A/N: G!P Santana. Repost of Brittana Week Day 4: G!P or Genderswap.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee :(
The Third Floor
She loved the secluded area she'd found on the third floor of the campus library. It had one of the most obscure sections of books so hardly anyone every ventured there. Early in her junior year, she'd discovered a large workspace in the far corner. She liked quiet when she worked. She was studying social work and the law component was kicking her ass.
After about two weeks of going to her secret library space every day, she became aware of a few things. First, there was another girl who seemed to enjoy the uninterrupted quiet of the third floor corner. Second, the girl was absolutely breathtaking and she had found herself looking at her for extended moments before catching herself. Third, the girl had sex at least once every night. In the stacks.
It wasn't like she listened or anything. To her credit, the girl and her flavour for the evening were actually impressively subtle about it. Around seven every night, a girl would saunter into their secret space, trail a finger across the girl's back or sit herself in the girl's lap or, like some of the more bold girls did, lay down on the table in front of the girl. She'd grab her latest conquest by the hand and pull her down the rows of unneeded books to the last stack and proceed to fornicate.
The girl would return looking no different, perhaps slightly more relaxed, but the other girls always came back with a dazed, pleasure-filled look on their face. She guessed that was why there was always a string of girls. Apparently, the girl knew what she was doing.
It wasn't like she was against sex or anything. Hell, she loved sex and got laid fairly regularly. Being blonde, drop dead gorgeous and having a killer body meant that she had no shortage of options. But she wasn't one for endless meaningless sex. With feelings it was always better.
There were three desks in between the two of them. They slipped into an easy rhythm of acknowledging each other without speaking or even making eye contact. The girl accepted that she knew what she did every night and she didn't press the matter.
Until the girl asked for a pen.
The voice was a low, husky whisper that sent an immediate shiver down her spine that she hadn't expected. She turned and saw the girl kneeling next to her. Dark eyes peered back at her through black-rimmed glasses and an apologetic smile adorned her flawless face. White teeth became visible as she bit down on her gloriously puffy bottom lip.
"I'm, I know this is totally lame, but my pen just broke and-"
"It broke?" she interrupted in disbelief, her voice louder than she'd intended. She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze. "Sorry."
The girl smiled and she just about melted. Best. Smile. Ever. "Don't worry. It's a pretty ridiculous excuse, I know," she replied in the sexiest husky whisper. "I tend to clench my fists when I get stressed and I, um, I've already broken three pens tonight."
She was intrigued. And flabbergasted. "Um, yes!" she said, snapping out of her trance. She rummaged in her bag and immediately pulled out her lucky green pen. She didn't know why but she handed it over without a second thought.
The girl smiled again. "Thanks." Their fingers didn't brush when the pen was exchanged and the girl turned to walk away, but stopped. She slowly turned. "I'm Santana, by the way."
She dropped her eyes shyly. Ridiculous. She was not shy. "Brittany."
"Nice to meet you, Brittany. And thanks for the pen. I'll do my best not to break it."
Brittany watched Santana walk back to her seat and frowned as her mind played the interaction over in her head. The weirdest part was that she'd never been more jealous of a pen in her life.
It wasn't like she was stalking Santana or anything. She wasn't! But after spending virtually every night three desks away from each other, some kind of connection had been formed. Her sexual exploits were still as frequent as ever. She began to recognise the faces. Somehow that made her feel a little better about the whole situation. Not that she should even have an opinion. Santana was just the girl who sat three desks away and who broke, on average, two pens a night. She guessed maybe that was why the girl needed sex every night. Maybe it relieved her stress. Maybe she had a disorder. But the fact that Santana seemed to sleep with the same girls over and over melted the notion that she was just a slut.
One night, she was running a little later than usual. Her roommate had forgotten her keys so she'd had to stay in her room until Rachel had come home. When she rounded the corner, she froze. Santana was sitting in her normal chair, but it was pushed back from her desk. There was a blonde girl between her legs. And that was when she saw the reason for those dazed looks.
The girl had a penis. A decently-sized one by the looks of it. Chicks with dicks were hardly uncommon. One of Britt's friends in high school had a dick, but she'd never seen it, regardless of how curious she was. It was like Christmas and Thanksgiving to her. The softness of a woman with the length of a man. It was a dream come true for a bisexual girl.
She shook herself out of staring. The girl's eyes were closed and her chest was heaving. Before she did or said something that would make her feel like an idiot forever, she turned on her heel and headed for the librarian's desk at the entrance to the third floor.
"Hey, Britt," Quinn greeted her. They had a few classes together.
"Hi. I was going to make some coffee. Would you like a cup?"
"Actually, would you mind a cup of tea instead?" Quinn asked with a warm smile.
She matched it. "Sure."
Quinn was pretty chilled about her making coffee in the staff kitchen. The third floor was so deserted that no one would ever catch her drinking coffee, never mind punish her for it or whatever. She pulled out her thermos cup and prepared her coffee and Quinn's tea just how she liked it.
"Here you go," she murmured, setting the cup down next to the multitude of books that Quinn had splayed in front of her. It looked similar to how she set her desk up. All the information at her fingertips.
"No problem. See you."
She headed back to her desk and brushed lightly past the girl's latest visitor. Santana was hunched over her books, same as every night. It was like what she had seen hadn't even happened. Maybe that was how the girl operated. She was aware of the bubbling crush she had on the girl, but was 99.9% sure that nothing would ever happen. After six months, something was bound to happen, right?
As she sat down and set out her books, taking a sip of deliciously invigorating coffee, she felt her phone buzz. She sighed. It was Thursday, which meant that her sister had just come back from motorcross practice (something she'd introduced her to) and had to spend the next hour gushing about the hot mechanic on her main rival's team. She liked to tease Riley about her Romeo and Juliet-esque romance, which her sister did not find amusing. She'd resigned her Thursday nights to be slightly less productive than the average night because of Riley's constant interruptions. It did mean that her evening at the library ran longer than usual, but she liked sticking to her schedule. It meant that she was always on top of her work and never fell behind.
Riley asked about Santana. In a moment of weakness, she may have mentioned the sultry, sexy girl that she sort of studied with and couldn't wait to see every night. She was ashamed to admit it, but she was crushing a little more than hard and it sucked that there wasn't anything she could do about it. Riley was happy to be the listener when she had something to say. It was the beauty of their sistership.
And there she goes again, she typed as a girl walked up to Santana's desk, grabbed her by the lapel of her jacket and pulled her to the last stack. After five minutes, she hurriedly scrambled in her bag for her earphones. They were being decidedly louder than usual, or maybe it was the other girl, but she definitely didn't want to hear it. Her thighs were tightly closed by the time she sensed them returning. She could feel Santana's eyes on her briefly, but she stared at her paper so hard that she was sure it would spontaneously combust.
