fic: if my heart was a compass - 4/10 - glee, brittany/santana, nc-17
Title: If My Heart Was A Compass (4/10)
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 6,133 (of ~56k)
Timeline: Season 1
Summary: Santana Lopez has a plan. A three-point plan. A really fucking efficient three-point plan that's going to get her the hell out of Ohio. This is her story.
Notes: For bradyyface, who tried texting me about 'Faberry' only to have her iPhone auto-correct it to 'Canetti'. Also, don't hate me and/or Santana. Emotionally stunted girls need love too. :{
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Sleeping with Finn is not the brightest idea Santana's ever had. To be fair, it isn't her idea, but still.
When the thing with Brittany becomes public knowledge around McKinley High, it doesn't really do anything awful to Santana's reputation, contrary to what she'd thought. Guys think it's pretty hot, and girls are more curious than anything else. They take some heat from Karofsky, but Santana's pretty sure it's about being in Glee, not the maybe-gay thing, and anyway, he's a stupid son of a bitch. Even Coach Sylvester doesn't seem to care, like a 'don't ask, don't tell' sort of deal.
Coach is more interested in the downfall of Glee, and finding out about Brittany and Santana's ambiguous sexuality only seems to give her more ammunition.
That's how they end up going on a date together with Finn, and why Brittany suggests that Santana sleep with him to bolster her rep and satisfy Coach Sylvester and her crazy Madonna worship. Santana has seen the special perks Quinn had gotten as captain of the Cheerios. Perks that she wants for herself. She's worked too hard to let this opportunity slip away.
So she does it with Finn. And then wolfs down a cheeseburger. All in a day's work. She can practically taste the extra tanning privileges coming her way.
Santana gets home a little past one. Judging by the car in the driveway, her mom is actually home for the first time in a week, and ugh, she does not have the energy to deal with this. At least she doesn't smell like a brewery.
She slips in quietly, hoping her mother is already in bed, but no such luck. The dark-haired woman sitting at the kitchen table looks up at the sound of the front door. To Santana's surprise, Brittany is sitting at the other side of the table in full sleepwear, munching on a taquito.
"Oh, Santana," her mother says, rising from her seat.
"Mama," Santana replies quietly.
"Mija, why are you home so late?"
Santana peeks at Brittany. "I, uh-"
"Science project," Brittany answers around a mouthful of tortilla. Their eyes meet, and Santana looks down. "Santana's partner Finn? He's kind of dumb, so it takes them a long time to get stuff done."
"Yeah." Santana forces a smile. "Science project. Lost track of time."
Santana's mother walks up to Santana and draws her into an embrace. Santana's arms instinctively wrap around the woman who is mostly a stranger, and Santana suddenly feels young. So incredibly young, and a string of words claw at the back of her throat. Words about being abandoned, and wanting so much more than these fleeting moments. Words like I miss you, and please love me. Words that make her feel fragile and pathetic for even thinking them. She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows them like she always does. There is no place for weakness.
Santana pulls away from her mother's arms, feeling Brittany's eyes on her. "I'm going to head to bed," she says softly, backing away. "Buenas noches, Mama."
Santana hates the way her absentee mother can make her feel so tender and vulnerable, jumping in and out of her life. Most of the time, she deals with it fine, but tonight, every emotion feels magnified a thousand times. And maybe it's that she's just whored herself out to a cabbage patch kid for extra spa sessions, or that Brittany had bore witness to the whole exchange, but it's suddenly tough to even breathe. She hasn't felt like this in years.
Though it's late, Santana takes a quick shower to lose Finn's scent and to calm herself down. She manages to do one. As she's drying herself off, there's a knock at the bathroom door.
"San," is all the voice on the other side says.
Santana wraps the towel tightly around her torso and pulls open the door. Brittany slips in, puts down the toilet cover and sits. She watches Santana towel herself off for a few minutes, eyes roaming the length of Santana's body. Santana pulls on a pair of boyshorts and slips into an oversized Pink Floyd tee.
When Santana takes out her hairdryer and it whirrs to action, Brittany stands up and moves behind Santana, taking the hairdryer from her. She begins running the jet of hot air back and forth along Santana's damp locks.
"Maybe you should tell her," Brittany says into her ear.
Santana turns her head slightly. "Tell who what?"
"Tell your mom that you want her around more."
"I don't." Santana looks back at the mirror, watching their reflections. "I get to do whatever the hell I want all the time," she continues. "It's like a teenager's ultimate dream."
"Santana," Brittany admonishes gently.
Santana shrugs, softening. "This is what she wants to do. She gets to travel, and seniority is a big deal for flight attendants; she's finally making decent money. She won't be able to pay all the bills if she switches to some entry-level paper-pushing job and starts living at here again. We're a single-income home, Brittany."
Brittany is gentle with Santana's hair as she moves the hairdryer slowly across it. "Family is important."
"You're never home with yours," Santana points out even though she knows it's untrue. Brittany spends a lot of time with her, but the blonde has never been neglectful of her family. It's not like she's missing out on much at night when everyone's sleeping.
"Because you need me more," Brittany explains quietly, breath close to Santana's ear.
Santana's eyes harden. "I'm not a fucking charity case."
"I didn't say that."
Santana whips around, beads of water spraying onto the front of Brittany's top. She pushes the hairdryer out of her face, a misguided rage burning up inside her. "Is that what this is all about? You hang off my arm because you feel sorry for me? I'm not gonna go and kill myself if I don't have you around, Britt."
Brittany places the hairdryer down on the counter. Santana reaches over to flip it off and immediately wishes she hadn't. The sudden silence is stifling, and Santana's heart starts to pound painfully in her chest.
Santana exhales. "I didn't mean that," she says, sliding her hand across Brittany's cheek.
Brittany takes a step back, pulling away from Santana's touch, and Santana's heart nearly curls into itself. Santana drops her hand to her side and searches out Brittany's eyes.
"I'm sorry," Santana murmurs, hating the tiny quiver that creeps into her voice. "I just-I say stupid shit I don't mean sometimes. I need you, okay? Like, a lot." Santana's hand slips around Brittany's, and she doesn't pull away this time. Santana breathes a quiet sigh of relief. "You are so good to me, Britt, and most of the time, I don't even deserve it."
Brittany doesn't say another word, just picks up the hairdryer, turns it on, and runs it patiently over Santana's hair until every strand is dry.
Brittany stays quiet even as they brush their teeth together and crawl into bed, bodies touching under the covers.
Santana curls into Brittany, tucking her head under Brittany's chin. Brittany's arm folds over Santana's midsection, pulling her close. Sometimes, it feels like this is all Santana is ever going to need for the rest of her life. Just Brittany. Fuck everyone else.
"How was your date with Finn?" Brittany finally asks, voice low.
Santana closes her eyes. "It was okay. Swiped his v-card." She shifts slightly against Brittany. "Not that I'm surprised, but the sex kind of sucked."
Brittany's hand is sliding under Santana's shirt when Santana stops her.
"My mom's in the next room," Santana whispers, her body reacting to Brittany's touch anyway.
Brittany palms her way up Santana's back, her hand coming to rest against Santana's shoulder blade. And then she stops and just holds Santana there.
"I love you," Brittany murmurs, and it's so soft that it's not like all those other times she says it, mostly when Santana lets Brittany cheat off her Spanish test or have the last Sour Patch Kid. It makes Santana's heart twist in her chest, and she nearly sobs at the realization that she's wanted so much and for so long to hear those words from someone - anyone - and have them mean it, really mean it like Brittany does now.
"I love you too," Santana chokes out, and in the comfort of Brittany's arms, she adds, "I only wish I knew how to show you."
"You're doing good, San," Brittany reassures her.
"I-no, not like you do." Santana presses a quick kiss to Brittany's collarbone, almost apologetic.
