll say to that, San?"
She came barreling around the corner, and the last thing I saw before I hit the ground was a flash of her growling smile and her ponytail whipping past my face when she threw me to the floor like a linebacker. We landed in the open space in front of the couch, on the carpet next to the coffee table. The breath escaped my lungs faster than I expected and I grunted as she straddled me again, her strong little hands trying to pry the phone out of mine. I laughed and gasped for air as she fought me, but I was bigger, and stronger. Her fingers were wrapped around my wrists and I yanked down hard, pulling her so she was flat on top of me, then rolled hard to the left. She yelped as our roles reversed and suddenly I had the upper hand. I scooted up her body, pinning her forearms under my knees so I could text without her swiping at me. She grunted and tried to pull her arms free, but I had her, and she wasn't moving.
"B, come on," she whined. "Seriously, what are you telling him?"
His next reply had come in while we were struggling, and I read it out loud to her. "You so hot and stuff and stuff. 'And stuff and stuff'? What does this even mean? I know you think he's a hottie, San, but really. This is just sad."
She rolled her eyes and went back to struggling against my legs. "We don't do a lot of talking during," she muttered.
"Britt thinks im hot too," I typed back, repeating it out loud as I did. Her eyes bugged wide and she flailed.
"Brittany Susan Pierce, I'm going to break every one of your fingers so you can never text again if you don't let me up right now!"
i bet she does. what u 2 doin? i wanna watch.
"What do I tell him, San?" I asked, smirking down at her. My head was spinning with the rush of adrenaline and pills, and I teetered slightly.
"Would you really want him watching us?" she retorted, her body limp under mine while her face remained intense.
"Of course not."
"Maybe you tell him that then," she murmured, lifting her hips and arching her back so her stomach ground into my pelvis. I sucked in my breath and watched her facial expression, trying to tell if she was teasing me or manipulating to get free and snatch the phone back. "You're sexy when you're on top."
Definitely teasing.
"like we'd let u watch. gotta go, shes on top and i'm getting tired of it."
She ground her hips harder.
"Does that mean you approve of the text?"
She bit her lip. "The first half," she replied, craning her neck to lift it off the ground, closing the distance between us by a few inches. "Where you shut him down and told him to fuck off, like I asked you to from the start. But I'm really not tired of you being on top. Though my hands are going a little numb."
I tossed her phone away and lifted my knees, releasing her. She made no move to overtake me, instead running her palms up my thighs and letting them come to rest on my hips. "I missed you. I missed this."
I snorted, still a little high from the last few minutes. "Only you would miss sex with me when you're getting it on the regular from someone else."
She swatted my ass - hard - and pursed her lips. "I meant I missed being able to be around you without you jumping out of your skin," she reprimanded, shaking her index finger at me and all. "Yeah, this is nice too, but when was the last time you let me touch you like this?"
Her hands glided further up my torso, running up under the thin fabric of my t-shirt until her fingers grazed the undersides of my breasts. I let out a little gasp and arched my chest into her hands, forcing her to palm them roughly. She obliged, then wordlessly pushed my shirt over my head, pulling herself into a sitting position with me holding her hips between my knees and sitting on her thighs. She wrapped her warm arms around my waist and pressed her face into the crevice between my breasts, breathing in deeply and pausing there. Her fingers spidered up my spine to the clasp on my bra, which she snapped open. She pulled the lacey straps down over my arms without separating her cheek from my chest, then reached up and cupped one breast in each hand, lifting and squeezing as though they were her lifelines. I let out a quiet whimper and pulled lightly at the back of her shirt, sliding it over her back and pulling it to her shoulders before she released me reluctantly and put her hands above her head.
We came back together and she immediately returned her arms to my waist, looping them around me and locking her hand around her wrist at the small of my back. The skin-to-skin contact sent an overload of misfiring synapses to my brain and for a moment I malfunctioned, like a toy with dying batteries. I slumped into her, hunching my shoulders so that I could rest my forehead against her temple, breathing heavily and waiting for body to regain the use of my limbs.
"Are you okay?" she mumbled, her voice muffled by the expanse of my body curved over hers.
I didn't have an answer for her. On the one hand, yes, I was better than okay. Ecstatic would have been a more appropriate emotion to describe what I was feeling. Elated, maybe. Euphoric, if you wanted to continue with the alliteration. It was impossible not to be, with her body wrapped so neatly up under mine and no pressure from either of us to continue removing our clothes.
On the other hand, though, it was Santana, and I was high. I was feeling, at best, a fraction of the emotional and physical effects she was having on me. Considering my brief mental malfunction, the idea that there could more was terrifying, and yet I knew it was impossible to give myself over to her entirely when I was in that state. For that, I suppose, I should be grateful.
"Mmm," was the only response I could give. It wasn't a lie, but rather a mumbled statement of contentment.
"Brittany…" She pulled back and the absence of her body against mine left me cold. "We can stop."
I shook my head and cupped her chin in both hands, lifting her mouth to mine for a deep kiss. In that moment I thought back to that day on the trampoline, when we were thirteen and stupid and she had straddled me much like I was straddling her now. That first kiss was sweet, the kind of innocent show of affection that would normally have no consequence for young girls who don't know how else to show their best friends that they love them. This kiss was the opposite of that; it was slow and deliberate, with the accompanying grinding of my pelvis against hers. It was meant to incite a thousand different feelings of confusion and passion and desperate heat between two people who were obviously more than just friends.
It had its appropriate effect, and she moaned lightly into my mouth, her body returning to the groove she had etched for herself against me. Her hands explored further down my body, slipping down the back of my pants and gripping my ass firmly. She clung there as I ground down against her again, the heat from our cores pressed together with the restrictive fabric of our matching sweats separating us from what we both desperately wanted. She whimpered, her body shaking. I had been leaning on her too long, and she was holding both of us up with the strength of her taut torso. I bowed back, pulling her with me. I was sitting on her knees now, with her hands sliding out the back of my pants and coming to rest up at my sides. She placed her head on my bare chest, panting quietly with her eyes closed while I unfastened the clasp of her bra and slipped it off her body. Her hot breath against my chest was calming, and I stopped - if only for a moment - so the two of us could hold each other in the darkened room and catch our breath. It had been too long, and it overwhelmed us both.
I began moving again first, running the pads of my fingers down the vertebrae that protruded from her back. Her hands tightened on my sides in response and I carefully began pushing her, until she was once more on her back on the floor beneath me. I put my palms flat on either side of her head, sweeping my eyes over her features. Her hair, having fallen loose from its usual tight ponytail, fell across her eyes. I pushed it away, and got lost in the deep brown orbs looking back at me. They were so dark, her pupils were barely visible, which gave her a surreal, unintelligible quality. I couldn't read them, especially now when she was doing her best to hide from me. The street lamp outside cast a stream of pale light into the room, streaking across the left half of her face. She tried to move into a shadow, but I put hand against the side of her head, wrapping my fingers around the back of her neck and holding her gently.
"Don't," I said, my thumb running along her cheek. "I want to see you."