She focused on the most unsexy thing in the world – social awareness organisations.
Finals week was hell. She was spending virtually all day in the library and although the girl was there too, in her usual desk three spaces away, the stress was flowing from both of them. Besides the information overload, she was training for her dance final as well. She had never regretted taking a double major more that she did at that point. She hadn't had sex in two months and she had to do something before she exploded with pent up energy. With a burst of confidence, she lifted her eyes to Santana, stood up slowly and walked over to her.
Santana turned and looked up at her in surprise. But there was a smile on her face.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," the girl replied.
"I know you're busy, but…"
The girl frowned in confusion. They stared at each other for a while until Santana realised what she was asking. "Oh," she said quietly, dropping her eyes.
It hit her then that there was the possibility that Santana didn't want her. After all, she didn't know the arrangement that she had with the other girls. Mortified, she spun on her heel and headed back to her desk, haphazardly grabbing all her stuff and practically sprinting out of the library.
The girl didn't stop her.
She managed to last a whole three days before dragging her feet back to the third floor. She'd tried a myriad of new study spots, but it was like her brain was trained to the third floor of the library. She couldn't concentrate anywhere else and she couldn't stop thinking about Santana and how she'd completely made a fool of herself. Her earphones were in and the music was loud, trying to drown out the humiliation she felt re-entering the third floor. Quinn gave her a half-smile laced with concern. It was understandable. She'd been in every day since the first week of the year and then disappeared for three days during finals week.
She didn't dare look at the seat that she knew was occupied and got out her books, willing herself to be immersed in the gazillion facts that she needed to memorise. Thankfully it worked. Until Santana stood next to her and slid a cup of coffee onto the table. She couldn't stop herself from looking up at the girl. Dark eyes were apologetic and she sighed. She gave the girl a tight smile and nodded her thanks. She hated how her heart was pounding the whole time.
Each day thereafter, Santana brought her coffee. She didn't ask how the girl knew exactly how she liked her coffee, but she appreciated the gesture, even if it hurt every time. It was a constant reminder of Santana's rejection. She'd already resolved to take the summer to get over her ridiculous unrequited crush.
On the last day of finals, her heart unwittingly fluttered when Santana presented her with a cupcake alongside her coffee. Good luck was scripted in icing and she bit her lip to keep from smiling too big.
"Have a good summer," the girl whispered before departing to, presumably, take her final exam.
The second she saw Santana that first day back in the library, she realised with dread that the three months she'd spent working on forgetting the girl were all for nothing. The girl was standing with her bag on her shoulder, staring at their desks. Or rather, where their desks had been. There were only two big tables stacked together against the wall.
"Quinn said that they needed the desks on the fifth floor," Santana spoke and it made her heart pound.
"Which side do you want?" she asked, shifting her weight. They may as well get the initial awkwardness out of the way.
"Um, I'm left-handed so could I sit this side?" the girl asked, opting for the seat facing the entrance.
She shrugged her agreement and went to the other side of the table. Thankfully, the tables were still big enough for her to spread her books out as she was accustomed to without encroaching on the girl's space.
That first week was horrendously disastrous. She felt suffocated and not in a good way. She'd gotten used to having a great deal of space, both literally and figuratively. Now the girl that plagued her thoughts was four feet away, within touching distance if she stretched. The worst part? She couldn't pretend not to notice when one of Santana's 'friends' stopped by. It was still a daily occurrence.
I don't know why I'm doing this to myself, she told Riley on a Thursday one month into the semester.
Because you've fallen for her. Being close to her, even though it hurts, is better than being away from her.
How she hated that her sixteen-year-old sister knew her so well. She hated even more that Riley was right. She had fallen for Santana. Hard. She knew because she'd taken the time to find out little things like what she was studying (law), what year she was in (final year, like her), her style of writing (loopy and beautiful), how she liked her coffee (black, one sugar), what her favourite colour was (red, based on how many times she wore something red and broke numerous red pens), how-
Another text came through.
What if you try and make her jealous?
She rolled her eyes. Riley, I suck at faking it. You know that.
Ew, I did not need to have that mental image. Thanks, Britt.
You know that's not what I meant.
She looked up and smiled at Quinn. "Hey, what's up?"
"I hate to ask you, but did you get all the notes from our Behavioural Psych class today? I had to skip out on the last twenty minutes and I'm freaking out that I'm going to miss something on the pop quiz next week."
"No problem, Quinn. Grab a chair. We can go over it now and you can copy my notes."
Quinn smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Britt." She glanced at Santana's vacant chair. "Will Santana mind?"
She shrugged. "Doubt it. She's busy."
Quinn pursed her lips, but didn't say anything else. They spent the next half an hour going over the work in detail. She was a stickler for details and liked to have things logically set out in her head. Riley had always told her that she would make a great teacher. But her passion was social work, helping kids who had no hope in themselves or their lives.
She knew when Santana came back to the table because the girl paused for a moment before sitting down instead of her standard continue as usual spiel.
"Thanks, Britt. You've totally saved me," Quinn said gratefully.
"No problem. Let me know if you wanna study together again."
Quinn nodded and flashed her a smile before heading back to the front desk. She slipped her earphones in, trying to drown out the awkward silence that she suddenly felt in the air.
Do you think she likes you? Riley asked.
After what happened last year? I think it's safe to say that's a resounding no.
Are you sure?
She's not interested in me, Riley. The steady stream of girls that come in here every day are proof enough.
Maybe she's waiting for you?
For what? I already put myself out there and I got shot down.
No, you propositioned sex. Maybe she doesn't' want sex.
Oh, definitely. Because she gets enough of that from every other girl she looks at.
I have to study. I'm done talking about this.
She let her phone clutter to the desk and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. She couldn't concentrate. She needed to do something physical. She packed her books up and slung her books over her shoulder.
"Early night?" Santana murmured.
She looked up and took a slow breath. She simply nodded and turned, walking away. She had thoroughly unsatisfying sex with one of her dance friends that night. Riley was at least aware that the subject of Santana was a taboo one, which helped her to ignore how her feelings weren't going away. Sex didn't help. She knew she was being stupid, sleeping with boys and girls every week, but pining after the girl who didn't want her was torture enough. She had to find a way to deal. Temporary reprieves in the form of unattached sex helped. A little. The only problem was that as soon as she saw the girl sitting at the table across from her, all her efforts went out the window.