"But if we were the same, we'd be twins," Brittany argues, "and we couldn't have sex anymore. That would be horrible."
Santana smiles against Brittany's neck. "Yeah, it would."
Brittany shifts so that she and Santana are at eyelevel, and their lips meet in a slow, lingering kiss. Santana slips a leg between Brittany's thighs, and Brittany makes a low whimpering sound at the back of her throat.
Santana pulls away, just slightly. "Remember when we were eight, and I pushed you and you skinned your knee?" she asks suddenly.
"Yeah," Brittany replies, "why did you do that?"
Santana plays with the hem of Brittany's camisole. "Because I was a bully. You were different though. You never cried."
"I don't know why. I'm pretty sure it hurt."
Santana's hand slides under Brittany's cami, and she tugs it over Brittany's midsection, exposing skin. When Brittany doesn't stop her, Santana nudges Brittany's arms and pulls the entire thing over her head. Brittany shakes it off her arms and tosses it aside.
Santana slithers lower, burying herself underneath the covers, and she leaves a trail of kisses down Brittany's chest, between her breasts, over her abdomen, across her navel. Brittany pushes the sheets off a little to give Santana more room to breathe. Santana hooks her thumbs over the waistband of Brittany's pajama bottoms and tugs lightly.
"I thought you said your mom was in the next room," Brittany says with a small, teasing smile.
Santana presses her mouth to Brittany's hipbone. "She's probably asleep already."
"And if she's not? Or if she wakes up?"
"I need you, Brittany," Santana says, and the words come out more urgently than she'd planned.
Brittany lifts her hips off the bed so that Santana can pull off her pants, and she takes Brittany's underwear along with them. Brittany kicks the clothes away, leaving her completely nude, and Santana takes in the sight of her. It's rare that she gets to see Brittany - all of Brittany - because they're usually all about getting off as quickly as possible, and that's not exactly conducive to getting naked.
"You're so gorgeous," Santana exhales, pressing a kiss to each of Brittany's thighs. "Have I ever told you that?"
Brittany doesn't say anything, just breathes heavily and reaches for Santana. Santana laces her fingers through Brittany's. With her other hand, Santana tugs at one of Brittany's legs, bending it upward, and she lifts herself to plant a kiss on Brittany's knee.
"Sorry," Santana murmurs against the smooth skin over Brittany's kneecap. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
"It's okay," Brittany whispers, voice cracking a little when Santana's lips travel up along her inner thigh.
Santana squeezes Brittany's hand as she parts Brittany's legs and presses her mouth to Brittany's clit, tongue darting out to swipe across moist lips. The first taste of Brittany very nearly drives Santana insane, and she has to pace herself. Brittany moans, arching up to Santana's mouth, and Santana prepares two fingers at Brittany's entrance and pushes them in, filling her.
"Santana," Brittany groans.
Santana sucks lightly at Brittany's clit, her fingers finding an even rhythm, and Brittany's hand comes to rest at the top of Santana's head. Santana strokes deep. Over and over, and she wants this to be good for Brittany, wants to show everything she's so awful at verbalizing. Brittany is the one with the soft words and gentle touches; Santana feels so out of her skin when she tries to string together an affectionate sentence. But this. This, Santana knows. She's never felt more comfortable than she does now, mouth between Brittany's legs, pleasuring her. Brittany starts to squirm, and Santana picks up the pace, using tongue and teeth to work Brittany up up up.
Brittany's body shudders, her cry muffled by her own palm. Her other hand tightens around Santana's hair. Santana grunts in pain but she keeps her lips attached to Brittany, gently helping her down.
The look in Brittany's eyes when she finally opens them is mesmerizing. She loosens her grip on Santana's hair, tenderly smoothing it back down. Santana's fingers slide out, and she kisses her way back up to Brittany's lips.
Brittany pulls lazily at Santana's shirt, and it bunches around Santana's chest. Santana shrugs out of it, tossing it aside, and Brittany immediately ducks down to brush her tongue across one of Santana's breasts. The wet heat of Brittany's mouth gliding over Santana's nipple makes Santana's head spin with arousal, and her hand grips Brittany's shoulder, anchoring her.
"I love you," Santana says, the words tasting less and less foreign against her lips. "I love you."
"I know, I know, I know," Brittany repeats over and over, her voice muffled against Santana's skin, and Santana doesn't think she's ever seen Brittany looking at her with such clarity.
Brittany's hands are at Santana's hips when Santana pulls her up. "Just kiss me tonight."
And Brittany, ever-compliant, settles against Santana's body and does exactly that until they both fall asleep, limbs loosely intertwined.
--
The first time a boy tells her that he loves her, Santana is seven, and the admission comes with a bouquet of dandelions and a shy, gap-toothed grin. Santana punches him so hard in the face that he gets a nosebleed.
The first time a boy tells her that he loves her and actually kind of means it, Santana is thirteen, and the admission comes with messy kisses and a stray hand on her bare thigh. Santana loses her virginity to him that night but dumps him a week later when he doesn't stop saying it.
The point is that Santana? Does not deal with any of this touchy-feely lovey-dovey shit very well. Or like, at all.
Puck never once tells her that he loves her, and maybe that's why she'd kept him around for so long. She works better that way. Sex is just sex, and she's never known or wanted it any differently.
When Brittany tells her that she loves her and really, really means it, it makes Santana feel alive. And when Santana says it back, she's never meant anything more in her life. After the feeling settles in though, she is absolutely terrified. Having sex with another girl, she can get away with by citing hormones and hooking up with a guy once in a while. But falling in love with another girl? Wanting to quit not only guys but other girls too? That's an entirely different story, one that Lima does not take kindly to, and she's still got two and a half years left in this joint.
So Santana panics and calls Puck. He tells her to come over.
Santana doesn't know how that's going to help - she can't even have sex with him because she doesn't want to do it at her house, and Quinn is always at his - but she shows up anyway. Quinn lets her in and leads her into the rec room.
Puck is seated in a recliner, a Playstation controller in his hands. He looks up briefly when they enter.
"Where's Brittany?" he asks.
"How should I know? We're not fucking conjoined twins."
"Jesus," Puck mutters, turning back to sniping bad guys on his TV. "How's the view from inside your asshole? Say hi to your rectum for me."
Quinn makes a face at Puck and turns to Santana. "You guys have a fight or something?"
Santana slumps down onto an ottoman. "No."
Quinn nudges Santana aside and sits beside her. "Then… why are you pissed?"
"I'm not," Santana replies evenly, fist clenching around the fabric of her seat.
Puck grins. "Brittany not giving it up to you enough? 'Cause Puckzilla is always open for business."
Quinn reaches over and slaps Puck hard across the back of his head, and Puck's controller falls to the ground. By the time Puck manages to pick it back up, his game is already playing doom music, and a big bloody 'game over' sign spans the screen.
Puck rubs the back of his head. "Shit, Quinn. What the hell?"
"Santana is having girl trouble. We do not offer to have sex with her."
"Will you two both can it?" Santana stands up. "Forget it. This was a bad idea."
Quinn reaches up and pulls Santana back down. "Come on, Santana. You're obviously upset about something."
Puck and Quinn are both looking expectantly at her, and she doesn't think she's ever felt more self-conscious in her life. But for better or for worse, these are her friends, even Tubby McPreggo, and what Santana really needs right now, other than a shot of tequila, is for someone to listen to her. Usually, that's Brittany, but she can't exactly talk to Brittany about this.
"This thing with Britt-it's getting… serious." And ugh, Santana nearly winces at how lame that comes out sounding.
Quinn and Puck exchange looks.
Puck puts down his video game. "So like what? You're going lez full-time?"
Santana hesitates. "I can't do that. I'd get so much shit for it."
"What are you saying?" Quinn asks. "Your reputation is more important than Brittany?"
Santana's chest tightens. "No, I'm just being realistic, okay? What are the chances this is actually going to pan out past high school?"
