See part 13a for notes
“Where are you ladies going?” Sam asks, wrapping his arms around them and trying to pry them apart when he catches them trying to sneak away back upstairs before the moment can get ruined and everyone starts arguing again.
Brittany looks at him blankly. “I need a shower,” she says.
Sam gives Santana a teasing look. “And you need to go with her?” he says.
“I...” Santana starts but then she can't think of anything. Brittany's arm is around her waist and her fingers are tucked into the waistband of her shorts and it's a bit too much. “I... I'm...”
Sam laughs at her before enveloping her in a hug. “I'm kidding,” he says. “Go... do what you gotta do.”
Brittany teases her all the way up the stairs but stops when Santana wrestles her into a kiss against the bedroom door. Her giggles stop and she moans at the sensation.
Santana smirks against her lips, pushing her into the room with a hand on her ass to keep her close. She has Brittany naked the minute the door is closed behind them, her hands grappling. She tries to pull her towards the bed but Santana stops and pulls away, tugging her in the other direction.
Santana nips at her lips, sucks one into her mouth before biting it. “I thought that you wanted a shower,” she teases and the dazed look on Brittany's face is nothing compared to the one Santana sees as she drops to her knees under the spray of water and works her mouth between milky thighs.
Finn, Blaine, Kurt, Mercedes and Tina all leave first, packing their stuff into Blaine's Prius and looking like sardines in a can with how tightly they're all crammed in there along with it.
They wave them off from the porch, Brittany's arms wrapped around Santana's middle as only Kurt and Mercedes wave back.
“What's happening?” Bobby says when he finds Brittany and Santana the only ones left on the porch ten minutes later. “Did I miss something?”
“Some of the guys left,” Brittany tells him. Bobby's eyes widen. “Don't worry, we told Mike and Puck you wanted a ride and they're leaving this evening so you guys can all take shifts driving through the night.”
Santana nods. “You should get some more sleep if you want.”
He shakes his head and then wraps his arms around them until Santana's sandwiched between them.
“Nah,” he yawns. “If I'm not going to see you guys until Christmas after this, I best spend some time with my little bees.”
“Stop calling us that,” Brittany whispers. “It's weird.”
“No it isn't,” Bobby tells her and Brittany gives in easily, her face buried in Bobby's shirt over Santana's shoulder.
“Do you want us to give you a tour?” Santana asks because she can sense Brittany closing in like she always does before Bobby leaves. She guesses that it's that knowledge that's probably making her tease him so much. Her arm tightens around her waist as she pulls back. “We could get lunch?”
Bobby pretends to think about it. “Are you paying?” he asks.
Santana smirks and remembers all the times she made Bobby take her and Brittany to Kewpee Burger during the summer and always made him pay.
“Yeah,” she says and it's worth it just to see his eyebrow raise.
“Well...” he laughs like he's not sure what he's meant to say to that. “then who am I to refuse?”
They spend the late morning and early afternoon walking him down Duval Street and through Mallory Square until they get to the ocean. It's fun to see his eyes widen and his jaw drop and Brittany lets go of Santana to take his hand and tug on his arm excitedly.
“It's not like anything, is it?” Santana hears her whisper.
Bobby shakes his head. “Nothing,” he agrees. “Wow. I'm kinda sad to leave.”
Santana steps up and wraps his arm around her shoulders. “You can come visit,” she tells him.
He smiles. “Oh really?”
“Yeah,” Santana teases. “I mean... I own a vacation rental now. I could give you a discount or something.”
Bobby laughs, still mesmerized by the ocean out in front of him. “A discount?” he repeats.
Santana nods and then she feels something grow in her chest.
“Or, one day, when you've got some hot wife...” she swallows to clear her throat and Brittany peers around him to find her face. “And when my hot wife is your sister... you can bring her down here to visit us.”
Two pairs of eyes widen, one brown, one blue, and Santana doesn't know which one she'd rather look in. She decides to look at Bobby because shying away from him is the last thing she wants to do when she knows it means so much. Instead, she looks straight up at him and shrugs.
Bobby tightens his arms around both of them. “Try and stop me,” he says and Santana sighs in relief when Brittany wraps an arm around her back and kisses her cheek.
They stop off at a burger joint and pick up food for the others before searching for somewhere that does something vegan for Rachel.
When they do find somewhere and take it back, Santana thinks it looks gross but Rachel devours it quicker than anything.