All she had to do was get through the last eight months of the year and then she'd be free of the captivating girl across from her. Eight months…
Three months later, the girl surprised her with a cup of coffee.
"It's getting cold out," was Santana's excuse.
She didn't buy it. She wasn't naïve. Why was the girl who rejected her being nice? She sure as hell didn't need her pity. So she didn't say anything, but on the days (Mondays and Wednesdays) when Santana arrived on the third floor after her, there was always a hot coffee waiting for the girl. It became an unspoken thing.
It didn't help with her feelings, though. She threw herself into midterms. Her dance midterm was taking a lot of her time and she didn't go to the library as much. She knew she was risking falling behind on her work so she decided to finish up her paper straight after dance practice. In the past, she'd always refrained from arriving in her dance clothes because she hated sitting in smelly, sweaty clothes. Desperate times called desperate measures. As she entered the third floor, she pulled her hair up into a messy bun and sat down, pulling her books out. She hadn't even registered that Santana wasn't there until the girl appeared out of the stacks with another girl. Not just any girl, though…
Quinn. A giggling Quinn.
She frowned, the hurt flooding her chest and she stood up abruptly, not even bothering to pack her bag.
"Britt?" Quinn called, but she ignored them.
Tears stung her eyes and she practically ran home. Her paper was left untouched as she wet her pillow with her tears.
Unrequited love sucks, she told Riley.
I can't see her again.
It's not that simple. The third floor is like my sanctuary. It's where I work best. My mind is calm and I can concentrate.
Even though she sits right opposite you?
I know it doesn't make sense.
Love never does.
She found a subpar alternative studying venue. Her dance professor was happy to let her use the studio after hours. It definitely wasn't the same, but she could play soft music through the stereo and could always get up and dance if she became restless.
Her midterm was hailed as one of the best that her professor had ever seen. She graciously accepted the praise and went about her life. Quinn cornered her after class one morning.
"Britt, what you saw, it wasn't-"
"You don't have to explain yourself to me. You've both adults and you can do whatever you want."
"I don't care what either of you do."
She turned away and had an intense dance session that had sweat running down her body, but didn't compare to the water tracking down her face.
After the winter break, she headed back to the library. She'd gone home for the holidays and it was as though the cold weather had forged a wall around her. She was clinical and unsmiling. It was all she could do to survive the last five months of hell.
"Brittany," the girl who tortured her dreams breathed when she came into view. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses in surprise, but her slightly open mouth turned up in a smile.
"Santana," she greeted formally.
The girl could sense the shift immediately and she ducked her head shamefully, the smile disappearing. It didn't matter how bad she may feel. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but her. It was time for her to focus on herself and not worry about something that was clearly never going to change.
Her earphones came out and her music drowned out everything around her. Her ice wall was ten feet tall and impenetrable. Well, at least until she graduated.
Something occurred to her two weeks later and she vowed to pay subtle attention to the girl that evening at the library. Something was different about the girl. Was it perhaps just because she was ignoring her, though? Maybe she was trying to see something that wasn't really there because she missed looking after looking for so long.
When she left the library the next night, she sat on her bed for a while. The girl hadn't had any visitors. In fact, she couldn't remember seeing visitors since she'd come back. She'd subtly watched the girl fidget and break about ten pens.
What did it mean? Was there a particular reason for the girl abstaining from something that she'd been doing for a year and a half - and that was only in the time that she'd known her.
Did she even really know her? It prompted a lot of questions for her. How could she have fallen so deeply for someone that she'd spoken to a handful of times? They'd never even had an actual conversation. They'd never told each other anything about their lives, hobbies, families, anything. She only knew what she knew because of stalkerish tendencies. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. She had merely been observant.
Could she really be in love with the girl? Realistically?
After showering and climbing into bed, she was adamant that her feelings weren't something to be swept under the rug. The hurt, betrayal and rejection that she'd felt were real. Which meant that her love for the girl was, unfortunately, real too. The only problem was that she didn't want to be in love with her.
Just then, the topic for her Behavioural Psychology paper came to her. She was going to write about what love did to people. How it made them act, how it changed them; sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. And she was going to ace it because she had first-hand experience of how she had changed because of her feelings for the girl. A girl who hadn't thought twice about her and would never know how she felt.
She hadn't factored in Quinn, though. She'd been avoiding the other blonde, obviously.
"Britt, nothing happened with me and Santana!" she hissed during class one morning.
She ignored her, but the words shook her. Quinn had to be lying. She'd seen them. Quinn had acted just like all the other girls, bashful and dazed with pleasure. What was she supposed to think if not the obvious?
The next day at the library, she was wary. Of both Quinn and the girl. There may have been a few icicles melting in her ice wall when the girl sent her a nervous smile. Why did Santana have to be frustratingly beautiful and alluring?
It drove her crazy. But not as crazy as it would before because she wasn't allowing herself to feel anything around the girl. It was cold-hearted, but she had to survive somehow. At least until graduation or some kind of revelation. Whichever happened first. She was pretty convinced that the latter was wishful thinking.
Around eight o'clock, a mug of coffee appeared next to her. She jumped a little, startled by the girl's sudden apparition next to her.
"Sorry" Santana murmured. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
"You didn't," she mumbled in response, trying to control her thumping heart rate.
The girl paused for three seconds - she counted - before heading back to her chair. The coffee was perfect, naturally, and she found it truly invigorating. Her Behavioural Psych paper was gathering serious speed and it was getting her excited.
It was midnight before she even realised and the girl was packing up. She'd noticed her working pretty steadily on what appeared to be a speech.
"Goodnight," the girl murmured, shuffling past her.
"Night," she said in the same tone.
And she spotted it. The folded piece of paper left close to the middle of the table. Had the girl left it on purpose? She bit her lip and reached over to grab it. Her hands were shaking slightly. Would it be considered a gross invasion of privacy if she read something that wasn't hers? The first line assured her that it had been left on purpose, though. For her to find.
When I was six, my older cousin, Luis, got into some trouble with the law. He was eighteen, so was tried as an adult. He'd been framed, but I hadn't known that at the time. I barely understood what being arrested was. Anyway, we were sitting in the courtroom to find out about his sentencing and his lawyer came running in and started presenting the wrong case. Not only was he laughed out of the courtroom, his ineptitude got my cousin locked up for three years.
He was killed a month before his release.
That idiotic attorney is the reason why I'm studying law. I feel like everyone deserves to be heard and everyone deserves a fair judgement, whether it's in the eyes of the law or the eyes of someone else. Because unfair judgement can really affect people.
She frowned and read the note again. And again.