I bent low and pressed my mouth once again to hers. She parted her lips and let her tongue dance in and out as she reached between us and slid her down to the waist of my pants, fumbling absently with the knot while I kissed her, never releasing her head from my hand. She loosened the string and widened the band enough to slip her arm inside, her fingers tracing over the elastic on my panties. I arched my back to pull away, wanting to take things slow, but her palm landed flat on the small of my back and pushed my hips down onto her waiting hand. She kissed me harder, her teeth nipping at my lower lip while she ran her index and middle fingers over the wet patch between my legs. I panted hard into her mouth, trying not to buck into her, and used my free hand to scoop under her breast and squeeze. Softly at first, then rough, dragging my fingers over her nipple until she moaned. Her hand went slack in my pants and I took the opportunity to switch positions. I slipped my legs between hers, never breaking for air as I reached down with both hands and pulled her thighs up so her knees were bent. The pressure from my hips parted them, and she cradled my body with hers as I let my weight press down. I propped myself up with one elbow, while my other arm went to work on her nipple, pinching and caressing, making her yelp and moan alternately. It wasn't until I began rocking my hips into hers that she finally pulled her lips free from mine and openly groaned.
"Jesus Christ," she hissed, both her hands pulling at the elastic band of my pants, pulling me harder into her as I rocked, mimicking the thrusting motion I'd seen the boys make. "Fuck… B…"
I rolled slightly to the right, lifting my left hip off her pelvis and stealthily slipping my arm between us. Where she had fumbled with my knot, I untied her in moments, and my hand disappeared in the recesses of red fabric. The mound beneath the cotton panty she wore burned hotter than anything I'd felt before. Even with all those months of explosions when her skin touched mine, it couldn't compare to this. I ran my fingers over the soaked-through fabric and she whined softly under me, trembling. I reached deeper and pressed the heel of my hand against the wet spot and she arched, gasping Her hands groped for something to hold on to. Her left latched onto my shoulder, while the right extended out behind her head and found the leg of the coffee table. I curled two fingers and slipped the thin material between her legs aside, pushing the tips of those fingers against her slick center. She whimpered and tried to buck her hips into my hand to force me inside of her, but I pulled back, teasing. I snuck my thumb beneath the cotton barrier as well, running it against her swollen clit, and flicked.
"Hnnnggg…" she moaned. "Oh god… please…" The hand that had once been on my shoulder found my wrist and she gripped me, tugging me closer to her, so her mouth was at my ear. "Please…"
I'd been perfectly happy to continue as we had been, half clothed and progressing slowly, but her desperate plea in my ear changed my mind instantaneously. I pressed my lips to her neck and lifted myself up to kneel between her spread thighs, pulling the sweats over her hips. I sat on my heels and watched her, her chest heaving, making her perfect caramel-colored breasts rise and fall.
"What are you waiting for?" she asked, a slight whine in her tone.
"You're beautiful," I returned, not having anything else to say.
She sat up, placing her elbows on her still-bent knees. She never broke eye contact with me as she reached to take my hands in hers, then placed a delicate kiss on the top of each. "One day," she said, her voice a chaste whisper. "You'll find someone who can give you everything you deserve. Until then, you have me."
I had no idea what she meant by that, nor did I have the capacity at that moment to infer anything from it. She was still nearly naked, still soaked through, still beautiful on the floor of my living room. She leaned her head backward and lengthened her body to press her lips to mine, pushing my hands back down to her panties. I pulled them off her, slipping them down over her smooth, perfect thighs before flinging them into a corner and returning my attentions to where they belonged.
She laid back down, looping her fingers through the waist band of my pants and pulling me down with her. They were already loose from when she'd untied the knot earlier, so she pushed them over my hips and I kicked them off behind me as I pressed my breasts to hers and thrust my pelvis into her core. I smashed my right hand between us, grinding my fingers against her exterior. She was unhindered by clothing now, and I took advantage. My fingers plucked a symphony across her clit, dancing just around and barely grazing her while she writhed beneath me. I had never seen her face in the throes of it before, having spent the majority of this time with my head between her legs, but I found myself completely enthralled by the expressions that crossed her face, and how counter they were to the sounds she was making.
Her eyes were pressed tight while I ground against her, the heel of one hand pressing hard against her forehead while the other scrambled to hold onto my back or arm. She was moaning like she was having the time of her life, but her face looked pained. I wondered if that was common, having never seen my own face during sex either. But it still concerned me, knowing that Santana wasn't one to show weakness like that.
"Am I hurting you?" I murmured into her ear, kissing down her hairline to her neck.
"You're not hurting me enough," she growled, bucking hard against my hand, begging. "Jesus, B, stop teasing…"
I wasn't convinced. She was still making that face, her brows furrowed and her lips parted in a way that didn't mean, "I'm about to come."
"San, tell the truth," I prodded, not letting up with my fingers, sliding them along the exterior of her blazing core. "Why are you fighting? You look like you're in pain."
Her eyes snapped open and she grabbed the back of my neck, holding me with our foreheads pressed together, our eyes boring into one another's. "Brittany, do you really want to talk about this now? Or do you want to make me scream. Because you're teasing, and it's so not fucking fair."
I hesitated for only a second before sliding two fingers into her. She gripped the back of my neck so hard that I thought she might draw blood from the nails she dug into my flesh, but it felt so good having her slick muscles clenching around my hand. Her back arched and cried out as I pushed deeper, burying my fingers to the last knuckle and scissoring them inside her. I pressed my own pelvis against the back of my hand, leveraging myself up on my knees so I could use them to thrust forward, pushing hips into hand, and hand in turn into Santana. She gasped and rode against my fingers, bucking hard and biting her lower lip a way that made my body quiver. My wrist became an extension of my pelvis, thrusting in and out in perfect sync while my fingers worked inside her and my thumb rubbed her clit fiercely. I bent over, still thrusting, and took each of her nipples in my mouth, one at a time, sucking while she pressed her hand to the back of my head, her fingers getting tangled up in my hair. She wrapped her legs around my back and began to assist in my thrusting, pulling me up and easing me down in time with my rhythm.
"Don't stop…" she murmured, and I heard that quiver in the back of her throat that told me she was close.
I kissed across the top of her chest and over her collarbone before speaking into her neck. "I'll never stop."
I had been trying hard to ignore the friction that had been building between my legs the entire time I was on top of Santana, but it was growing rapidly more difficult. I'd underestimated how arousing it was to be the instigator, to take the lead and do the work. I felt my own core pulsing against the back of my hand and I did what I could with each thrust into stroke my clit through my panties, which had the misfortune of still being on my body. I ground against my knuckles or wrist, sliding my body against them so the motion I was making with my hips was, ultimately, was small figure eight.
I pressed my mouth to hers as I picked up my pace, my heart racing from the effort and from the sensation of her contracting muscles. I wanted to watch her face as she came. I wanted to see her at her most vulnerable so that I knew what that kind of emotion from Santana felt like. I needed it, as much as she needed me in that moment. Most of all, I wanted us to climax together. Judging her reaction to my change of speed, and my own rapidly flushing cheeks, I was about to get my wish.