It's a lot quieter with only nine of them around the table but Libby and Frank drop by to see how they are for a while and it's better. It's calmer and Brittany watches quietly when Santana gets up and goes to sit with Libby, before getting up a little while later and moving to sit with them too.
Libby helps Rachel make the boys food to take with them and Santana laughs into Brittany's shoulder as she listens to Libby boss Rachel around the kitchen. Libby and Frank leave a while after that, Libby kissing all three boys on the forehead, even though Santana's ninety percent sure she wants to hit Puck. Frank just does it the normal manly way and shakes their hands before telling them to drive safe.
The sun's starting to set when Mike and Puck look at each other and decide it's probably safe to leave. It's cute how nervous they look, even cuter when Artie and Sam lean in with the pair of them to share a four-way bro hug. Brittany looks like she wants to join in but Santana makes her wait a while before letting her bound over and cuddle all four of them, even if Sam and Artie are staying.
Santana hugs them too as Brittany cuddles Bobby a bit and then tugs out some cash and slips it into Mike's hand.
“It's for gas,” she tells him pointedly. “Do not let Puck buy cigarettes or alcohol.”
Mike nods and then they both pull her in again, telling her they're sorry. She just calls them idiots.
Then Bobby pulls her away and takes all the air from her lungs as he holds her tight. She feels her eyes getting watery and she clutches at his shirt suddenly not wanting him to leave.
“Look after Bumblebee,” he whispers into her hair.
Santana nods. “I will.”
“And I know I said that you have to call Mom and Dad,” he starts. “But, even when you get back, I want both of you to call me as much as you can, okay?” A hand covers the back of her head. “I forgot how much I missed you.”
Santana nods. Words are beyond her a bit. She doesn't know what to say. “I missed you too,” she whispers, just because it's the only thing she can think of.
Brittany's crying when she wraps her arms back around her middle. Santana shifts her until she's the one holding Brittany and they watch as Bobby climbs into the passenger's seat beside Mike while Puck dives into the back.
“I'll see you soon,” Bobby says, just like he always does and they both whimper through their smiles a little, watching as the car pulls away.
Santana kind of thought that things would be weird once it was the six of them left behind but it's even weirder how they aren't.
Brittany sets the table in the kitchen now that there's few enough of them to fit around it while Santana helps Rachel to make pasta and Quinn attempts to make homemade garlic bread. The boys find the music and then the six of them all sit around eating, talking and joking until someone clears their throat.
“I could hear you animals down the street,” she says with an amused frown. “I came to check if you were okay thinking that you were probably all going to be depressed because your friends had left but look at ya. What a damn ruckus.”
“Sorry, Libby,” Brittany says as she gets up to find her a chair.
Rachel moves to fetch her a glass. “Have you eaten? Santana made spaghetti and meatballs.”
Libby sits down beside Santana and takes the empty glass Rachel offers her. “Fancy,” she says as she leans forward to pour herself some water from the table. “Is this Bob Dylan?” she asks Artie, point up.
Artie nods. “Quinn's choice.”
“Good choice,” she says, sipping her water. “Get me a plate then, Rachel. Y'all carry on.”
“I can see the six of you doing this for years, you know,” Libby says and Santana looks up from where she's resting against Brittany to look at her.
Things have been amiably silent for a little while now. It all kind of went unspoken after Artie laughed so hard he was sure he pulled a muscle.
“What do you mean?” Sam asks as he helps Rachel finish of the last slice of her surprisingly good vegan apple pie.
Libby shrugs and shakes her head. “I can just see it. Do you not ever just sit there and think that you'll be doing something for the rest of your life? I can see the six you of you sitting around here in fifteen, twenty years time, maybe with some babies runnin' around, or more friends, but I can see it.”
Santana looks down at her hands in Brittany's over her stomach and can't deny that she can see it too, not when Brittany's been sat there for twenty minutes, turning her grandmother's wedding ring around her finger. If she closes her eyes, it's so easy to see it and it's more wonderful than she's prepared for it to be.
“Me too,” Quinn nods suddenly. Artie nods in agreement.
Rachel's smile is thoughtful and Sam just leans up on his elbow and watches her. “Can you see a Tony in this vision?” she asks. “Because that would be the perfect future if you did.”
Santana laughs. “It does sound good.”
Brittany kisses her temple. “The best,” she whispers.
Santana leans back to kiss the underside of her chin.
“It's... really hot,” Brittany whispers later, when they're laying on the bed in their underwear, heads at opposite ends.
Santana chuckles. “I know you are.”
Brittany clicks her tongue. Santana pokes her in the nose with a toe until Brittany bites it and starts to tickle the bottom of her foot.