What did it mean? Why was the girl telling her about why she became a lawyer? Was she offering her services at some later date?
As a lawyer, not that...other thing. Because that had gone swimmingly the first time. She walked around the next day, dissecting every possible intonation that the note could have. The girl had initiated contact, albeit in the written form. Was she supposed to reciprocate? If so, what the hell was she expected to do? Write about why she wanted to be a social worker? About why she decided to take a double major against her parents, tutor and professors' advice? About why she spent every evening in the library?
It made her angry. Why should she even respond? Why should she even acknowledge that the girl had left her a note? She decided to act like she'd never seen it. Just as well she'd left it tucked into her chest of drawers and not in her bag.
"Evening," the girl murmured when she arrived at their table.
"Evening," she replied nonchalantly.
They got on with their work. Her iPod had died during her lunch time dance rehearsal so she had no choice to listen to the girl fiddle with pens all night long. She hadn't realised how distracting it really was.
Eventually she couldn't take it anymore. "Seriously, you've broken four pens in the last hour. Are you on crack or something?"
The look on Santana's face made her feel terrible. The girl looked frustrated, but with herself. Her hands were shaking, like actually shaking, and she could barely hold her pen.
"Crap, I'm sorry," she murmured. "Santana, I didn't mean-"
She was cut off by the scrape of a chair against the tiles and the girl quickly departing, leaving everything behind. An hour passed, and soon two. She refused to leave. What if the girl didn't come back? All her stuff was there. Eventually, when her phone flashed 01:14, she heard the girl returning. She lifted her head cautiously and had to bite back a gasp. Santana looked terrible. Like really terrible. She looked broken and exhausted and generally lacklustre. She was pale and looked dishevelled. Her hands weren't shaking, though.
It was only understandable that the girl ignored her, probably missing the scarcely whispered, "I'm sorry."
By two am, she could barely keep her eyes open. She packed her bags automatically and habitually glanced up to see if she'd left anything behind. A napkin rested on the table. A neat person by nature, she reached to grab it and toss it in the trash. But then she saw the pen marks. She folded the napkin open and had to sit down as she read the words.
I was addicted to crack. For five years. I've been clean for three. It's not easy.
She was nervous. She wasn't sure if the girl would even show up. She'd avoided the third floor for far less. At seven-twenty, right on time, Santana sat down. She glanced at the girl quickly. Jaw set, eyes guarded, movements robotic. Yeah, she'd royally fucked up.
She took a deep breath and put her pen down, lacing her fingers across her notebook. "I was sixteen. I thought it would be fun to try ecstasy at my friend's party one time. I remember exactly seven minutes of the rest of that night and I wish that I could forget those seven minutes. I know that doesn't compare to what you went through, but I just wanted to apologise again for my thoughtlessness. I had no right to snap at you. I mean, I don't even know you so…"
She took a breath and pursed her lips. She nodded to herself and picked up her pen, continuing with her work. Her heart was pounding. Santana said nothing.
Over the next few weeks, she noticed a pattern. The friendly visitors were non-existent, but the girl would get up and disappear for twenty to forty minutes, looking like she was about to faint and shaking terribly. She'd done her research. Someone who'd been clean for three years shouldn't be showing such severe signs of withdrawal.
"Do you…do you need me to move somewhere else?" she asked one evening after the girl had come back from her excursion.
"What? No!" Santana said in alarm. "Why?"
She dropped her gaze in embarrassment. "I dunno. I just…you never used to leave and now you do all the time and I figured that if it's because of me, you shouldn't have to leave."
"No, it's not…I mean, kinda. But not! At all. It's just…complicated," the girl finished with a defeated sigh.
She figured that Santana was probably too nice to come out and say it. "I get it. It's ok. I'm not offended or anything. I mean, I probably insulted you worse than anyone could possibly ever insult you and I'm obviously making you uncomfortable even if you're too nice to say it to my face."
She started packing.
"Quinn is my best friend!" Santana blurted.
She froze, one hand on her bag and the other slowly tightening around her notebook. She really didn't want to hear about the two of them.
"I've also never slept with her," the girl continued, her voice a little more composed. Santana fiddled with her shaky hands. "I have severe anxiety problems as a result of my addiction. My hands shake constantly and I get restless. I can't take any medication because I'm a recovering addict. The only thing that helps is…"
Sex," she breathed in understanding. "The endorphins relax you."
The girl nodded sheepishly. "It never means anything. It's purely chemical. I don't even kiss anyone."
She just stared, her brow furrowing. Why was the girl sharing her deepest darkest secrets with her? They weren't friends and this was the longest conversation they'd had.
"I…I don't want you to go," Santana said softly.
"Ok," she whispered, sitting down.
"No, but I want to tell you why."
She lifted her eyebrows. "Why?" It slipped out before she could rein it in.
"B-Because I…you help."
The girl bit her lip and reached into her bag, pulling out a familiar green pen.
"It's not broken," she murmured in disbelief.
"This is the only pen that I haven't broken. Quinn's started working on her thesis for her honours next year and she's been working with me, trying to find a way for me to control my anxiety without my normal go-to option. That's where I've been going. To…therapy, I guess."
"But why did you stop? I mean, if it helps, why don't you just carry on?"
The girl lifted her head and stared right at her. And it hit home. She forgot to breathe.
"There's a reason that I stopped, Brittany. There's a reason why I've been fighting against my body for the last two months, why I've refused to give into the easy option."
"Santana, that's silly," she croaked. She had to talk her out of it, out of…whatever. She couldn't…for her? No, it was absurd. "You…you're making your own life so much more difficult. Whatever you're trying to prove, is it really worth it?" She didn't realise the ambiguity of her words, but as they played back in her mind, she closed her eyes in frustration.
"It's worth everything," Santana whispered.
She couldn't say anything. She couldn't even fathom what to think. There had to be a logical explanation. Her mind was overworked and overtired. That had to be it. The girl who had just poured her heart out was talking about something else, someone else. Most likely one of her friendly visitors.
Flustered, she ran a hand through her hair and tried to focus on her work. She hated that even in her most tranquil studying place, she could only picture dark hair and dark eyes hidden by cute frames. Words swam in front of her and became one big blur the longer she stared at them.
"Would you like some coffee?" she asked suddenly, standing up. She needed to move, get away for a few moments, gather herself.
"No, thank you," the girl replied quietly.
She practically ran to the kitchen and made quite possibly the worst cup of coffee she'd ever had in her life. She spat the mouthful and emptied the cup down the drain. Caffeine was probably the worst idea. She was running on adrenaline. But from what? Excitement? Happiness? Fear? Determination?