My thumb flicked hard against her clit one final time and she screamed, her body bending upward at the middle, arching so high that I had to sit up on my knees to compensate. In doing so she squeezed her legs like a vice around my hips, forcing my center roughly toward hers. I struck it hard against my soaked hand, and my knees gave out. I moaned, watching in ecstasy as she flailed beneath me, writhing. It made my orgasm that much stronger, knowing I'd given her that, and I shuddered, my free hand gripping her thigh to keep myself steady.
Her face, from what I remembered, had gone through three stages. The instant before her orgasm hit, she still looked pained, almost conflicted. When I'd struck her final chord and pushed her over the edge, her eyes had gone wide and her face slack, and the conflict became joy, with a smile the likes of which I hadn't seen on her in ages. As her gyrations slowed and her climax subsided, her face slipped into a hard, protective façade that reminded me of the face she used when she was around her family. She hid things from them, mostly, and put up a front when they were around so they understood that she was fine, and didn't need their help.
That she used this face with me, after what we'd just done, broke my heart.
"Brittany? Baby, are you home?"
The front door creaked open, and before either of us had time to talk about what we'd done we were on our feet, scrambling for clothes and underwear. She darted through the back hall toward my room, and I followed in quick pursuit, calling over my shoulder to my newly-returned mother.
"Yeah, mom! San's here, we were just studying!"
I made it into the bedroom and slammed the door before realizing I'd dropped half my clothes in the process. She was doubled over on the bed, rubbing between her legs as she laughed low, either at the ecstasy of a perfect orgasm or at the fact that my mother had nearly caught us fucking on the living room floor. I leapt into the bed next to her and slid my hand in next to hers, both to help and to get back to that perfect moment we'd had when I was inside her. She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in my shoulder.
"I take I'm not leaving tonight," she mumbled.
I pulled my hand from between her thighs and she shuddered. "You really have the energy to move? Because between that and the mad dash to the bedroom, I think I could sleep for a year."
She slid her body against mine and I wrapped both my arms around her, pulling her into my chest. She didn't say anything else for a while, just laid there. I let my head fall to the pillow after a minute, relaxing when I realized that she wasn't going anywhere. I was wired. I didn't plan on sleeping, but I made Santana and myself comfortable anyway.
"I missed you, B," she murmured in the dark, sleep in her voice. "It wasn't the same without you."
I ran my hand up and down her back comfortingly. "What wasn't the same?"
She tucked her head under my chin and yawned, slipping her leg in between my knees and curling herself around me. "Any of it."
I kissed the top of her head, feeling both secure and unraveled at the same time. I looked down, and the light from the street outside reflected off her open eyes. She wasn't any more tired than I was. "I'm sorry I left."
She let out a long, shallow breath. "I'm sorry I let you go."
We didn't need to say anything more. Between what had happened in the living room, both those many weeks before and that evening, we both had too much on our minds to really say it without screwing it up. So we lay there, our legs entangled, pretending to be okay.
Chapter 15
Pairing: Brittany/Santana, mentions of Puck/Santana
Rating: T for language and themes. M in later chapters for physical intimacy.
Spoilers: General season 1
Description: Brittany has spent most of her life being what people believe she is, and nothing more. She starts to realize that this isn’t working, and decides to do something about it. Brittana.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 (part 1) | Chapter 17 (part 2) | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 (part 1) | Chapter 19 (part 2) | Chapter 20 (part 1) | Chapter 20 (part 2) |
Santana didn't sing her ballad. Instead, she took my pinky in hers and pulled me from the choir room, closing the door behind us. I expected to get yelled at for being so brazen, for jeopardizing our secret, or even for calling her "love" in my song. But when the door was closed and we were around the corner, she wrapped her arms once more around my neck, squeezing tighter than she had in the classroom. The hallway was empty, everyone having gone home for the day, and she was completely uninhibited, pressing her face into my neck.
"You have no idea how long I've needed to do that," she said after a few minutes of standing in silence, just hugging. "Jesus Christ, B. It's been over a month."
"I'm sorry," I replied.
"No, I'm sorry," she retorted, pushing me against the lockers at my back and looking me square in the eye. "I should have put a stop to this a week into your strike, but I wanted to respect your wishes. I let you go to those damn parties. I let that fucking kissing list start circulating. I could have stopped it."
"I needed those things to happen, San," I murmured, looking at my shoes. "I needed you to leave me alone. If you hadn't I might not be here right now."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what does that mean?"
"I was just having a hard time," I shrugged, trying to maintain my strength with her hands on my elbows, holding me. "With you, with school, with everything. I wanted something I couldn't have and you being there all the time made it hurt worse."
"You're going to have to stop with the cryptic bullshit, Britt," she said, letting me go and putting her hands on her hips. "Because we talked about all of this a long time ago. You knew where I stood and I thought that we had an understanding. Now you're telling me that I was hurting you by just being around? And what was that song all about? I've been really patient, but I need an explanation. I've always been honest with you. It's not fair."
Fair. That was a laughable concept. "I'm over it, San. Can't we just let it go now?"
"No, I don't think we can."
There really wasn't another way around it. If I wanted her to keep talking to me, I needed an explanation. One that didn't involve my use of excessive amounts of prescription medications, or the fact that my skin exploded every time she touched me. I needed a lie.
"I was having a hard figuring out how we worked together," I said, letting out my breath slowly, taking pieces of everything I didn't want to tell her and coming up with a suitable half-truth. "You and me, we're not the same. You were in my bed every night and the next morning it was like nothing happened. I didn't know how to do that. I got attached. But it's okay now. I got a little taste of what the world outside our little universe is like. I'm okay. I understand how we can work. I figured it out."
She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. "I thought we'd been over that. I thought I was helping by staying with you at night, after Karofsky. Maybe I was being selfish. I liked it, too. Having someone to curl up next to."
"You have Puck," I offered.
"I have Puck for 15 minutes before he finishes," she scoffed. "Then he asks me to make him a sandwich before handing me my panties and telling me to lock up on my way out. And that works for us. That's how we work. That's not what I wanted for you, though. You're my best friend. But at the same time, I can't give you everything you want… wanted. I'm just glad you understand now."
I didn't understand, but I smiled unsurely at her anyway. All I really wanted was my friend back. I'd had enough of the parties, the kissing. As enjoyable as being my own person was, it was just as confusing being on the receiving end of so many propositions following the drastic turn in my reputation. Without the threat of Santana breathing down their necks, boys were approaching me. Girls watched me dance and sidled up to me, encouraged by a few shots of tequila. I was a commodity and I didn't like the attention. I craved not their acceptance, but hers. Even if it came with a few caveats or conditions. "We'll be okay, though, won't we?"
She nodded, returning my smile. "I think so." She didn't look any more convinced than I felt. "Come on, let's get back before they start getting ideas."
She took my hand and I followed her back to the choir room, where she promptly dropped it before opening the door. Eleven pairs of eyes turned to us as we walked back in, and they studied us as we went to our usual places in the back, next to one another.
"So you guys are done pretending you're not fighting, right?" Mercedes asked, breaking the silence.
"We're not fighting," Santana replied, a little too quickly.