“Did you ever find the rest of the weed?” Brittany asks suddenly, her brow furrowing.
Santana laughs. “Quinn the junkie had it all.”
Brittany's eyes widen. “All of it?”
Santana laughs a little harder. “Well, no... not all of it, I guess, but a lot.”
“Then where is it?” Brittany asks, shifting a little and turning on her side to kiss the top of Santana's foot. Santana doesn't miss the other questions in her voice, the ones that sound way more naughty and mischievous than they should.
She tilts her head to the side to look at her. “Miss Pierce, are you asking me what I think you're asking me?”
Brittany gives her a look. There's more promise than a trip in those eyes. Santana shivers a little and internally groans when Brittany notices. It makes the look grow bigger and she feels Brittany teasing as she kisses her ankle again and strokes her fingers up to her knee.
“Are you saying no?” she asks. Santana gulps.
When she feels the flick of Brittany's tongue, she doesn't think she could if she tried.
Santana blinks away the haze of smoke and color that surrounds her, the music Brittany made her put on specially, in order to think.
Fuck, she's high.
Brittany giggles again.
Or maybe it's her giggling.
Shit, she's really high. Does this stuff get stronger the longer you leave it? Hell knows. Her abuela was right. She's pretty sure anything she smoked in Lima was probably from Sandy Ryerson's stash of oregano. Maybe she should take this back with her? She was going to put it in the safe but now she's just worried that if she leaves it in there it'll end up growing into a fully grown stoner.
That's funny. Brittany giggles too. Maybe she said that out loud.
“I really, really love you,” Santana says when her giggles have stopped. The hand she has resting on Brittany's bare thigh strokes up and down and Santana nods. “Like... I really, really, really love you.”
Brittany responds by kissing her ankle. Santana feels her tongue flicking out, open-mouthed and it makes her entire leg feel all jumpy and over-sensitive. A cheek rests against it once she stops and Santana sighs.
“This is awesome,” Santana breathes and blows away the hair stuck to her forehead. “It's really hot tonight.”
“You're really hot tonight,” Brittany retorts. Santana shakes with her giggles.
“I already did that one I think, Britt Britt,” she says.
Brittany looks up and smiles goofily. Maybe happiness makes the weed stronger. That's got to be it. Maybe the heat does too.
She groans. “I'm taking my underwear off,” she says out loud. “It's too hot.”
It's really hard when Brittany won't let go of her legs but she helps them shimmy them off and pulls them off at her feet. Santana lays back, falling into the mountain of pillows with one arm outstretched and the other falling back to Brittany's thigh. She looks down at her, just because. Brittany gives her a smirk before nudging a hand at her knee. Santana lets her legs open a fraction of an inch and Brittany looks at the spot between her things before biting at the bone in Santana's ankle.
Santana 's pretty sure she blushes and becomes preoccupied with closing her eyes at the heat that rushes down her spine and to her center. It must be noticeable because Brittany's brow raises at her drowsily from where she still stares at the most intimate part of her. She expects Brittany to begin crawling back up her body when she shifts but she doesn't. She just rolls onto her back and shimmies out of her underwear before seductively tossing them aside. It makes Santana smirk. Brittany pulls up a leg until one of her feet is flat to the bed and Santana look where she wants to as Brittany starts stroking up her inner thigh.
“Santana...” she says, trying to get Santana's attention. Santana just dreamily stares at the spot between her legs. Brittany bites her ankle, shifting. “Santana,” she says again and then Santana's breath hitches as Brittany begins to lift her own leg out of the way.
It takes her a slow second to figure out what's happening but when she does, clarity and reasoning come to her quicker than she thought it would.
“I—I—I thought...” she mumbles out in a jumble. Brittany looks at her as she kisses her ankles, her calves, and rearranges herself until all it would take is a twist of her hips and a shift forward before that would be it. Heaven.“You said we were better. You—you—you said you didn't...”
Brittany rests a cheek against her knee and smiles up at her. “It was always making love,” she whispers as she bends to kiss the crease of Santana's knee. “I was scared and I didn't see that but now I do...” She whispers and Santana can hear her voice hitching with the want. “You're mine,” Brittany whispers. “Right?”
“Then just lay back,” Brittany whispers softly. “And take my hand.”