She wasn't sure how long she stood in the kitchen, listening to the ancient fridge make worrying old things noises. When she'd felt a little more composed, she headed back to the table and was completely sad when she saw that Santana's table was clean.
She dropped into her chair and let her head knock onto the table. When she eventually lifted it up, there was something stuck to her forehead. She pulled it off and almost dropped it when she saw the familiar yellow legal pad that the girl wrote on. It rested between her thumb and index finger for a few minutes, not moving before her curiosity got the better of her. The writing was untidy, probably due to the girl's uncontrollably shaky hands, but the words were as clear as day.
Fun fact: The last kiss I had was when I was nineteen.
I want to not have shaking hands when I kiss you.
She started crying.
It was spring break. She had decided to stay on campus, not because she had work to do, but because she had nowhere else to go. She had no friends, not really. Her dance buddies were just that – buddies. Sometimes fuck buddies. But not lately.
She decided to take a short break from her papers and revision notes and do something that she hadn't done in far too long – curl up with a good book that hadn't been prescribed to her.
Before she could stop herself, she arrived at the third floor, dressed very attractively in red sweatpants, a wife beater and an off-the-shoulder sweater. She'd brought a blanket with her. She was aiming for complete comfort.
She'd at least give Quinn credit for ensuring that she and Santana kept their super comfy chairs. She tucked her legs underneath her, draped the blanket over her and opened Roald Dahl's Completely Unexpected.
"A fan of sardonic humour?" an all-too-familiar voice asked curiously.
She lifted her head from her book and her lips curled upwards slightly. Things had been weird, but not awkward-to-the-point-of-earth-swallowing. Their dynamic had changed. They actually looked at each other, sometimes for minutes at a time. She knew when the girl was looking at her and she was pretty sure Santana knew when she was staring. When they caught each other, they'd drop their eyes, lift them to meet again and smile shyly. Every time.
It gave her butterflies.
And that scared the shit out of her.
What if she was making everything up? What if the girl felt nothing and was just messing with her for who knew what reason?
Her conscience had rightly kicked her ass for even thinking that last thought.
"He's a genius," she said simply.
"You mean he was a genius?"
She shook her head.
"But he's dead," the girl protested.
She lifted her book. "No, he's not."
The girl smiled then, a real, big smile and walked over to her side of the table. "Um, Brittany?"
She lifted her eyes from the engrossing words.
"Do you think that maybe I could move my chair a little closer? Um, to you? O-Or at least to your side of the table. Not necessarily to you if you…don't want…me to." The girl's voice eventually petered off to barely a whisper.
"Sure," she said easily. It was becoming less heart-attack-inducing to be around the girl the more she did, and she figured that if Santana's note was a promise of the future, then they'd have to get used to being in each other's spaces. "What are you working on today?"
The girl hoisted herself into the chair comfortably and it was just then that she noticed how casually Santana was dressed. Similar clothes to her own, actually.
"I guess great minds think alike," the girl said, holding up her own book.
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you rereading that or…"
Santana's cheeks flushed and she looked down.
"Are you serious?" she chuckled. "How can you not have read The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo?"
"I was busy," the girl mumbled, sporting a small pout.
She rolled her eyes and kept her mouth shut. She didn't need to give away how enamoured she was with the girl while whatever they were was still so new. And that pout made her want to say and do things that would simply spell disaster.
"Have you seen the movie?" she asked instead.
The girl shook her head and sucked in her lips. "I'm more of a book before the movie kinda girl."
She nodded her agreement. "Definitely. Both the Hollywood and Swedish films were outstanding. You'll enjoy them."
They settled into a comfortable silence, each drawn into their own book.
"Would you watch it with me?" the girl asked quietly.
She blinked in surprise. "Watch what?"
"The movie? Or movies? Um, the Swedish and the…" the girl trailed off again, looking down, dejected.
She smiled and toyed with how to respond to Santana's question. Should she? Was it wise? As she took the girl's nervous demeanour, sudden disregard for anything other than what her heart wanted took over and she reached out. Because Santana was so close, she was able to hook her pinkie around the girl's. She waited to see the reaction, but what made her smile even bigger was how the shaking hands suddenly stilled.
"It's a date," she whispered.
Santana's smile made every doubt vanish. Maybe, just maybe, her feelings weren't as one-sided as she had originally thought. Their pinkies remained intertwined as the minutes ticked over into hours, both absorbed in what they were reading. A phone buzzing brought them back to reality and the girl reached into her hoodie and pulled out her phone.
"Hey, Quinn," Santana greeted softly.
Library habits die hard. Even though there was probably no one else in the library but them, they still used hushed tones.
"No, I'm at the library. Yeah, she is." The girl met her eyes and smiled. She matched it. "Actually, I'm good for today. Yeah. Promise. I'm feeling great. Yeah, really great." Their eyes met again and for the first time, neither dropped their gaze. "I'm actually just reading. Finally getting into The Millennium trilogy like you've bugging me to do since high school." The girl bit her lip and adjusted her hand so that her other fingers edged closer.
She smiled and moved her own hand, brushing the pads against a soft hands. The girl inhaled sharply. "No, nothing. Everything's fine, Q. Stop freaking out. I'm fine. Ok? You know I'll call you if I need to. Yeah. Ok. Bye." Santana hung up and looked down at her phone, then back up again. The girl did it a few times, intriguing her.
"What?" she asked curiously.
"Would you…could I, maybe, if you agree, um…get your number?"
This time she did duck her head shyly. She nodded and rested her book on her knee, reaching out with her other hand for the phone. She wasn't about to move her other hand away. Not when the soft skin she was touching felt so unbelievable. She entered her number, adding a little heart next to her name, and handed it back. Their hands brushed and they paused. She savoured the touch and one look at the girl told her that Santana enjoyed the contact just as much.
About half an hour, the girl sat up, stretched and said that she was going to make some coffee. "Would you like a cup?"
She smiled. "Sounds great."
Santana stood up with a smile, which promptly dropped when she looked down at their hands that had completely intertwined as they'd sat reading.
"Oh, sorry," she said, disengaging their hands.
The girl looked upset and stared at her lone hand.
"Hurry back," she whispered, getting a wide-eyed look and, gradually, an equally wide smile.
While the girl was making their coffee, she moved their chairs close together. She didn't know what had inspired her sudden courage. It was like she was finally seeing that in the last few months, the girl who had her head spinning had made a conscious effort to stop doing things that hurt her, even though it made Santana's life infinitely more difficult.
Also, Roald Dahl always made her incredibly reflective.