"Not anymore," I corrected and gave her a small smile.
"Well, thank god for that," Quinn huffed. "I was getting really sick of listening to Santana complain about your kissing list, Britt. Maybe now you can take her off my hands."
I turned to Santana and gave her a questioning stare, jerking my head toward Quinn, indicating the question without saying a word. You talked to her about me?
She shrugged, rolling her eyes. I read the response as, She was around.
"So, Santana," Mr. Schue said from the front of the room. "How about that ballad?"
She lifted her head in surprise and her mouth hung open for a moment before she shook her head and waved her hand. "Uh, no, it's okay. It doesn't really apply anymore. I mean, I had a song, right? But we were fighting, and now we're not, so it doesn't really-"
"Why don't you come sing it anyway?" Schue interrupted her, that smirk he always carried plastered to his face. "I'm sure Brittany would like to hear it, after she sang for you."
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, gaping like a fish before she failed to come up with a valid excuse for turning that suggestion down. She stood up slowly, going down one step before turning back and taking my wrist, leading me to the chair where she had sat a few minutes before. I looked over at Schue, mouthing a silent "Thank you" while Santana stood next to the piano, her eyes shifting back and forth between two stacks of music. She bit her lip before handing one stack to Brad. He reached out to take it, but at the last minute she yanked back, placing the second stack in his hand instead. She put the unused music in her bag on the floor, while Brad and the band gathered what she'd given them. The pianist smiled with a nod as the guitar player picked out a few chords behind me. Santana moved to stand in front, her back to the group. She shuffled her feet, finding a comfortable stance while the opening notes introduced her song.
I don't know if I can yell any louder
How many times have I kicked you out of here
Or said something insulting
She stood stiffly at first, shifting her weight from one foot to the other while she sang to the floor.
I can be so mean when I wanna be
I am capable of really anything
I can cut you into pieces
When my heart is
Broken
She looked up and her eyes were sad, staring at me like she felt ashamed. Her shoulders loosened and her lids fell shut as the band swelled into the chorus.
Please don't leave me
Please don't leave me
I always say how I don't need you
But it's always gonna come right back to this
Please don't leave me
I watched her hands curl into fists as she belted out the lyrics, and in that moment her voice fit the song better than any she'd ever sung before. She practically screamed over the top of the band, her eyes still squeezed shut, until the chorus eased out and a new verse began. She opened them slowly, and once again looked at me, apologetic.
How did I become so obnoxious
What is it with you that makes me act like this
I've never been this nasty
Can't you tell that this is all just contest
The one that wins will be the one that hits the hardest
But baby I don't mean it
I mean it
I promise
She circled me the chair where I sat, serenading me with this song and begging me to take her back. I already had, and yet she was still singing it with the passion of someone who needed to plead for forgiveness.
Please don't leave me
Please don't leave me
I always say how I don't need you
But it's always gonna come right back to this
Please don't leave me
She was beautiful, standing over me. It was rare that I had to look up to see her, but as she loomed, her voice echoed in the acoustics of the choir room her musical plea that I return to her continued. She seemed so vulnerable, and I wanted to reach out to her. Before I could she pulled away and stood up straight, throwing her head back for the bridge.
I forgot to say out loud
How beautiful you really are to me
I can't be without
You're my perfect little punching bag
And I need you
I'm sorry
At the last line, "I'm sorry," she met my gaze again. I'm pretty sure I was caught somewhere between adoration and awe bordering on hysterical tears, and it reflected in her face when she recognized it, smiling as she sang on.
Please, please don't leave me
Baby please don't leave me
Please don't leave me
I always say how I don't need you
But it's always gonna come right back to this
Please don't leave me
Baby, please, please don't leave me
I threw myself at her before the rest of the group even had a chance to start clapping, enveloping her in a hug that didn't burn, but simply felt right. She'd been so concerned about failing before we'd stood up at the front. She'd been nervous, and I saw now that she'd wanted me back in her life as much as I wanted her. It didn't matter that she couldn't - or wouldn't - reciprocate my feelings. All that mattered was that we were us again. As tortured as we both were, coming back together was easier than ever being apart. She hugged me back and I used my height difference to lift her a few inches off the ground. I watched over her shoulder as she kicked her feet up happily, and the glee club applauded us both.
"You two gonna make out now or what?"
Puck sat slouched in a chair in the second row, smirking facetiously and chomping loudly on a piece of gum. Santana suddenly felt like dead weight in my arms as she was no longer trying to hold herself up on my shoulders. I let her down and she turned angrily to Puck, who held his hands in the air defensively.
"What'd I say?"
"Fuck you, Puckerman," Santana hissed.
"I was planning on that for later, but if you're up for it now, sure." Puck smirked and San made a move to lunge at him.
Mr. Schue got to his feet and stuck his hands between Puck and Santana, still clapping awkwardly, and ushering the two of us back our seats. "Great job, Santana. Very powerful. As happy as I am that you two have made up, we need to keep the language to a minimum here, okay? Now, who's next?"
The other took their turns, but neither of us were paying attention. She had draped her calves over my knees, sitting sideways in her chair while my fingers ran lightly up and down her shins. Studying the way her skin wrapped her muscles, flawless in their design, could have distracted me for days. She, for her part, pushed my bangs off my forehead, took my hair down from its ponytail and ran her fingers through it.
"They're going to think we're a couple after that song," I told her as we left rehearsal later, pinkies locked.
"No, they won't," she replied firmly, as though her denying it would make it so. "We're just going back to the way things were before."
"Sex isn't dating," I intoned, recalling every single time we'd said this phrase over the course of our relationship.
"Right," she agreed. "Sex isn't dating. And they can't know about that."
We were both silent as we entered the parking lot, and she made to walk toward the new car her parents had gotten her after she'd passed her driver's test. She stopped and turned when I didn't follow her.
"I keep forgetting," she sighed, fingering the keys in her hand. "I went home alone every day for weeks. I got used to not having someone waiting for me."
"Maybe it's a good thing," I said softly, watching her hands fidgeting. "We both learned how to live without each other. I know it hurt for a while, but now… now it can be easy."
She smiled. "Easy. We do like that word, don't we?"
"You do," I shrugged. "So I like it, too. Sometimes complicated is better, though. More interesting, for sure."
Santana looked back at her keys and turned them over in her hand, not arguing with me. She gestured to the red sports car parked a few spaces away. "So… do you wanna go for a ride?"
"I thought you'd never ask," I grinned and bolted for the car. "Shotgun!"
She drove around without speaking, but there was a small smile on her face that let me know it was okay to be comfortable in the silence. The new car smell lingered around us, even with the windows down in the chill of the fall evening. We didn't have a direction, per se, or a destination. For an hour we drove in circles around the Lima city limits before she unexpectedly diverted us onto I-75 and took it north, merging into rush hour traffic and turning the music on after rolling the windows up. She sang softly to herself, her iPod synced to the speakers so she knew what songs were up next on her playlist.