"Isn't Brittany worth the risk?" Quinn looks sympathetic. "I don't really need to call up Rachel and get her to come sing some more Celine Dion, do I?"
"What are you even talking about?" Santana looks briefly at Puck, who is watching her quietly. She straightens up, even as she feels small under the scrutiny. "I'm not giving up everything to chase a high school fling."
"Santana," Quinn reprimands gently. "She's not-"
"No," Santana interrupts before Quinn can finish that sentence. Santana's cheeks start to burn, but she toughs it out. "I have to look out for myself first."
"Brittany's always looked out for you," Quinn points out.
"Brittany can't tell her left from her right," Santana deflects.
Quinn shakes her head, undeterred. "Doesn't matter. She's always looked out for you."
Santana swallows hard at that. "I'm not having this conversation anymore," she says, standing up and turning to leave. Quinn doesn't stop her this time.
Santana hadn't known what exactly to expect when she'd admitted to Puck and Quinn that she was "serious" about Brittany, which, ugh, isn't the most eloquent thing Santana's ever come up with. Maybe she'd been waiting for Quinn to tell her that nothing's worth as much as her rep, which she hadn't, or for Puck to offer to have sex with her, which he had.
Santana doesn't have sex with Puck, but she does make out with him a few times. He actually looks a little guilty going into it, and Santana marks one off on the decent-guy column. But Puck is still Puck, and Santana knows exactly what makes him weak. So they mess around a little. Santana doesn't enjoy it at all. Actually, she's pretty sure she had more fun that one time Coach put them on a diet that involved nothing but egg whites with a dash of pepper spray.
She feels pretty shitty about it afterwards, especially when she thinks about Brittany, but Puck is like some messed up safety net for her, and it's the only way she knows. Because Puck is safe, and Puck is easy, and Puck doesn't make Santana feel like she's fucking flying without a parachute. Santana is never going to fall in love with Puck, and it won't hurt when they inevitably decide to call it quits again. It probably won't even damage their friendship when all's said and done, because she's Santana Lopez and he's Noah Puckerman, and they both have a pretty clear understanding of what this is.
Puck is a band-aid solution at best, but it's what Santana can handle. It's all Santana can handle.
The first few times, Quinn smiles tightly at her every time she shows up, but the blonde doesn't say anything. Santana almost wishes Quinn would punch her in the face or something. She probably needs it.
About a week in, Quinn stops her at the Puckermans' front door.
"Puck isn't home," Quinn says, her words marked with concern and a hint of frustration. "His mom dragged him and his sister out to some Jewish thing."
Wordlessly, Santana turns to leave.
"You want to come in?" Quinn offers.
"Not really," Santana replies, but she stops moving.
Quinn steps outside and closes the door behind her. "Santana," she broaches softly, "what are you doing?"
Santana pivots to face her, defenses rising. "Going home. Some of us still have one." She doesn't even know why she adds the last part because saying it doesn't make her feel any better.
Quinn doesn't flinch. "Don't play dumb. I mean with Puck."
"Nothing I haven't done before and frankly none of your fucking business."
"What about Brittany?" Quinn asks gently, sharply contrasting Santana's edgy tone.
Even though Santana immediately reacts to the sound of Brittany's name, she shrugs and forces indifference. "Getting some from two different people; you'd know a little something about that." Santana glances pointedly at Quinn's baby bump, but the blonde remains unfazed by Santana's digs.
"Something changed though," Quinn points out. "Isn't that what you said?"
"No, okay?" Santana clenches her jaw and turns toward her car. "I'm not going through this again."
Quinn lets it go. Not that Santana is giving her much of a chance to press the issue, because she's out of that driveway in thirty seconds flat.
Santana doesn't act any differently with Brittany. She kisses her with the same intensity, touches her with the same urgency, and when Brittany ends every night with a quiet I love you, Santana echoes the words and lets herself one moment to feel them before closing herself off.
She doesn't try to hide the Puck thing from Brittany or anything. Brittany knows. But she still smiles and laughs and loves, and neither of them ever brings it up. In short, nothing really changes, aside from Santana's self-destructive tendencies.
Santana manages to convince herself that it's not cheating or whatever, because she'd never agreed to anything exclusive, and besides-she doesn't actually have another point, but the lack of exclusivity thing seems like enough. And Brittany's the one who'd told her to go after Finn, right? Right.
It's almost like Santana is waiting for something to happen.
--
Something does happen: Puck shaves his mohawk.
After he gets tossed in the dumpster by Jewfro and co, he starts chasing Mercedes. Mercedes. What the hell? Santana isn't jealous; she just doesn't understand something, so she corners Puck one afternoon before Glee rehearsal.
"What's the deal with you going after Mercedes? Why don't you just tell everyone you're with me? It'd be way more convincing, and you wouldn't have to date a fat chick."
"Look, Santana. Everyone knows you're at least half gay. Spreading the word that I'm still hooking up with you? Will just make me look like your gay beard, and I'm not down with that." Puck softens a little. "I think this'll be good for you," he adds.
Santana frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Making out with someone who isn't into it is about as fun as getting your balls cut off. I just went along with it because Quinn's been rejecting all my advances, and you're still really hot, especially now that you're into chicks." Puck grins a little at that. "But I know you, Santana," he continues. "You're all about putting yourself first, which, you know, is cool. But as your friend, I can't act like I don't know what this is anymore, just for a few lousy make-out sessions."
Santana juts out her chin. "I have no idea what you're-"
Puck stops her. "Go work things out with Brittany."
Santana tries not to look surprised, but honestly, the whole thing hits her pretty hard. How far has she fallen to have skirt-chasing Puck preach to her about commitment? It's almost embarrassing. Mostly though, she thinks of Brittany, and her heart aches a little. All she really wants to do is kiss Brittany, only Brittany, and be able to do it anywhere she wants.
Shit. She's so fucking in love with this girl, and no amount of random hookups born out of panic and a deep, misguided fear is going to change that. Even Puck sees it, and he's about as shortsighted as the neighborhood hobo. Shit.
"You and me," Puck continues, "we both know what this is. Look, S, I'd light myself on fire before I'd admit this to anyone else, but I'd snap a motherfucking neck for you. You know that. But I can't help you do this anymore."
"Don't act like you were doing me a favor," Santana retorts, even though she's kind of touched by Puck's admission.
"I wasn't." He half-smirks. "Let me know how it goes with Brittany."
Santana doesn't make any effort to move. She's not ready for any of this.
"You want a hug or something?" Puck offers, biting back a grin.
"Get out of my sight, Puckerman," Santana growls, but a small grin plays on her lips.
Puck laughs. "There's my girl."
So, okay. Santana has to talk to Brittany. She feels naked without an actual plan, but screw everything. Maybe she prefers nudity when it comes to Brittany.
Santana heads to the choir room, but before she gets a chance to approach Brittany, Kurt tries to 'no homo' by dressing up like a lumberjack and grunting out Mellencamp like he's just swallowed a fistful of sand. And Brittany… asks him out? It kind of blindsides Santana, except that she probably shouldn't be as worked up about it as she gets, especially since she's the one who'd wordlessly okayed the whole "sharing" thing by attaching herself to Puck at the first sign of something real.
"You and Kurt?" Santana asks as they're walking back to their lockers. "You do know he's as gay as the day is long, right?"
"He's cute," Brittany replies with a short shrug, "and he always smells really good. I think he puts coconut milk in his hair."
"He's into dicks. Last time I checked, you don't have one."
Brittany stops suddenly, spinning Santana around to face her. "Stop it, Santana. I don't tell you who you can make out with, so stop telling me what I can and can't do. Why do you even care? You've got Puck."
The full force of Brittany's silent, pent-up rage hits Santana all at once, and her head starts to spin. Brittany is never angry. Never ever ever. Santana doesn't even know how to react to it.