The girl returned, saw the new proximity of their chairs and gave a bashful smile. She thought it was adorable. She accepted the coffee with a soft thank you and hummed at its perfect taste. Once Santana had sat comfortably, she reached out, not very far at all, and immediately linked their fingers together.
She didn't comment that she hadn't seen the girl's hands shaking once that evening.
They met again the following night without actually vocalising it. Then again, they knew that the third floor was their place. If they didn't go there, where would they go? The idea of not seeing each other seemed unfathomable.
"Hey," the girl greeted with a smile. She was already curled up with The Girl Who Played With Fire.
"Hi," she replied. She nodded to the book. "Finished the first one already?"
"Yeah, they're so good. I think I read until four this morning. But it's not like I have class or anything so…"
She hummed her agreement and got comfortable on her chair. "No glasses when you read?"
"Oh, no I have to. But I'm wearing my contacts. I prefer to when I'm not going to class. It gives my eyes a chance to relax."
"You still on Roald Dahl?" the girl asked after a while.
"Nah, though I'd go for something a little lighter," she replied, lifting her well-read copy of Northern Lights.
"You consider that light?" Santana asked with an arched eyebrow.
She shrugged. "When you've read it as many times as I have, it doesn't become about all the political and religious subtext. It's just an adventure story."
The girl smiled. "You're really something special, you know that?"
She was floored. Never before had anyone said anything remotely meaningful like that to her. The fact that Santana had said it as though they were discussing the weather made her heart beat incredibly fast.
"You ok, Britt?"
Britt. It sounded amazing tumbling so naturally from the girl's mouth.
"I, uh…it's just that, um, no one's really ever said something like that to me," she murmured.
She lifted a shoulder. "Most people just tell me that I'm weird or wrong or spacey. Or, my personal favourite, stupid."
"They don't know what they're talking about," the girl said immediately. "You are so special. I love how you think."
She looked at the girl curiously. "How would you know how I think?"
A blushed tinted tan cheeks. "I, uh, um, asked Quinn about you. She didn't know much because you guys didn't really talk about anything other than school. But I was, um, a little relentless, I guess."
"Why didn't you just ask me?"
"Because," the girl whispered, her eyes firmly fixed her trembling hands, "I couldn't bare you looking at me like you used to."
She opened her mouth and wanted to say something, the right thing. But she couldn't. Was there even a right thing? She had looked at the girl differently. And for good reason.
"Can you blame me, though?" she eventually murmured.
The girl sighed. "No, I don't suppose I can."
"Why did you do it?" she asked suddenly, needing to know more than anything.
Santana's mouth dropped open. "I-I-I didn't, I mean, I guess I did, but I had to."
She sucked her lips in. She should've known it was too good to be true. "My fault," she mumbled, almost to herself. "Well, it was wishful thinking." She sat back in her chair and opened her book. Suddenly, sitting in the library with the girl so close didn't seem very appealing. But she was so tired of always running away. Because she inevitably always came back.
"Wait, did I miss something?" the girl asked in confusion. "What was wishful thinking?"
"I dunno. It's stupi-"
"Don't say that. You're not stupid, ok? Please just tell me what you meant?"
She stared at Santana for a while. She wanted so much to believe that her doubts were unfounded, but how could she? The girl she'd been in love with for almost two years had rejected her because she'd had to. Because she didn't mean anything.
"You didn't want me," she said after mustering up enough courage.
The girl's mouth dropped open. "You…you think that's why I didn't…you know?"
"What other reason could you have had, Santana? I saw you every night for eighteen months go and fuck some girl in the stacks, and when I…well…yeah."
The silence between them was uncomfortable.
"Brittany, if I tell you something, will you promise to just hear me out? Just wait until I'm done before you say or do anything?" the girl said in a wavering voice.
She swallowed and nodded.
"Ok," Santana breathed out. "Here we go. I'm sure you know by now that I have a penis. Well, pretty much the entire school knows so I guess it's not a secret. Not that it ever was." The girl shook her head. "I'm getting off topic. After I got clean and the anxiety started, I freaked out. I was taking a cold shower in the dorms one morning because I thought it might help. A senior, one of the cheerleaders, saw me and decided that she wanted to sample me. Well, those were her words. Um, long story short, I found that sex made coping easier. I got a reputation for being good and willing. But it never meant anything. I was too scared to let anyone get close because as soon as they found out the real reason why I was the way I was, they'd hightail it."
The girl took a deep breath. She knew that Santana was being more courageous than she'd probably ever been, so she took her hand and rested it in her own. She nodded for the girl to continue.
"I know that what I do – or did – is incredibly unhealthy and probably did more damage than good, but I was desperate for control. I'd been so out of control as a junkie for most of my teenage years that I craved it. And I was willing to do anything – legal, of course – to cope. Graduating means everything to me. Everything. I'm on a scholarship because my parents disowned me when I came clean as a drug addict. I have to keep my grades up and I can't do that if my anxiety takes over.
"Brittany, the reason why I couldn't say yes had nothing to do with the fact that I didn't want you. It had everything to do with the fact that I did. I wanted – and still want – you so badly that sometimes I feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust. I didn't want you to be library notch, though. That's why I couldn't do it."
She frowned. Her brain felt like it was malfunctioning.
"Plainly put, Brittany, I couldn't just have sex with you, because I want everything with you and I thought that if I had said yes that day, that my greatest fear would come true. I'd open myself up to because I'd want you see me and you'd find out the truth and I'd never see you again. And I couldn't have that. Seeing you every night is the best part of my day. I looked forward to coming here more than going to class. But I knew I had to go to class so that I'd have work to do here so…" The girl took a breath. "I guess the one thing left to say is that I'm in love with you, Brittany. And even though I'm freaking out inside, I want you to know me. Because I can't bear graduating and never knowing if…if you maybe feel the same."
"How could you not know?" she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed and triggering the release of two tears.
"Wha-What? Why are you crying?"
"How could you not know that I have been hopelessly in love with you for so long?" she cried, letting the tears fall freely. "How could you not know, Santana? God, I…"
Her eyes were still closed, but she could feel Santana kneeling in front of her. "I didn't – shit – I didn't want to make you cry. I'm so sorry, Brittany. I'm so sorry."
"Stop apologising! Dammit!" She was mad now. "How could you not fucking know, Santana, when I sat in this chair for months, watching you parade girl after girl past me, knowing that I was very aware of what you were doing? You said that you had feelings, but you never thought about mine!"
"I-I did. I mean, I tried to." The girl huffed in frustration. "This is not how was this supposed to go."
"How was it supposed to go, then? That you'd confess being in love with me and that would be it?"
"Well, sort of. I mean, that's how it happens in movies, right?"