Your baby blues
So full of wonder
Your curly Q's
Your contagious smile
I watched her singing, thinking about her ballad again. It wasn't exactly a ballad, but it had served its purpose. It had told a story, just like Schue had said it would, and our story was that Santana needed me as much as I needed her. It had been so long since I'd seen her like this: calm, comfortable, just relaxing. The scenery flew by quickly around us, and before I knew it I'd lost track of where we were. It didn't seem to matter to either of us.
"I like it when you sing," I said absently, hearing the song change and listening as she shifted keys to mold her voice to the male lead on the vocals. "I liked it when you sang to me."
We expected something, something better than before
We expected something more
Do you really think you can just put it in safe
Behind a painting
Lock it up and leave?
Walk away now
And you're gonna start a war
"Hm?" she asked, turning to me, her eyes heavy-lidded in her contentment, not hearing what I'd said in the midst of the song.
"I like it when you sing," I repeated, putting my hand on hers, which was resting on the shifter in the center console between us. "Your song today, it was beautiful. You should do it more often."
She blushed and slipped her hand out from under mine to take hold of the steering wheel. "I didn't want to sing that to you," she replied nervously. "I was hoping Schue would let me out of it, after… after what you sang."
"I'm glad he didn't."
Her cheeks flushed pinker, her hands tightening on the wheel. "I meant it. Every word. I know what we have is… complicated. But I think we can make it easy, as long as we both understand one another. I didn't understand where you were coming from, before. I hurt you, and I'm so sorry, B. But you're the best thing in my life, no matter what. I know you're going through something, and I want so much for you to trust me enough to tell me about it, but I-"
I cut her off, mid-sentence. "This isn't about trust, San. I just… You're right. This is complicated. And there are things I need to keep to myself, so I don't rely on you for everything. You're the strong one. I need to be strong sometimes, too."
"I know that, B, but I was just trying protect you."
I sighed and shook my head. "When are you going to learn? You can't protect me from everything. Frankly, I'm not going to let you."
She sat up straighter and just nodded, falling silent again in thought. The song switched over once more, and she started humming, tapping her finger lightly on the leather of the wheel as she took an exit off the freeway and merging into a turning lane. She drove in a U to cross over the busy road we'd just been on, made another turn, and we were back on the freeway. This time we headed south, back to Lima.
I don't play well with the other kids
They know that I'm dangerous
It's evident I'm different
My punishment is imminent
"What was the other song you were going to sing?" I asked as we neared the Lima exit, the songs fading in and out on her iPod, and beginning to repeat after our long drive. It was pitch black, other than the occasional streetlight on the service drive above the freeway. The clock read 11:30, which meant we were both going to miss curfew.
"Huh?" She seemed surprised by the question, more so than just me breaking the quiet in the cabin of the small car.
"You had two songs ready for the ballad," I told her, and she stiffened slightly. "You gave Brad one, but what was the other?"
She shook her head slowly. "It doesn't matter."
Santana didn't want to tell me, and I didn't want to force it from her. "Maybe one day you can sing it for me. When you want to."
She relaxed a bit and nodded. "Maybe I will."
Her car slowed to a stop outside my dark house, and she shifted into park, idling near the curb. I looked out the window, dreading going into my empty bedroom and sleeping there alone, after everything that happened that day. I had already missed my dose for the evening, and even so, it didn't hurt so much, having her close. If being apart for a month had taught me anything, it was that I could survive without her, but with her, I was actually living.
"Do you want me to come in?" she asked after a beat, when I didn't immediately exit the car.
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
Her shoulders slumped, her face resigned. "No, but I've missed you." She said this like she wanted me to invite her. To make it okay for her to want to sleep in my bed with me, as though nothing had happened. I wanted it as much as she did, but neither of us could say that out loud without confronting the ever-present elephant. I reached out and, hesitantly, put my hand on her knee, testing the waters. Like a warning, I received a sharp shock of static when my fingers touched her skin that made both of us jump, and I pulled back quickly.
"We can try again another time," she sighed, running her hand over the area where I had shocked her. "It's been a long day. We could both use some time. You know, to think."
"Right," I agreed, tucking my hands inside the pockets of my Cheerios jacket. "Goodnight, Santana."
I moved to get out of the car and felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and she was there, nothing between us but the air escaping our lungs, having crawled over the center divider to perch on her knees on the seat I had just vacated. She pulled me back down by the lapel of my coat and pressed her soft lips to my cheek, her face lingering there after. Her breath was warm and thready in my ear. My heart leapt unexpectedly in my chest.
"I'm sorry," she said again. "For everything." She sat back in the driver's seat as I straightened up, my knees wobbling beneath me.
"I know," I replied, and shut her passenger door behind me. I walked slowly up the driveway without turning back, listening to her pull away and turn the corner.
"I know."
***
I was surprised to find the red sports car I'd spent so many hours in the night before sitting in my driveway the following morning. Santana was idling there when I opened my door to leave for school, and her face lit up as I climbed in the passenger side.
"Morning, B," she greeted, handing me a cup of coffee. I tasted it: skim milk and 3 sugars, just how I liked it.
"Morning," I replied, settling into the deep bucket of the car seat with a smile. "A girl could get used to this."
"I'll be picking you up from now on," she said firmly, as though I would argue with her. Walking a mile to school each morning was not what I'd consider a fun activity. Especially now that it was getting colder, and soon winter would set in, making it a trudge through two feet of snow, the result of secondary cold fronts from the lakes just north of Ohio.
"You don't need to convince me," I responded, taking another sip of my coffee as she backed out of the driveway.
We spent a week re-acclimating ourselves to one another, but it felt comfortable being back in the same room and not having to feign an interest in the other's activities. I kept to my regimen, two in the morning, three at lunch, one at night, just to keep myself stable. Her pinky in mine no longer made my whole arm ache, and the cheek kisses, like the one she'd given me in the car, became regular occurrences - but always out of sight of prying eyes. She still dropped me off at my front door each night, kissed me goodbye in the driveway and then went home. As close as we were becoming, neither of us were prepared for what a sleepover would mean.
It was two Fridays later when she and I felt mutually comfortable enough for her to come inside when we arrived at my house. Whether or not she would stay was something I'd neglected to ask, but just having her in my living room again was enough. The last time we'd met here, I was recovering from withdrawal symptoms, and telling her I didn't want to see her for a while. Two months, and the same nervous energy from that day made my stomach shuffle uncomfortably.
She sat next to me on the couch while we watched an ancient animated movie involving talking ducks, a small token of her gratitude at being allowed back in my home. Somewhere between the opening credits and the part where the littlest duck gets lost in the forest, she had leaned against me, her head resting in the crook of my neck on my shoulder, with her arm linked through mine. Had it not been for the fact that that she'd actually lifted my arm to slide hers under it, I might not have noticed her shifting closer through the first fifteen minutes of the movie. I watched her as she tucked her legs up underneath her and pressed her side against mine. The too-long red sweatpants we'd been issued for the winter months of Cheerios practice bunched adorably around her bare feet, and she wrapped the excess fabric around them to keep against the cold.