"Not anymore," Santana manages. "I'm stopping. Puck's dating Mercedes, and-I only want you, Britt."
Brittany's eyes flash, but they are still piercing. "Yeah, for now," is all she says before she leaves.
Brittany doesn't show up in Santana's bed that night.
Santana gets into a spat with Mercedes the next day and makes it look good.
Brittany is not there that night either, or the one after that. Santana misses her more than anything, but Brittany is hanging off Kurt's arm all the time, and that spoonful of medicine tastes damn bitter going down.
Santana's never known Brittany to hold grudges, but Brittany makes no effort to speak to Santana more than absolutely necessary. For the first time in as long as Santana can remember, she's unsure where she stands with Brittany.
Puck offers to kidnap Brittany and lock them together in a room so Santana can talk to her, but Santana has no idea what she'd even say. She just wants to hold Brittany and stroke Brittany's hair and feel Brittany's weight pressing down on her. She doesn't even care how fucking pathetic that sounds.
But she's only ever been good at apologies because she's always known Brittany to be receptive to them. Now, she isn't so sure, and no way is she going to put herself out there again to be shut down. So she steels herself and bides her time. All it does is reinforce that she has to look out for herself first.
Neither Puck and Mercedes nor Kurt and Brittany last until the end of the week, but other than that, nothing changes. Despite being in Cheerios and Glee together, as well as having their lockers next to each other, Brittany does a smashing job of avoiding Santana altogether. Not that Santana is making much of an effort to run into Brittany either, but she's become so used to Brittany wanting to be around her that she cannot even process what to do now that Brittany doesn't.
The thing about Brittany is that she loves everyone, even when she's insulting their appearance or laughing along at something mean Santana says. Brittany never dwells on the flaws, and she smiles with such intensity and authenticity that nobody ever holds those moments against her. So when she starts distancing herself from Santana, Brittany drifts easily to Mike and Matt and Finn, Kurt and Mercedes and Quinn, Artie and Tina, even Rachel, and all of them seem more relieved than anything else that they no longer have to put up with Santana to bask in Brittany's sunshine.
Santana is miserable, but hell if she'll let anyone know. Quinn though, she starts to look really concerned about the whole situation, and Santana catches her talking to Brittany a few times, casting cautious glances Santana's way. Santana is actually a little bitter about it. In truth, if their falling out becomes angry and messy, everyone would easily side with Brittany, except maybe Puck.
Quinn isn't the only one who is worried.
Rachel corners Santana. "I am asking this as kindly as possible: Please sort out your homosexual disagreements with Brittany before it starts severely and irreversibly affecting the chemistry of the entire Glee Club, thus ruining our chances at regionals and further, my life."
Kurt is next. "Normally I would not get myself involved in any of your juvenile drama, but I couldn't help but notice-lately, you have been exceptionally… bitchy, for lack of a more appropriate term. Even for you. This only concerns me because if you must insist on scowling so much, I have just the face balm to help counteract the wrinkles that will certainly and prematurely emerge around your lips. You have lovely bone structure, Santana; it would serve you well to take care of your skin. Or just frown less."
Puck offers sex again, but only in jest. He sneaks a six-pack of Bud into Santana's room and gently stops her as she's woozily reaching for her fourth bottle.
"Cockblock," Santana mutters, moving to lie down on her bed.
"Hey, three each is fair," Puck counters, even though he's only nursing his first and appears to have no intention of getting remotely drunk.
"Why are you even bringing me alcohol?" Santana grunts.
Puck shrugs. "You look like you could use it."
"Thanks," Santana replies dryly, shutting her eyes.
Puck puts down his drink. "You wanna talk about this? Brittany?"
Santana opens one eye to look at him. "You're the last person I would've expected that question from. And no. I'm not nearly drunk enough for that."
"I'm just saying. Quinn and everyone else-they're all her friend first, but I got your back, and if you happen to be feeling generous, toss in a few details about the hot girl-on-girl action."
Santana chuckles. "You're such a dick sometimes."
Puck grins. "Can't fault a guy for trying, right?" He watches Santana for a few minutes before continuing, "You came to me about it that time Britt spilled about you guys, remember? Your psycho phone call in the middle of the night?"
Santana's head spins, the force of the memory magnified by the alcohol in her bloodstream. "Yeah, what about it?"
Puck barely looks up, his shoulders rising in a shrug. "You trusting me with that, it was cool, that's all."
Santana lets out a dry chuckle. "Going soft on me there, Puckerman?"
"I'm just saying," Puck replies with a small smile. "I did pretty well that time, considering you woke me up at three a.m. and didn't promise me sex."
Santana snorts. "You want a gold star or something?"
"Just saying," Puck repeats. He tilts his head to study her, and quietly adds, "Santana, you're absolutely miserable without her."
"I'm fine," Santana groans, burying her face into her pillow. It still smells like Brittany, and she can't help but breathe everything in, even as she chides herself for being weak. But the scent is faint, and she feels hollow. Santana quickly sits up, needing to get away.
Puck pops open another bottle of beer and holds it out to Santana. "Here."
"You sure you don't want to turn this into another third-grade math lesson?" Santana asks, sarcasm dripping from her words.
Puck pulls his lips into a straight line, but his eyes flicker with amusement. "Just take it."
Santana reaches out and grabs the beer from Puck, bringing the mouth of the bottle hungrily to her lips. She craves the burn of hard liquor gliding down her throat, but at this point, she'll take whatever she can get.
"Hey, easy," Puck cautions, but Santana chugs the rest down and hands Puck an empty bottle.
"Bring vodka next time," she complains. "Then maybe I'd actually have a shot at getting drunk without needing to piss my pants."
He shakes his head. "I wouldn't need to if you just manned the hell up. What are you so afraid of?"
Santana bristles. "I'm not afraid of shit."
"Santana." Puck stares her down. "This is fucking pathetic."
"She doesn't want me anymore, okay?" Santana snaps, chest tightening. "She's never fucking needed me."
Puck tilts his head, and he actually holds down the sympathetic look without appearing like a jackass. "You don't know that. Have you even talked to her?"
Santana covers her eyes as she leans back against her headboard. "Were those words too big for your pea brain? She does not want me."
"But you want her, right?"
"So fucking badly," Santana mutters, and damn it, she must be drunker than she'd thought.
"Then go get her," Puck proposes like it's completely obvious. He pauses, almost expectantly, but when Santana says nothing, he pushes on. "Why are you being a pussy about this? When has anything stopped you from getting whatever the hell you want?"
"She's different," Santana argues, and it aches to even think about how true those words are. "I can't just-bully my way around her. And I don't want to."
"Have you ever thought that maybe she's the one who isn't sure how you feel?" Puck asks suddenly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're the one who blew her off first."
Santana takes a breath and looks at Puck. "Shit. I need to get her back," she says quietly.
"I know," Puck says solemnly. With a straight face, he adds, "You're kind of an insufferable bitch without her."
Santana holds back a grin. "Asshole."
Puck smirks and rises from his seat. "I should go and make sure Quinn and my mom haven't offed each other yet. Quinn's been craving whole dill pickles dipped in ice cream and wrapped in bacon."
Santana grimaces. "Oh, gross."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Puck leans down, bringing his face close to Santana's, and he playfully puckers his lips. "So how about a kiss goodnight?"
Santana laughs and shoves him away. "Fuck off."
Puck grins and straightens up. "Go chase some hot dancer tail. You gonna be okay?"
Santana nods. "Thanks, Puck."
"Catch you later, Lopez," he says before leaving the room, taking the six-pack with him.
Despite all of Puck's depravity, Santana is really glad to have someone on her side. She's actually kind of touched Puck had even thought to bring her beer and ask how she's doing, because she knows that's not Puck's deal. It strangely doesn't freak her out.
Santana stares at the ceiling long after Puck's clunky truck pulls out of her driveway, her head swimming with memories of Brittany.