"This isn't a movie."
"I'm becoming increasingly aware of that," the girl muttered. "I have no idea of how the real world works, apparently. Of how people interact with each other. Quinn is my only friend. And…well, you, I suppose."
"What about all your conquests?" she asked bitterly, finally brushing the tears from her eyes and glaring at the girl in front of her.
"I knew their names. That was it. It never went further than meaningless sex in the stacks."
She didn't respond for a while and could see it was making the girl antsy.
"Could you not see how it affected me? I mean, I tried to hide it, but Riley always tells me that I have the worst poker face."
The girl dropped her head in shame. "I saw…I could see you were hurt, but I refused to let myself think about why."
"You're an idiot, Santana," she said in a resigned voice.
"I know. I know. I am. I'm so sorry."
"Shut up, ok?"
"Just kiss me."
She looked at the surprised girl and raised her eyebrows. "Your hands haven't been shaking the entire time you were speaking. I'd say that's sufficient control to kiss me. So," she gripped the front of the girl's hoodie, "kiss me."
Santana licked her lips, her nerves apparent. Yet her hands, resting on Brittany's thighs, remained still. On her knees, she slowly rose. Their noses brushed each other, breaths mingled across their lips.
"Stop thinking about kissing me and do it," she whispered.
Lips were on hers in a second. They didn't move, just pressed against hers. She hummed contentedly. Finally. Santana pulled away after a few minutes. Brittany opened her eyes and ran her tongue over her lips, savouring the sensation she'd been dreaming about for almost two years.
"That was an ok practice round. You think you can kiss me like you really want to now?"
The girl's eyebrows shot up and she smirked. That sparkle that she'd been missing for so long crept back into her eyes and she quickly straddled Brittany on the chair.
"You ready?" she husked in her sexy voice.
"I've been waiting forever," she replied, fully intending the double meaning.
The hunger in Santana's dark eyes faded to adoration and she leaned down, her puffy lips sucking gently on Brittany's bottom one. Her hands, which were resting on Santana's hips, dug into the flesh. It made the girl on top buck forward slightly. She was surprised to feel a little motion between them.
She returned the favour by tugging on Santana's top lip with her teeth, getting a glorious moan in response. Santana released her bottom lip and Brittany immediately kissed her fully. Was there a word for better than perfection? Because that was what it felt like to really kiss Santana. One of her hands left her waist and met her smooth neck, her thumb tracing her jawline. The same jaw she'd seen clenched so much in the last few months.
She said thank you with her kisses and Santana felt them – in all ways possible.
Santana broke away, breathing hard. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I just…it's, um, been awhile. My control isn't really very strong."
She cupped the girl's cheek and coaxed her to meet her eyes. "I'm very aware of your current state, Santana. If I'd wanted to stop, don't you think I would have by now?"
Without waiting for any response, she pulled her down to rejoin their lips and, like a dam wall breaking, so were their inhibitions forgotten.
Santana dipped her tongue into Brittany's mouth, grinding down into her at the same time. It made the blonde moan in pleasure. She let the hand resting on Santana's hip sneak under her hoodie and climb up her back. God, she wasn't wearing a bra. That was incredibly hot. When Santana ground down again, her protruding erection nudging her clothed clit, she dug her nails into her back and raked down.
"Oh, fuck," Santana growled, breaking their kiss to do so. She dived into Brittany's neck to taste the skin and the act proved very erogenous for the blonde.
"Jesus, get off," she gasped.
Santana pulled back in alarm and scrambled off Brittany, her hands covering the tent in her sweatpants in embarrassment. The blonde stood up and pulled the girl to her, gasping at the feeling of her dick pressing against her core.
"What are you…?" Santana whispered.
"Did you really think that I was telling you to stop?" Brittany said in a low voice.
She nodded slowly.
"Oh, Santana. I just wanted to get out of that chair so that you could fuck me properly."
Dark eyes went wide. Brittany rolled her hips subtly and those dark eyes fluttered closed.
"I want…but not here," the girl gasped.
"Why not? It feels right. This is where we fell in love."
"But…the other…I mean, th-"
Brittany covered her mouth with her hand. "Listen to me, Santana. As of right now, I am going to be the only girl getting up on that." Her other hand brushed against what felt like an impressive length. "You do not need to be thinking about any other girl that you've brought here because they don't matter anymore. Got it?"
She nodded furiously and Brittany removed her hand. Santana immediately kissed her, tugging her close. They traded passionate kisses, hands roaming over and under clothes until Brittany felt like she was going to explode.
The girl swallowed and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the place that Brittany had only ever wondered about. They entered the last aisle of books and Santana dropped Brittany's hand to open a cupboard under a shelf and pull out a few blankets and pillows.
"Prepared. Thought about this a lot?" she teased as Santana arranged the pillows and blankets into a makeshift bed.
Santana stood up and held out a hand. "You have no idea."
Brittany's teasing gaze disappeared in favour of one in awe. How could she possibly have gotten so lucky? Santana stepped up to her and tugged her hoodie up. She obediently lifted her arms. Soon, her tank top lay next to it on the floor. And then, holy shit, Santana's mouth was on her breasts.
Synapses started firing like the Fourth of July. She needed to feel her skin. Grabbing haphazardly at Santana's hoodie, Brittany tried to pull it off. But the girl wasn't ready to stop her pleasurable assault on her chest.
"Fuck!' Brittany moaned, throwing her head back.
For a split second – that's what it felt like – Santana's mouth disappeared. It reappeared against her neck and she gasped at the feeling of bare breasts being pressed against her own. Her hands flew to her back and her lips dropped to her shoulder, her tongue slipping out to taste the skin. She hummed at the visible shiver it sent through Santana. Their lips gravitated towards each other and it was so tender. Santana cradled her face so carefully as she kissed her.
"I'm never going to want to kiss anyone else," the girl whispered.
"You won't," Brittany replied. "I'm not going anywhere."
They kissed again and the temperature slowly rose to the point where their hips were gyrating against each other. Brittany pulled away and gasped as Santana hit her clit. The girl stepped backwards and spun so that she her pressed against the wall. Her hand dipped into Brittany's pants and fingered her deliciously. The both moaned.
"I w-want you, Santana. I want to f-feel you."
"You will," the girl whispered. "We have all the time in the world."
Santana was drawing too many sounds from Brittany for them to continue kissing so she just licked and bit the skin on her neck. The girl dipped two fingers inside her soaked core, slowly pushing them in deep and pulling them back out.
"Oh, God, yes!" she groaned.