I relished in the fact that I remained Half Out, my vision still hazy around my edges and I was blissfully disinterested in the small brunette subtly wrapping herself around me. The movie was engaging, despite the fact that it was older than both of us put together and designed to entertain preschoolers. She knew my fascination with ducks and took full advantage, squirreling her way into my abdomen until her arms were wrapped around my ribcage, and her head was pressed just below my collarbone. There was no other comfortable way to sit than to wrap one arm around her shoulder, and allow her to continue her desperate burrowing. I felt her breathing slow against me, and the tight grip she had around my torso loosened as she fell lightly into sleep.
I was afraid to move, fearing waking her, and disturbing this sense of utter peace that had settled over the room. The movie played quietly in the background, but I'd stopped paying attention. The warmth of her body radiated off her like a furnace, enveloping me in a cocoon as I absently stroked her bare upper arm where my hand had fallen. The room was still, with the exception of the soft humming from the television. We hadn't bothered turning the lights on when we'd sat down, what with the afternoon light streaming through the open curtains of my front windows. But now the sun had set, and the only light came from the street lamp near the curb.
Beside me, from the recesses of Santana's backpack, came a harsh buzzing. I checked her carefully before moving, but she didn't stir. Reaching into the bag I pulled out her phone, pressing my thumb to the keypad to unlock it. Puck's name flashed brightly in the darkened room, with a short message below it.
Let's hook it up tonight
I debated deleting it without telling her. I thought about texting back that she was sleeping, that we were really tired from all the sex we'd just had. I considered calling him and telling him to grow up, leave her alone if he wasn't going to commit. But I also knew what would happen if she'd found out I'd done any of those things. We'd go back to our cold silence. That was a more unacceptable outcome than her leaving me there to go sleep with him.
"San," I whispered, laying my palm flat against her arm and shaking softly.
"Mmmph," she mumbled, pressing her face into my breast.
"Puck is texting you." I let out an involuntary shudder at her proximity.
She heaved but didn't sit up. "Tew hm t fuff umph."
"What?" Another shudder as she mumbled once again, her fists balled up in the fabric of my shirt.
"Tell him to fuck off," she repeated, finally lifting her mouth away from my body. "I'm comfortable here."
I looked back at the phone and bit my lip. "Are you sure? He wants to hook up."
She snapped her head up and snatched the phone from my hand. "Gimme." I watched her thumbs move furiously over the keys. She hit send with more anger than anyone ought to direct at a cell phone, and threw it back into her bag before returning to her spot beneath my arm. A minute later the phone buzzed again.
"Goddamn it," she hissed. "Ignore it."
But I couldn't. It felt compulsory. I needed to know what he said to her that might make her jump up and leave. I grabbed the phone and read the message she had sent him first.
Can't i'm with B. Maybe tmrw.
She lifted her head to see why I was fidgeting, and her eyes went wide when she noticed that I still had her phone in my hand. She made to lunge at me, trying to pull it out of my grasp, but I ducked away and read his reply.
Tell me about your panties
I fell backward onto the couch, suddenly finding the entire situation terribly funny. She threw herself on top of me, but I tucked the phone behind my back, between the couch cushions and myself. Her hands probed as deep as they could, grazing my sides and tickling me. I writhed underneath her, shrieking.
"He wants to know about your panties, San!" I shouted, drowning out her angry pleas for her phone. "What should I tell him?"
"Nothing!" she returned, her knees on either side of my waist, pinning me to the couch. "What the hell, B? Give me my phone!"
I twisted, fast and hard, so I was on my stomach and had better leverage to push her off and squirm away. I scrambled onto the floor and toward the kitchen, tapping out a new message as I went.
Not wearing any
"Sending!" I shouted from the next room, but she was already right behind me, her expression caught between anger and hysterical pride.
"What did you send to him?" she shrieked, launching herself across the foyer and tackling me into the kitchen wall. "Brittany, I swear to god, I'll-"
The phone buzzed in my hand and I spun so her chest was against my back. I hunched to protect my hold on the phone and scrolled to Puck's newest message.
You are smokin' and when i think about you i get so hard
"Oh my god!" I screeched and slapped her hands away as she reached around me to snatch at the phone. "Seriously, San? He must have the biggest cock in the world because these lines are so bad."
I used the strength I had that she did not to give her a soft hip check, and she stumbled backward. I darted back into the living room, shouting out my reply as I typed it.
"Do you think i'm too hot? What do you think he'll say to that, San?"
She came barreling around the corner, and the last thing I saw before I hit the ground was a flash of her growling smile and her ponytail whipping past my face when she threw me to the floor like a linebacker. We landed in the open space in front of the couch, on the carpet next to the coffee table. The breath escaped my lungs faster than I expected and I grunted as she straddled me again, her strong little hands trying to pry the phone out of mine. I laughed and gasped for air as she fought me, but I was bigger, and stronger. Her fingers were wrapped around my wrists and I yanked down hard, pulling her so she was flat on top of me, then rolled hard to the left. She yelped as our roles reversed and suddenly I had the upper hand. I scooted up her body, pinning her forearms under my knees so I could text without her swiping at me. She grunted and tried to pull her arms free, but I had her, and she wasn't moving.
"B, come on," she whined. "Seriously, what are you telling him?"
His next reply had come in while we were struggling, and I read it out loud to her. "You so hot and stuff and stuff. 'And stuff and stuff'? What does this even mean? I know you think he's a hottie, San, but really. This is just sad."
She rolled her eyes and went back to struggling against my legs. "We don't do a lot of talking during," she muttered.
"Britt thinks im hot too," I typed back, repeating it out loud as I did. Her eyes bugged wide and she flailed.
"Brittany Susan Pierce, I'm going to break every one of your fingers so you can never text again if you don't let me up right now!"
i bet she does. what u 2 doin? i wanna watch.
"What do I tell him, San?" I asked, smirking down at her. My head was spinning with the rush of adrenaline and pills, and I teetered slightly.
"Would you really want him watching us?" she retorted, her body limp under mine while her face remained intense.
"Of course not."
"Maybe you tell him that then," she murmured, lifting her hips and arching her back so her stomach ground into my pelvis. I sucked in my breath and watched her facial expression, trying to tell if she was teasing me or manipulating to get free and snatch the phone back. "You're sexy when you're on top."
Definitely teasing.
"like we'd let u watch. gotta go, shes on top and i'm getting tired of it."
She ground her hips harder.
"Does that mean you approve of the text?"
She bit her lip. "The first half," she replied, craning her neck to lift it off the ground, closing the distance between us by a few inches. "Where you shut him down and told him to fuck off, like I asked you to from the start. But I'm really not tired of you being on top. Though my hands are going a little numb."
I tossed her phone away and lifted my knees, releasing her. She made no move to overtake me, instead running her palms up my thighs and letting them come to rest on my hips. "I missed you. I missed this."
I snorted, still a little high from the last few minutes. "Only you would miss sex with me when you're getting it on the regular from someone else."
She swatted my ass - hard - and pursed her lips. "I meant I missed being able to be around you without you jumping out of your skin," she reprimanded, shaking her index finger at me and all. "Yeah, this is nice too, but when was the last time you let me touch you like this?"