Part 5
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 6,133 (of ~56k)
Timeline: Season 1
Summary: Santana Lopez has a plan. A three-point plan. A really fucking efficient three-point plan that's going to get her the hell out of Ohio. This is her story.
Notes: For bradyyface, who tried texting me about 'Faberry' only to have her iPhone auto-correct it to 'Canetti'. Also, don't hate me and/or Santana. Emotionally stunted girls need love too. :{
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Sleeping with Finn is not the brightest idea Santana's ever had. To be fair, it isn't her idea, but still.
When the thing with Brittany becomes public knowledge around McKinley High, it doesn't really do anything awful to Santana's reputation, contrary to what she'd thought. Guys think it's pretty hot, and girls are more curious than anything else. They take some heat from Karofsky, but Santana's pretty sure it's about being in Glee, not the maybe-gay thing, and anyway, he's a stupid son of a bitch. Even Coach Sylvester doesn't seem to care, like a 'don't ask, don't tell' sort of deal.
Coach is more interested in the downfall of Glee, and finding out about Brittany and Santana's ambiguous sexuality only seems to give her more ammunition.
That's how they end up going on a date together with Finn, and why Brittany suggests that Santana sleep with him to bolster her rep and satisfy Coach Sylvester and her crazy Madonna worship. Santana has seen the special perks Quinn had gotten as captain of the Cheerios. Perks that she wants for herself. She's worked too hard to let this opportunity slip away.
So she does it with Finn. And then wolfs down a cheeseburger. All in a day's work. She can practically taste the extra tanning privileges coming her way.
Santana gets home a little past one. Judging by the car in the driveway, her mom is actually home for the first time in a week, and ugh, she does not have the energy to deal with this. At least she doesn't smell like a brewery.
She slips in quietly, hoping her mother is already in bed, but no such luck. The dark-haired woman sitting at the kitchen table looks up at the sound of the front door. To Santana's surprise, Brittany is sitting at the other side of the table in full sleepwear, munching on a taquito.
"Oh, Santana," her mother says, rising from her seat.
"Mama," Santana replies quietly.
"Mija, why are you home so late?"
Santana peeks at Brittany. "I, uh-"
"Science project," Brittany answers around a mouthful of tortilla. Their eyes meet, and Santana looks down. "Santana's partner Finn? He's kind of dumb, so it takes them a long time to get stuff done."
"Yeah." Santana forces a smile. "Science project. Lost track of time."
Santana's mother walks up to Santana and draws her into an embrace. Santana's arms instinctively wrap around the woman who is mostly a stranger, and Santana suddenly feels young. So incredibly young, and a string of words claw at the back of her throat. Words about being abandoned, and wanting so much more than these fleeting moments. Words like I miss you, and please love me. Words that make her feel fragile and pathetic for even thinking them. She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows them like she always does. There is no place for weakness.
Santana pulls away from her mother's arms, feeling Brittany's eyes on her. "I'm going to head to bed," she says softly, backing away. "Buenas noches, Mama."
Santana hates the way her absentee mother can make her feel so tender and vulnerable, jumping in and out of her life. Most of the time, she deals with it fine, but tonight, every emotion feels magnified a thousand times. And maybe it's that she's just whored herself out to a cabbage patch kid for extra spa sessions, or that Brittany had bore witness to the whole exchange, but it's suddenly tough to even breathe. She hasn't felt like this in years.
Though it's late, Santana takes a quick shower to lose Finn's scent and to calm herself down. She manages to do one. As she's drying herself off, there's a knock at the bathroom door.
"San," is all the voice on the other side says.
Santana wraps the towel tightly around her torso and pulls open the door. Brittany slips in, puts down the toilet cover and sits. She watches Santana towel herself off for a few minutes, eyes roaming the length of Santana's body. Santana pulls on a pair of boyshorts and slips into an oversized Pink Floyd tee.
When Santana takes out her hairdryer and it whirrs to action, Brittany stands up and moves behind Santana, taking the hairdryer from her. She begins running the jet of hot air back and forth along Santana's damp locks.
"Maybe you should tell her," Brittany says into her ear.
Santana turns her head slightly. "Tell who what?"
"Tell your mom that you want her around more."
"I don't." Santana looks back at the mirror, watching their reflections. "I get to do whatever the hell I want all the time," she continues. "It's like a teenager's ultimate dream."
"Santana," Brittany admonishes gently.
Santana shrugs, softening. "This is what she wants to do. She gets to travel, and seniority is a big deal for flight attendants; she's finally making decent money. She won't be able to pay all the bills if she switches to some entry-level paper-pushing job and starts living at here again. We're a single-income home, Brittany."
Brittany is gentle with Santana's hair as she moves the hairdryer slowly across it. "Family is important."
"You're never home with yours," Santana points out even though she knows it's untrue. Brittany spends a lot of time with her, but the blonde has never been neglectful of her family. It's not like she's missing out on much at night when everyone's sleeping.
"Because you need me more," Brittany explains quietly, breath close to Santana's ear.
Santana's eyes harden. "I'm not a fucking charity case."
"I didn't say that."
Santana whips around, beads of water spraying onto the front of Brittany's top. She pushes the hairdryer out of her face, a misguided rage burning up inside her. "Is that what this is all about? You hang off my arm because you feel sorry for me? I'm not gonna go and kill myself if I don't have you around, Britt."
Brittany places the hairdryer down on the counter. Santana reaches over to flip it off and immediately wishes she hadn't. The sudden silence is stifling, and Santana's heart starts to pound painfully in her chest.
Santana exhales. "I didn't mean that," she says, sliding her hand across Brittany's cheek.
Brittany takes a step back, pulling away from Santana's touch, and Santana's heart nearly curls into itself. Santana drops her hand to her side and searches out Brittany's eyes.
"I'm sorry," Santana murmurs, hating the tiny quiver that creeps into her voice. "I just-I say stupid shit I don't mean sometimes. I need you, okay? Like, a lot." Santana's hand slips around Brittany's, and she doesn't pull away this time. Santana breathes a quiet sigh of relief. "You are so good to me, Britt, and most of the time, I don't even deserve it."
Brittany doesn't say another word, just picks up the hairdryer, turns it on, and runs it patiently over Santana's hair until every strand is dry.
Brittany stays quiet even as they brush their teeth together and crawl into bed, bodies touching under the covers.
Santana curls into Brittany, tucking her head under Brittany's chin. Brittany's arm folds over Santana's midsection, pulling her close. Sometimes, it feels like this is all Santana is ever going to need for the rest of her life. Just Brittany. Fuck everyone else.
"How was your date with Finn?" Brittany finally asks, voice low.
Santana closes her eyes. "It was okay. Swiped his v-card." She shifts slightly against Brittany. "Not that I'm surprised, but the sex kind of sucked."
Brittany's hand is sliding under Santana's shirt when Santana stops her.
"My mom's in the next room," Santana whispers, her body reacting to Brittany's touch anyway.
Brittany palms her way up Santana's back, her hand coming to rest against Santana's shoulder blade. And then she stops and just holds Santana there.
"I love you," Brittany murmurs, and it's so soft that it's not like all those other times she says it, mostly when Santana lets Brittany cheat off her Spanish test or have the last Sour Patch Kid. It makes Santana's heart twist in her chest, and she nearly sobs at the realization that she's wanted so much and for so long to hear those words from someone - anyone - and have them mean it, really mean it like Brittany does now.
"I love you too," Santana chokes out, and in the comfort of Brittany's arms, she adds, "I only wish I knew how to show you."
"You're doing good, San," Brittany reassures her.
"I-no, not like you do." Santana presses a quick kiss to Brittany's collarbone, almost apologetic.
"But if we were the same, we'd be twins," Brittany argues, "and we couldn't have sex anymore. That would be horrible."