Santana continued her slow pumping, ignoring Brittany's pleas to go faster. She knew it was because the girl wanted her to feel pleasure, to make her feel special. Breathing hard, she grabbed her face and looked into her eyes.
"I know what you're trying to – fuck – do and I love you for it, but right – fuck – now, I need you to whip out your dick and fuck me until I scream your name."
The girl grinned and pulled her fingers out. Even though she whimpered at the sudden loss, Brittany knew that she'd be rewarded soon enough. She shimmied out of her sweatpants as Santana pulled hers off.
"Oh, yes," she breathed in appreciation. Santana's cock was beautiful. Big, but not suffocatingly so. She'd be so full. She couldn't wait.
Santana guided Brittany's legs further apart with her feet and took her hand, putting it on her cock. It twitched in her hand.
"Wait," the girl said suddenly. "I don't have anything. I mean, I used to always carry, but-"
"I'm clean and I'm on the pill," she cut her off.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. "Please, Santana. God, I need you."
The girl pressed her hips forward and Brittany positioned her at her entrance. Santana pushed in, immediately sheathing herself.
"Holy fuck!" Brittany cried out, her head hitting the wall behind her.
"Oh my God," Santana moaned, starting to move. It felt too good not to.
Brittany hiked one leg around her waist as Santana moved in and out of her. It was so much better than she imagined. It was so good that she was already a breath's away from an orgasm. Sure enough, after two deep thrusts, she shattered. Her back arched into Santana and her toes curled. The waves of pleasure rolled through her and continued as the girl didn't stop with her movements.
"That was so beautiful," Santana whispered in her ear, her breathing becoming heavy. "Can I make you come again?"
She groaned. "You can make me come as many times as you like."
The girl grinned and picked up the pace, using the wall for leverage to pound harder into her. She let out little squeaks of pleasure as she felt a second orgasm build up. It was quick, too quick, far too quick for her to control.
"Oh, God, you're incredible!" she gasped, barely holding on to some semblance of control.
"All you, baby," the girl grunted back, swirling her hips and hitting that spot.
"Shit. Please tell me you're close because I'm about to-"
Too late. Her body convulsed and she felt it before it even registered in her brain. Once the shaking had somewhat subsided, she looked between them. The first thing she saw was Santana's cock still moving in and out of her at a rapid pace. The girl still hadn't finished. The second thing she saw was both of their stomachs coated with her juices. She only ever squirted once before.
"I know you have another one in you," the girl said, pushing in so deep.
"Hmmm," she hummed. She probably did. But it felt so good to let Santana fuck her. Because she, without a doubt, did it so very well. "Wait, I wanna try something."
Santana paused, her chest heaving and looked at her incredulously. "You seriously want me to stop right now?"
"Just for a second. Trust me. You're gonna love this."
Groaning, she pulled out and Brittany almost regretted her decision. She flipped them, grinning at the lustful look in the girl's eyes as she slammed her back against the wall.
"Stay still, ok?"
The girl nodded. She kissed her before turning around and bending down.
"Oh, God," she heard Santana squeak.
She grinned. The girl had a delicious view of her ass, but that wasn't her plan. She thanked her lucky stars for her dance flexibility and strength; there was no way she'd be able to pull this position off otherwise. She braced her hands on the floor and pushed herself into half a hand stand, stopping when her feet were resting on the wall, one on either side of Santana.
"There you go, gorgeous," she said to an upside down girl. She wiggled her feet further apart and presented her swollen pussy. "Have at me."
"I love you," Santana breathed, stepping closer to her pussy. It was at the perfect height and slipped right in. Both moaned. She wasn't sure if she'd manage another orgasm, but if anyone could coax it out of her, it would be Santana.
The girl immediately started thrusting hard and deep. The muscles in her arms were already straining, but the sensations throughout the rest of her body made it completely worth it.
"Oh, Britt. Fuck, I'm gonna…"
The girl picked up her speed, fucking her into oblivion. It felt so unbelievably good – better than anything she could have imagine (and may have) – and the second she felt Santana explode inside her, she fell apart for the third time. Her arms gave out and she rested her head on the floor, breathing deeply.
"Britt, do you wanna lay down for a bit?" the girl over her croaked, also breathing hard.
She just grunted her agreement, but moaned when she felt Santana pull out. She watched the mixture of their juices run out of her and down her stomach where the remnants of her own juices were still splayed. It was so hot.
Apparently Santana thought so too because she got hard again as Brittany watched. She bit her lip, braced her hands and pushed her feet off the wall, gracefully flipping over so that she was the right way up. She turned to face the girl and they wasted no time in pressing against each other for an intense make out session.
"Come on," Santana whispered, nuzzling her cheek before kissing it sweetly.
She picked up a blanket and lay on the other ones she'd laid out. She looked up at Brittany and smiled, holding out a hand. She took it and lay down next to the girl she loved, marvelling at how they fit naturally against each other. Santana draped the blanket over them.
"I love you," she whispered.
Santana smiled big. "I love you too."
She leaned in for a kiss. She'd never get enough. She let herself be rolled onto her back with Santana on top of her. Their kisses were soft, but intense. She could feel the girl's dick pressing into her leg and she reached down, needing to feel it inside her again. She wiggled her hips open and the girl fit against her immediately.
She lined Santana up and without words, the girl pushed in. This time it was slower. It felt just as amazing. They stayed kissing, swallowing each other's moans and rocking together as though they'd been doing it forever. They explored the exposed skin and revelled in new discoveries. Like how biting a particular spot under Brittany's jaw made her pussy clench around Santana's cock deliciously. Or how licking Santana's earlobes made her lose control a little and pound into Brittany before returning to the slow pace that they'd set.
Her orgasm was mindblowing. It rendered her limbless. She begged Santana to stay buried inside her after they'd come within mere seconds of each other. The girl obliged and snuggled into her sweaty neck.
"Well, at least I know what I've been missing all these months," she whispered.
The girl giggled. "You've got a lot to learn."
"Well, as luck would have it, my roommate has gone to Florida for spring break. So I'm all alone until next week."
"I have a single room," Santana whispered.
"Guess we'll be staying there a lot."
"I'm quite happy to stay just like this for a while," the girl said quietly.
"I'm totally fine with that."
Quinn discovered them halfway through round seven. With her hand covering her eyes, claiming blindness, she bluntly requested that they remove their naked behinds from the library premises until they had gotten their honeymoon phase out of their system.
The two had gladly scampered, barely clothed, to Santana's room, where their clothes had promptly ended up on the floor once more.
And six years later, as Brittany slid a silver band onto her new wife's ring finger, they still hadn't grown out of their honeymoon phase.