Her hands glided further up my torso, running up under the thin fabric of my t-shirt until her fingers grazed the undersides of my breasts. I let out a little gasp and arched my chest into her hands, forcing her to palm them roughly. She obliged, then wordlessly pushed my shirt over my head, pulling herself into a sitting position with me holding her hips between my knees and sitting on her thighs. She wrapped her warm arms around my waist and pressed her face into the crevice between my breasts, breathing in deeply and pausing there. Her fingers spidered up my spine to the clasp on my bra, which she snapped open. She pulled the lacey straps down over my arms without separating her cheek from my chest, then reached up and cupped one breast in each hand, lifting and squeezing as though they were her lifelines. I let out a quiet whimper and pulled lightly at the back of her shirt, sliding it over her back and pulling it to her shoulders before she released me reluctantly and put her hands above her head.
We came back together and she immediately returned her arms to my waist, looping them around me and locking her hand around her wrist at the small of my back. The skin-to-skin contact sent an overload of misfiring synapses to my brain and for a moment I malfunctioned, like a toy with dying batteries. I slumped into her, hunching my shoulders so that I could rest my forehead against her temple, breathing heavily and waiting for body to regain the use of my limbs.
"Are you okay?" she mumbled, her voice muffled by the expanse of my body curved over hers.
I didn't have an answer for her. On the one hand, yes, I was better than okay. Ecstatic would have been a more appropriate emotion to describe what I was feeling. Elated, maybe. Euphoric, if you wanted to continue with the alliteration. It was impossible not to be, with her body wrapped so neatly up under mine and no pressure from either of us to continue removing our clothes.
On the other hand, though, it was Santana, and I was high. I was feeling, at best, a fraction of the emotional and physical effects she was having on me. Considering my brief mental malfunction, the idea that there could more was terrifying, and yet I knew it was impossible to give myself over to her entirely when I was in that state. For that, I suppose, I should be grateful.
"Mmm," was the only response I could give. It wasn't a lie, but rather a mumbled statement of contentment.
"Brittany…" She pulled back and the absence of her body against mine left me cold. "We can stop."
I shook my head and cupped her chin in both hands, lifting her mouth to mine for a deep kiss. In that moment I thought back to that day on the trampoline, when we were thirteen and stupid and she had straddled me much like I was straddling her now. That first kiss was sweet, the kind of innocent show of affection that would normally have no consequence for young girls who don't know how else to show their best friends that they love them. This kiss was the opposite of that; it was slow and deliberate, with the accompanying grinding of my pelvis against hers. It was meant to incite a thousand different feelings of confusion and passion and desperate heat between two people who were obviously more than just friends.
It had its appropriate effect, and she moaned lightly into my mouth, her body returning to the groove she had etched for herself against me. Her hands explored further down my body, slipping down the back of my pants and gripping my ass firmly. She clung there as I ground down against her again, the heat from our cores pressed together with the restrictive fabric of our matching sweats separating us from what we both desperately wanted. She whimpered, her body shaking. I had been leaning on her too long, and she was holding both of us up with the strength of her taut torso. I bowed back, pulling her with me. I was sitting on her knees now, with her hands sliding out the back of my pants and coming to rest up at my sides. She placed her head on my bare chest, panting quietly with her eyes closed while I unfastened the clasp of her bra and slipped it off her body. Her hot breath against my chest was calming, and I stopped - if only for a moment - so the two of us could hold each other in the darkened room and catch our breath. It had been too long, and it overwhelmed us both.
I began moving again first, running the pads of my fingers down the vertebrae that protruded from her back. Her hands tightened on my sides in response and I carefully began pushing her, until she was once more on her back on the floor beneath me. I put my palms flat on either side of her head, sweeping my eyes over her features. Her hair, having fallen loose from its usual tight ponytail, fell across her eyes. I pushed it away, and got lost in the deep brown orbs looking back at me. They were so dark, her pupils were barely visible, which gave her a surreal, unintelligible quality. I couldn't read them, especially now when she was doing her best to hide from me. The street lamp outside cast a stream of pale light into the room, streaking across the left half of her face. She tried to move into a shadow, but I put hand against the side of her head, wrapping my fingers around the back of her neck and holding her gently.
"Don't," I said, my thumb running along her cheek. "I want to see you."
I bent low and pressed my mouth once again to hers. She parted her lips and let her tongue dance in and out as she reached between us and slid her down to the waist of my pants, fumbling absently with the knot while I kissed her, never releasing her head from my hand. She loosened the string and widened the band enough to slip her arm inside, her fingers tracing over the elastic on my panties. I arched my back to pull away, wanting to take things slow, but her palm landed flat on the small of my back and pushed my hips down onto her waiting hand. She kissed me harder, her teeth nipping at my lower lip while she ran her index and middle fingers over the wet patch between my legs. I panted hard into her mouth, trying not to buck into her, and used my free hand to scoop under her breast and squeeze. Softly at first, then rough, dragging my fingers over her nipple until she moaned. Her hand went slack in my pants and I took the opportunity to switch positions. I slipped my legs between hers, never breaking for air as I reached down with both hands and pulled her thighs up so her knees were bent. The pressure from my hips parted them, and she cradled my body with hers as I let my weight press down. I propped myself up with one elbow, while my other arm went to work on her nipple, pinching and caressing, making her yelp and moan alternately. It wasn't until I began rocking my hips into hers that she finally pulled her lips free from mine and openly groaned.
"Jesus Christ," she hissed, both her hands pulling at the elastic band of my pants, pulling me harder into her as I rocked, mimicking the thrusting motion I'd seen the boys make. "Fuck… B…"
I rolled slightly to the right, lifting my left hip off her pelvis and stealthily slipping my arm between us. Where she had fumbled with my knot, I untied her in moments, and my hand disappeared in the recesses of red fabric. The mound beneath the cotton panty she wore burned hotter than anything I'd felt before. Even with all those months of explosions when her skin touched mine, it couldn't compare to this. I ran my fingers over the soaked-through fabric and she whined softly under me, trembling. I reached deeper and pressed the heel of my hand against the wet spot and she arched, gasping Her hands groped for something to hold on to. Her left latched onto my shoulder, while the right extended out behind her head and found the leg of the coffee table. I curled two fingers and slipped the thin material between her legs aside, pushing the tips of those fingers against her slick center. She whimpered and tried to buck her hips into my hand to force me inside of her, but I pulled back, teasing. I snuck my thumb beneath the cotton barrier as well, running it against her swollen clit, and flicked.
"Hnnnggg…" she moaned. "Oh god… please…" The hand that had once been on my shoulder found my wrist and she gripped me, tugging me closer to her, so her mouth was at my ear. "Please…"
I'd been perfectly happy to continue as we had been, half clothed and progressing slowly, but her desperate plea in my ear changed my mind instantaneously. I pressed my lips to her neck and lifted myself up to kneel between her spread thighs, pulling the sweats over her hips. I sat on my heels and watched her, her chest heaving, making her perfect caramel-colored breasts rise and fall.
"What are you waiting for?" she asked, a slight whine in her tone.
"You're beautiful," I returned, not having anything else to say.