Santana smiles against Brittany's neck. "Yeah, it would."
Brittany shifts so that she and Santana are at eyelevel, and their lips meet in a slow, lingering kiss. Santana slips a leg between Brittany's thighs, and Brittany makes a low whimpering sound at the back of her throat.
Santana pulls away, just slightly. "Remember when we were eight, and I pushed you and you skinned your knee?" she asks suddenly.
"Yeah," Brittany replies, "why did you do that?"
Santana plays with the hem of Brittany's camisole. "Because I was a bully. You were different though. You never cried."
"I don't know why. I'm pretty sure it hurt."
Santana's hand slides under Brittany's cami, and she tugs it over Brittany's midsection, exposing skin. When Brittany doesn't stop her, Santana nudges Brittany's arms and pulls the entire thing over her head. Brittany shakes it off her arms and tosses it aside.
Santana slithers lower, burying herself underneath the covers, and she leaves a trail of kisses down Brittany's chest, between her breasts, over her abdomen, across her navel. Brittany pushes the sheets off a little to give Santana more room to breathe. Santana hooks her thumbs over the waistband of Brittany's pajama bottoms and tugs lightly.
"I thought you said your mom was in the next room," Brittany says with a small, teasing smile.
Santana presses her mouth to Brittany's hipbone. "She's probably asleep already."
"And if she's not? Or if she wakes up?"
"I need you, Brittany," Santana says, and the words come out more urgently than she'd planned.
Brittany lifts her hips off the bed so that Santana can pull off her pants, and she takes Brittany's underwear along with them. Brittany kicks the clothes away, leaving her completely nude, and Santana takes in the sight of her. It's rare that she gets to see Brittany - all of Brittany - because they're usually all about getting off as quickly as possible, and that's not exactly conducive to getting naked.
"You're so gorgeous," Santana exhales, pressing a kiss to each of Brittany's thighs. "Have I ever told you that?"
Brittany doesn't say anything, just breathes heavily and reaches for Santana. Santana laces her fingers through Brittany's. With her other hand, Santana tugs at one of Brittany's legs, bending it upward, and she lifts herself to plant a kiss on Brittany's knee.
"Sorry," Santana murmurs against the smooth skin over Brittany's kneecap. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
"It's okay," Brittany whispers, voice cracking a little when Santana's lips travel up along her inner thigh.
Santana squeezes Brittany's hand as she parts Brittany's legs and presses her mouth to Brittany's clit, tongue darting out to swipe across moist lips. The first taste of Brittany very nearly drives Santana insane, and she has to pace herself. Brittany moans, arching up to Santana's mouth, and Santana prepares two fingers at Brittany's entrance and pushes them in, filling her.
"Santana," Brittany groans.
Santana sucks lightly at Brittany's clit, her fingers finding an even rhythm, and Brittany's hand comes to rest at the top of Santana's head. Santana strokes deep. Over and over, and she wants this to be good for Brittany, wants to show everything she's so awful at verbalizing. Brittany is the one with the soft words and gentle touches; Santana feels so out of her skin when she tries to string together an affectionate sentence. But this. This, Santana knows. She's never felt more comfortable than she does now, mouth between Brittany's legs, pleasuring her. Brittany starts to squirm, and Santana picks up the pace, using tongue and teeth to work Brittany up up up.
Brittany's body shudders, her cry muffled by her own palm. Her other hand tightens around Santana's hair. Santana grunts in pain but she keeps her lips attached to Brittany, gently helping her down.
The look in Brittany's eyes when she finally opens them is mesmerizing. She loosens her grip on Santana's hair, tenderly smoothing it back down. Santana's fingers slide out, and she kisses her way back up to Brittany's lips.
Brittany pulls lazily at Santana's shirt, and it bunches around Santana's chest. Santana shrugs out of it, tossing it aside, and Brittany immediately ducks down to brush her tongue across one of Santana's breasts. The wet heat of Brittany's mouth gliding over Santana's nipple makes Santana's head spin with arousal, and her hand grips Brittany's shoulder, anchoring her.
"I love you," Santana says, the words tasting less and less foreign against her lips. "I love you."
"I know, I know, I know," Brittany repeats over and over, her voice muffled against Santana's skin, and Santana doesn't think she's ever seen Brittany looking at her with such clarity.
Brittany's hands are at Santana's hips when Santana pulls her up. "Just kiss me tonight."
And Brittany, ever-compliant, settles against Santana's body and does exactly that until they both fall asleep, limbs loosely intertwined.
--
The first time a boy tells her that he loves her, Santana is seven, and the admission comes with a bouquet of dandelions and a shy, gap-toothed grin. Santana punches him so hard in the face that he gets a nosebleed.
The first time a boy tells her that he loves her and actually kind of means it, Santana is thirteen, and the admission comes with messy kisses and a stray hand on her bare thigh. Santana loses her virginity to him that night but dumps him a week later when he doesn't stop saying it.
The point is that Santana? Does not deal with any of this touchy-feely lovey-dovey shit very well. Or like, at all.
Puck never once tells her that he loves her, and maybe that's why she'd kept him around for so long. She works better that way. Sex is just sex, and she's never known or wanted it any differently.
When Brittany tells her that she loves her and really, really means it, it makes Santana feel alive. And when Santana says it back, she's never meant anything more in her life. After the feeling settles in though, she is absolutely terrified. Having sex with another girl, she can get away with by citing hormones and hooking up with a guy once in a while. But falling in love with another girl? Wanting to quit not only guys but other girls too? That's an entirely different story, one that Lima does not take kindly to, and she's still got two and a half years left in this joint.
So Santana panics and calls Puck. He tells her to come over.
Santana doesn't know how that's going to help - she can't even have sex with him because she doesn't want to do it at her house, and Quinn is always at his - but she shows up anyway. Quinn lets her in and leads her into the rec room.
Puck is seated in a recliner, a Playstation controller in his hands. He looks up briefly when they enter.
"Where's Brittany?" he asks.
"How should I know? We're not fucking conjoined twins."
"Jesus," Puck mutters, turning back to sniping bad guys on his TV. "How's the view from inside your asshole? Say hi to your rectum for me."
Quinn makes a face at Puck and turns to Santana. "You guys have a fight or something?"
Santana slumps down onto an ottoman. "No."
Quinn nudges Santana aside and sits beside her. "Then… why are you pissed?"
"I'm not," Santana replies evenly, fist clenching around the fabric of her seat.
Puck grins. "Brittany not giving it up to you enough? 'Cause Puckzilla is always open for business."
Quinn reaches over and slaps Puck hard across the back of his head, and Puck's controller falls to the ground. By the time Puck manages to pick it back up, his game is already playing doom music, and a big bloody 'game over' sign spans the screen.
Puck rubs the back of his head. "Shit, Quinn. What the hell?"
"Santana is having girl trouble. We do not offer to have sex with her."
"Will you two both can it?" Santana stands up. "Forget it. This was a bad idea."
Quinn reaches up and pulls Santana back down. "Come on, Santana. You're obviously upset about something."
Puck and Quinn are both looking expectantly at her, and she doesn't think she's ever felt more self-conscious in her life. But for better or for worse, these are her friends, even Tubby McPreggo, and what Santana really needs right now, other than a shot of tequila, is for someone to listen to her. Usually, that's Brittany, but she can't exactly talk to Brittany about this.
"This thing with Britt-it's getting… serious." And ugh, Santana nearly winces at how lame that comes out sounding.
Quinn and Puck exchange looks.
Puck puts down his video game. "So like what? You're going lez full-time?"
Santana hesitates. "I can't do that. I'd get so much shit for it."
"What are you saying?" Quinn asks. "Your reputation is more important than Brittany?"
Santana's chest tightens. "No, I'm just being realistic, okay? What are the chances this is actually going to pan out past high school?"
"Isn't Brittany worth the risk?" Quinn looks sympathetic. "I don't really need to call up Rachel and get her to come sing some more Celine Dion, do I?"
"What are you even talking about?" Santana looks briefly at Puck, who is watching her quietly. She straightens up, even as she feels small under the scrutiny. "I'm not giving up everything to chase a high school fling."
"Santana," Quinn reprimands gently. "She's not-"
"No," Santana interrupts before Quinn can finish that sentence. Santana's cheeks start to burn, but she toughs it out. "I have to look out for myself first."
"Brittany's always looked out for you," Quinn points out.
"Brittany can't tell her left from her right," Santana deflects.
Quinn shakes her head, undeterred. "Doesn't matter. She's always looked out for you."
Santana swallows hard at that. "I'm not having this conversation anymore," she says, standing up and turning to leave. Quinn doesn't stop her this time.
Santana hadn't known what exactly to expect when she'd admitted to Puck and Quinn that she was "serious" about Brittany, which, ugh, isn't the most eloquent thing Santana's ever come up with. Maybe she'd been waiting for Quinn to tell her that nothing's worth as much as her rep, which she hadn't, or for Puck to offer to have sex with her, which he had.
Santana doesn't have sex with Puck, but she does make out with him a few times. He actually looks a little guilty going into it, and Santana marks one off on the decent-guy column. But Puck is still Puck, and Santana knows exactly what makes him weak. So they mess around a little. Santana doesn't enjoy it at all. Actually, she's pretty sure she had more fun that one time Coach put them on a diet that involved nothing but egg whites with a dash of pepper spray.
She feels pretty shitty about it afterwards, especially when she thinks about Brittany, but Puck is like some messed up safety net for her, and it's the only way she knows. Because Puck is safe, and Puck is easy, and Puck doesn't make Santana feel like she's fucking flying without a parachute. Santana is never going to fall in love with Puck, and it won't hurt when they inevitably decide to call it quits again. It probably won't even damage their friendship when all's said and done, because she's Santana Lopez and he's Noah Puckerman, and they both have a pretty clear understanding of what this is.
Puck is a band-aid solution at best, but it's what Santana can handle. It's all Santana can handle.
The first few times, Quinn smiles tightly at her every time she shows up, but the blonde doesn't say anything. Santana almost wishes Quinn would punch her in the face or something. She probably needs it.
About a week in, Quinn stops her at the Puckermans' front door.
"Puck isn't home," Quinn says, her words marked with concern and a hint of frustration. "His mom dragged him and his sister out to some Jewish thing."
Wordlessly, Santana turns to leave.
"You want to come in?" Quinn offers.
"Not really," Santana replies, but she stops moving.
Quinn steps outside and closes the door behind her. "Santana," she broaches softly, "what are you doing?"
Santana pivots to face her, defenses rising. "Going home. Some of us still have one." She doesn't even know why she adds the last part because saying it doesn't make her feel any better.
Quinn doesn't flinch. "Don't play dumb. I mean with Puck."
"Nothing I haven't done before and frankly none of your fucking business."
"What about Brittany?" Quinn asks gently, sharply contrasting Santana's edgy tone.
Even though Santana immediately reacts to the sound of Brittany's name, she shrugs and forces indifference. "Getting some from two different people; you'd know a little something about that." Santana glances pointedly at Quinn's baby bump, but the blonde remains unfazed by Santana's digs.
"Something changed though," Quinn points out. "Isn't that what you said?"
"No, okay?" Santana clenches her jaw and turns toward her car. "I'm not going through this again."
Quinn lets it go. Not that Santana is giving her much of a chance to press the issue, because she's out of that driveway in thirty seconds flat.
Santana doesn't act any differently with Brittany. She kisses her with the same intensity, touches her with the same urgency, and when Brittany ends every night with a quiet I love you, Santana echoes the words and lets herself one moment to feel them before closing herself off.
She doesn't try to hide the Puck thing from Brittany or anything. Brittany knows. But she still smiles and laughs and loves, and neither of them ever brings it up. In short, nothing really changes, aside from Santana's self-destructive tendencies.
Santana manages to convince herself that it's not cheating or whatever, because she'd never agreed to anything exclusive, and besides-she doesn't actually have another point, but the lack of exclusivity thing seems like enough. And Brittany's the one who'd told her to go after Finn, right? Right.
It's almost like Santana is waiting for something to happen.
--
Something does happen: Puck shaves his mohawk.
After he gets tossed in the dumpster by Jewfro and co, he starts chasing Mercedes. Mercedes. What the hell? Santana isn't jealous; she just doesn't understand something, so she corners Puck one afternoon before Glee rehearsal.
"What's the deal with you going after Mercedes? Why don't you just tell everyone you're with me? It'd be way more convincing, and you wouldn't have to date a fat chick."
"Look, Santana. Everyone knows you're at least half gay. Spreading the word that I'm still hooking up with you? Will just make me look like your gay beard, and I'm not down with that." Puck softens a little. "I think this'll be good for you," he adds.
Santana frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Making out with someone who isn't into it is about as fun as getting your balls cut off. I just went along with it because Quinn's been rejecting all my advances, and you're still really hot, especially now that you're into chicks." Puck grins a little at that. "But I know you, Santana," he continues. "You're all about putting yourself first, which, you know, is cool. But as your friend, I can't act like I don't know what this is anymore, just for a few lousy make-out sessions."
Santana juts out her chin. "I have no idea what you're-"
Puck stops her. "Go work things out with Brittany."
Santana tries not to look surprised, but honestly, the whole thing hits her pretty hard. How far has she fallen to have skirt-chasing Puck preach to her about commitment? It's almost embarrassing. Mostly though, she thinks of Brittany, and her heart aches a little. All she really wants to do is kiss Brittany, only Brittany, and be able to do it anywhere she wants.
Shit. She's so fucking in love with this girl, and no amount of random hookups born out of panic and a deep, misguided fear is going to change that. Even Puck sees it, and he's about as shortsighted as the neighborhood hobo. Shit.
"You and me," Puck continues, "we both know what this is. Look, S, I'd light myself on fire before I'd admit this to anyone else, but I'd snap a motherfucking neck for you. You know that. But I can't help you do this anymore."
"Don't act like you were doing me a favor," Santana retorts, even though she's kind of touched by Puck's admission.
"I wasn't." He half-smirks. "Let me know how it goes with Brittany."
Santana doesn't make any effort to move. She's not ready for any of this.
"You want a hug or something?" Puck offers, biting back a grin.
"Get out of my sight, Puckerman," Santana growls, but a small grin plays on her lips.
Puck laughs. "There's my girl."
So, okay. Santana has to talk to Brittany. She feels naked without an actual plan, but screw everything. Maybe she prefers nudity when it comes to Brittany.
Santana heads to the choir room, but before she gets a chance to approach Brittany, Kurt tries to 'no homo' by dressing up like a lumberjack and grunting out Mellencamp like he's just swallowed a fistful of sand. And Brittany… asks him out? It kind of blindsides Santana, except that she probably shouldn't be as worked up about it as she gets, especially since she's the one who'd wordlessly okayed the whole "sharing" thing by attaching herself to Puck at the first sign of something real.
"You and Kurt?" Santana asks as they're walking back to their lockers. "You do know he's as gay as the day is long, right?"
"He's cute," Brittany replies with a short shrug, "and he always smells really good. I think he puts coconut milk in his hair."
"He's into dicks. Last time I checked, you don't have one."
Brittany stops suddenly, spinning Santana around to face her. "Stop it, Santana. I don't tell you who you can make out with, so stop telling me what I can and can't do. Why do you even care? You've got Puck."
The full force of Brittany's silent, pent-up rage hits Santana all at once, and her head starts to spin. Brittany is never angry. Never ever ever. Santana doesn't even know how to react to it.
"Not anymore," Santana manages. "I'm stopping. Puck's dating Mercedes, and-I only want you, Britt."