She sat up, placing her elbows on her still-bent knees. She never broke eye contact with me as she reached to take my hands in hers, then placed a delicate kiss on the top of each. "One day," she said, her voice a chaste whisper. "You'll find someone who can give you everything you deserve. Until then, you have me."
I had no idea what she meant by that, nor did I have the capacity at that moment to infer anything from it. She was still nearly naked, still soaked through, still beautiful on the floor of my living room. She leaned her head backward and lengthened her body to press her lips to mine, pushing my hands back down to her panties. I pulled them off her, slipping them down over her smooth, perfect thighs before flinging them into a corner and returning my attentions to where they belonged.
She laid back down, looping her fingers through the waist band of my pants and pulling me down with her. They were already loose from when she'd untied the knot earlier, so she pushed them over my hips and I kicked them off behind me as I pressed my breasts to hers and thrust my pelvis into her core. I smashed my right hand between us, grinding my fingers against her exterior. She was unhindered by clothing now, and I took advantage. My fingers plucked a symphony across her clit, dancing just around and barely grazing her while she writhed beneath me. I had never seen her face in the throes of it before, having spent the majority of this time with my head between her legs, but I found myself completely enthralled by the expressions that crossed her face, and how counter they were to the sounds she was making.
Her eyes were pressed tight while I ground against her, the heel of one hand pressing hard against her forehead while the other scrambled to hold onto my back or arm. She was moaning like she was having the time of her life, but her face looked pained. I wondered if that was common, having never seen my own face during sex either. But it still concerned me, knowing that Santana wasn't one to show weakness like that.
"Am I hurting you?" I murmured into her ear, kissing down her hairline to her neck.
"You're not hurting me enough," she growled, bucking hard against my hand, begging. "Jesus, B, stop teasing…"
I wasn't convinced. She was still making that face, her brows furrowed and her lips parted in a way that didn't mean, "I'm about to come."
"San, tell the truth," I prodded, not letting up with my fingers, sliding them along the exterior of her blazing core. "Why are you fighting? You look like you're in pain."
Her eyes snapped open and she grabbed the back of my neck, holding me with our foreheads pressed together, our eyes boring into one another's. "Brittany, do you really want to talk about this now? Or do you want to make me scream. Because you're teasing, and it's so not fucking fair."
I hesitated for only a second before sliding two fingers into her. She gripped the back of my neck so hard that I thought she might draw blood from the nails she dug into my flesh, but it felt so good having her slick muscles clenching around my hand. Her back arched and cried out as I pushed deeper, burying my fingers to the last knuckle and scissoring them inside her. I pressed my own pelvis against the back of my hand, leveraging myself up on my knees so I could use them to thrust forward, pushing hips into hand, and hand in turn into Santana. She gasped and rode against my fingers, bucking hard and biting her lower lip a way that made my body quiver. My wrist became an extension of my pelvis, thrusting in and out in perfect sync while my fingers worked inside her and my thumb rubbed her clit fiercely. I bent over, still thrusting, and took each of her nipples in my mouth, one at a time, sucking while she pressed her hand to the back of my head, her fingers getting tangled up in my hair. She wrapped her legs around my back and began to assist in my thrusting, pulling me up and easing me down in time with my rhythm.
"Don't stop…" she murmured, and I heard that quiver in the back of her throat that told me she was close.
I kissed across the top of her chest and over her collarbone before speaking into her neck. "I'll never stop."
I had been trying hard to ignore the friction that had been building between my legs the entire time I was on top of Santana, but it was growing rapidly more difficult. I'd underestimated how arousing it was to be the instigator, to take the lead and do the work. I felt my own core pulsing against the back of my hand and I did what I could with each thrust into stroke my clit through my panties, which had the misfortune of still being on my body. I ground against my knuckles or wrist, sliding my body against them so the motion I was making with my hips was, ultimately, was small figure eight.
I pressed my mouth to hers as I picked up my pace, my heart racing from the effort and from the sensation of her contracting muscles. I wanted to watch her face as she came. I wanted to see her at her most vulnerable so that I knew what that kind of emotion from Santana felt like. I needed it, as much as she needed me in that moment. Most of all, I wanted us to climax together. Judging her reaction to my change of speed, and my own rapidly flushing cheeks, I was about to get my wish.
My thumb flicked hard against her clit one final time and she screamed, her body bending upward at the middle, arching so high that I had to sit up on my knees to compensate. In doing so she squeezed her legs like a vice around my hips, forcing my center roughly toward hers. I struck it hard against my soaked hand, and my knees gave out. I moaned, watching in ecstasy as she flailed beneath me, writhing. It made my orgasm that much stronger, knowing I'd given her that, and I shuddered, my free hand gripping her thigh to keep myself steady.
Her face, from what I remembered, had gone through three stages. The instant before her orgasm hit, she still looked pained, almost conflicted. When I'd struck her final chord and pushed her over the edge, her eyes had gone wide and her face slack, and the conflict became joy, with a smile the likes of which I hadn't seen on her in ages. As her gyrations slowed and her climax subsided, her face slipped into a hard, protective façade that reminded me of the face she used when she was around her family. She hid things from them, mostly, and put up a front when they were around so they understood that she was fine, and didn't need their help.
That she used this face with me, after what we'd just done, broke my heart.
"Brittany? Baby, are you home?"
The front door creaked open, and before either of us had time to talk about what we'd done we were on our feet, scrambling for clothes and underwear. She darted through the back hall toward my room, and I followed in quick pursuit, calling over my shoulder to my newly-returned mother.
"Yeah, mom! San's here, we were just studying!"
I made it into the bedroom and slammed the door before realizing I'd dropped half my clothes in the process. She was doubled over on the bed, rubbing between her legs as she laughed low, either at the ecstasy of a perfect orgasm or at the fact that my mother had nearly caught us fucking on the living room floor. I leapt into the bed next to her and slid my hand in next to hers, both to help and to get back to that perfect moment we'd had when I was inside her. She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in my shoulder.
"I take I'm not leaving tonight," she mumbled.
I pulled my hand from between her thighs and she shuddered. "You really have the energy to move? Because between that and the mad dash to the bedroom, I think I could sleep for a year."
She slid her body against mine and I wrapped both my arms around her, pulling her into my chest. She didn't say anything else for a while, just laid there. I let my head fall to the pillow after a minute, relaxing when I realized that she wasn't going anywhere. I was wired. I didn't plan on sleeping, but I made Santana and myself comfortable anyway.
"I missed you, B," she murmured in the dark, sleep in her voice. "It wasn't the same without you."
I ran my hand up and down her back comfortingly. "What wasn't the same?"
She tucked her head under my chin and yawned, slipping her leg in between my knees and curling herself around me. "Any of it."
I kissed the top of her head, feeling both secure and unraveled at the same time. I looked down, and the light from the street outside reflected off her open eyes. She wasn't any more tired than I was. "I'm sorry I left."
She let out a long, shallow breath. "I'm sorry I let you go."
We didn't need to say anything more. Between what had happened in the living room, both those many weeks before and that evening, we both had too much on our minds to really say it without screwing it up. So we lay there, our legs entangled, pretending to be okay.
Chapter 15