Brittany's eyes flash, but they are still piercing. "Yeah, for now," is all she says before she leaves.
Brittany doesn't show up in Santana's bed that night.
Santana gets into a spat with Mercedes the next day and makes it look good.
Brittany is not there that night either, or the one after that. Santana misses her more than anything, but Brittany is hanging off Kurt's arm all the time, and that spoonful of medicine tastes damn bitter going down.
Santana's never known Brittany to hold grudges, but Brittany makes no effort to speak to Santana more than absolutely necessary. For the first time in as long as Santana can remember, she's unsure where she stands with Brittany.
Puck offers to kidnap Brittany and lock them together in a room so Santana can talk to her, but Santana has no idea what she'd even say. She just wants to hold Brittany and stroke Brittany's hair and feel Brittany's weight pressing down on her. She doesn't even care how fucking pathetic that sounds.
But she's only ever been good at apologies because she's always known Brittany to be receptive to them. Now, she isn't so sure, and no way is she going to put herself out there again to be shut down. So she steels herself and bides her time. All it does is reinforce that she has to look out for herself first.
Neither Puck and Mercedes nor Kurt and Brittany last until the end of the week, but other than that, nothing changes. Despite being in Cheerios and Glee together, as well as having their lockers next to each other, Brittany does a smashing job of avoiding Santana altogether. Not that Santana is making much of an effort to run into Brittany either, but she's become so used to Brittany wanting to be around her that she cannot even process what to do now that Brittany doesn't.
The thing about Brittany is that she loves everyone, even when she's insulting their appearance or laughing along at something mean Santana says. Brittany never dwells on the flaws, and she smiles with such intensity and authenticity that nobody ever holds those moments against her. So when she starts distancing herself from Santana, Brittany drifts easily to Mike and Matt and Finn, Kurt and Mercedes and Quinn, Artie and Tina, even Rachel, and all of them seem more relieved than anything else that they no longer have to put up with Santana to bask in Brittany's sunshine.
Santana is miserable, but hell if she'll let anyone know. Quinn though, she starts to look really concerned about the whole situation, and Santana catches her talking to Brittany a few times, casting cautious glances Santana's way. Santana is actually a little bitter about it. In truth, if their falling out becomes angry and messy, everyone would easily side with Brittany, except maybe Puck.
Quinn isn't the only one who is worried.
Rachel corners Santana. "I am asking this as kindly as possible: Please sort out your homosexual disagreements with Brittany before it starts severely and irreversibly affecting the chemistry of the entire Glee Club, thus ruining our chances at regionals and further, my life."
Kurt is next. "Normally I would not get myself involved in any of your juvenile drama, but I couldn't help but notice-lately, you have been exceptionally… bitchy, for lack of a more appropriate term. Even for you. This only concerns me because if you must insist on scowling so much, I have just the face balm to help counteract the wrinkles that will certainly and prematurely emerge around your lips. You have lovely bone structure, Santana; it would serve you well to take care of your skin. Or just frown less."
Puck offers sex again, but only in jest. He sneaks a six-pack of Bud into Santana's room and gently stops her as she's woozily reaching for her fourth bottle.
"Cockblock," Santana mutters, moving to lie down on her bed.
"Hey, three each is fair," Puck counters, even though he's only nursing his first and appears to have no intention of getting remotely drunk.
"Why are you even bringing me alcohol?" Santana grunts.
Puck shrugs. "You look like you could use it."
"Thanks," Santana replies dryly, shutting her eyes.
Puck puts down his drink. "You wanna talk about this? Brittany?"
Santana opens one eye to look at him. "You're the last person I would've expected that question from. And no. I'm not nearly drunk enough for that."
"I'm just saying. Quinn and everyone else-they're all her friend first, but I got your back, and if you happen to be feeling generous, toss in a few details about the hot girl-on-girl action."
Santana chuckles. "You're such a dick sometimes."
Puck grins. "Can't fault a guy for trying, right?" He watches Santana for a few minutes before continuing, "You came to me about it that time Britt spilled about you guys, remember? Your psycho phone call in the middle of the night?"
Santana's head spins, the force of the memory magnified by the alcohol in her bloodstream. "Yeah, what about it?"
Puck barely looks up, his shoulders rising in a shrug. "You trusting me with that, it was cool, that's all."
Santana lets out a dry chuckle. "Going soft on me there, Puckerman?"
"I'm just saying," Puck replies with a small smile. "I did pretty well that time, considering you woke me up at three a.m. and didn't promise me sex."
Santana snorts. "You want a gold star or something?"
"Just saying," Puck repeats. He tilts his head to study her, and quietly adds, "Santana, you're absolutely miserable without her."
"I'm fine," Santana groans, burying her face into her pillow. It still smells like Brittany, and she can't help but breathe everything in, even as she chides herself for being weak. But the scent is faint, and she feels hollow. Santana quickly sits up, needing to get away.
Puck pops open another bottle of beer and holds it out to Santana. "Here."
"You sure you don't want to turn this into another third-grade math lesson?" Santana asks, sarcasm dripping from her words.
Puck pulls his lips into a straight line, but his eyes flicker with amusement. "Just take it."
Santana reaches out and grabs the beer from Puck, bringing the mouth of the bottle hungrily to her lips. She craves the burn of hard liquor gliding down her throat, but at this point, she'll take whatever she can get.
"Hey, easy," Puck cautions, but Santana chugs the rest down and hands Puck an empty bottle.
"Bring vodka next time," she complains. "Then maybe I'd actually have a shot at getting drunk without needing to piss my pants."
He shakes his head. "I wouldn't need to if you just manned the hell up. What are you so afraid of?"
Santana bristles. "I'm not afraid of shit."
"Santana." Puck stares her down. "This is fucking pathetic."
"She doesn't want me anymore, okay?" Santana snaps, chest tightening. "She's never fucking needed me."
Puck tilts his head, and he actually holds down the sympathetic look without appearing like a jackass. "You don't know that. Have you even talked to her?"
Santana covers her eyes as she leans back against her headboard. "Were those words too big for your pea brain? She does not want me."
"But you want her, right?"
"So fucking badly," Santana mutters, and damn it, she must be drunker than she'd thought.
"Then go get her," Puck proposes like it's completely obvious. He pauses, almost expectantly, but when Santana says nothing, he pushes on. "Why are you being a pussy about this? When has anything stopped you from getting whatever the hell you want?"
"She's different," Santana argues, and it aches to even think about how true those words are. "I can't just-bully my way around her. And I don't want to."
"Have you ever thought that maybe she's the one who isn't sure how you feel?" Puck asks suddenly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're the one who blew her off first."
Santana takes a breath and looks at Puck. "Shit. I need to get her back," she says quietly.
"I know," Puck says solemnly. With a straight face, he adds, "You're kind of an insufferable bitch without her."
Santana holds back a grin. "Asshole."
Puck smirks and rises from his seat. "I should go and make sure Quinn and my mom haven't offed each other yet. Quinn's been craving whole dill pickles dipped in ice cream and wrapped in bacon."
Santana grimaces. "Oh, gross."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Puck leans down, bringing his face close to Santana's, and he playfully puckers his lips. "So how about a kiss goodnight?"
Santana laughs and shoves him away. "Fuck off."
Puck grins and straightens up. "Go chase some hot dancer tail. You gonna be okay?"
Santana nods. "Thanks, Puck."
"Catch you later, Lopez," he says before leaving the room, taking the six-pack with him.
Despite all of Puck's depravity, Santana is really glad to have someone on her side. She's actually kind of touched Puck had even thought to bring her beer and ask how she's doing, because she knows that's not Puck's deal. It strangely doesn't freak her out.
Santana stares at the ceiling long after Puck's clunky truck pulls out of her driveway, her head swimming with memories of Brittany.
Part 5