She reaches for Santana and Santana raises her hand out to her, and then that's all it takes. Brittany tugs herself closer and then they're touching in a way they haven't in such a long time. Santana gasps, her back arching and breaks off into a moan as Brittany pushes insistently, waiting for her. A thigh comes up and lays over her stomach, resting on her shoulder, and she grips it with her free hand as Brittany's grip underneath one of her bent up knees increases. Nails dig into the back of her calf and Santana moans again at the friction to the soft, sensitive parts of her.
“Britt...” she breathes out and starts seeing a million different colors behind her eyes when Brittany starts a slow, steady rhythm that's still familiar after all these months. It's strange not having Cheerios skirts—or even, sometimes, their underwear— in the way, but it feels amazing. It reminds Santana of what they used to be and what they've become because as Brittany's breath starts leaving her in short, sharp gasps, a wetness ,that she now knows the taste of, mixing with her own coats her inner thighs. It feels a million times better. She feels so much closer to her.
She lets her eyes flutter open a little because it worries her when the only noises Brittany makes are gasps. She swallows and tries to get her mouth to work around words instead of moans. “You—you okay?”
She hears something move quickly against the sheets and assumes that Brittany must be nodding. She looks down and clenches at what she can see of her. She's nothing but her wild blond hair and her heaving chest, the fluttering of her stomach muscles more the visible.
“Feels good,” tumbles from Brittany's mouth and she can't take it. She leans up on one elbow and releases her hand from Brittany's, leaning forward to stroke it over the flickering muscles in her stomach as far as she can until Brittany clutches it to her skin. “So good.”
Santana clenches again and her eyes struggle to stay open at the thickness of the pleasure, the warmth that surrounds her like sleep. She moans again and her hips jolt out of practice, putting off the rhythm. A moan, broken and beautiful, breaks from Brittany and Santana does it again until the sound of her cries is driving her higher than the friction.
And when Brittany starts to let out pleasured little sighs, it's too much and Santana grips at Brittany's hip to pull into her harder, no rhythm guiding her whatsoever until she feels herself collapse from the inside out. Her back falls to the bed, spent, and she moans when Brittany instantly takes the rhythm back, rocking into her like the ebb of an ocean, until she's shuddering against her, vibrating up her body.
Santana doesn't even wait to tap her on the thigh to beckon her forward. “C'mere,” she says insistently when Brittany just grunts. Brittany lifts her head and Santana looks down at her, breathless and desperate, tugging on her hand until she moves. “C'mere.”
“Nothing,” she says, panting. “Nothing,” she promises and then she clutches at Brittany's waist, guiding her until she's hiked up around her shoulders, knees either side of her face.
Brittany looks confused. “What are you...” she starts and then she's moaning again, shuddering more, as Santana's tongue licks over her broadly, tasting both of them.
Santana forgot about the munchies. She guesses that's the good part about making brownies the last time. They killed two birds with one stone.
It's not the same now and, when Brittany's licking paths up her neck as she presses her against the fridge, telling her she wants to eat something salty and sweet at the same time, food is the last thing that Santana can think of.
She wonders if she can wake up early and clean the kitchen island before Rachel gets up tomorrow. She's pretty sure the imprint of her ass and her shoulders and the dip of her back is left behind on it. It's really hard to think about it when Brittany's fingers are working inside of her, two—no three—rubbing perfectly in a way that makes her ache.
It's her fucking kitchen island.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, MARY AND ALL THE DAMN SAINTS!”
Something falls somewhere, hitting the floor with a smash. Santana's still a little too high to care that it's a plate. Also, Quinn just walked in on them fucking against the counter and Santana's pretty sure that she may have just seen more than her boobs.
Whatever. Brittany dropping to use her body as a human blanket to cover her is just about as hilarious as anything and she finds herself clutching one hand to Brittany's shoulders as the other tries to muffle her laughter. Brittany giggles too and Santana's just really, really aware that Brittany's still three fingers deep inside of her and laughing against her breast.
“ARTIE ABRAMS IF YOU WALK THROUGH THAT DOOR YOU WILL BE SORRY,” Quinn shouts, loud and panicked, as she turns to the door.
Santana bites her lip to muffle her moan when Brittany takes that opportunity to remove her fingers.
It all just makes Santana laugh harder and Brittany tilts her head, chin resting on her breast bone, to look at Quinn with a smirk.
“No he won't,” she laughs. “Let's be real here.”
Quinn glares at them. “Put your damn clothes on!” she hisses.
Brittany tugs at the sheet, somehow still wrapped around her waist to show Quinn that it's all they have. Santana tilts her head back against the counter and gasps at what she sees.
“Are you wearing Artie's shirt?!” she asks teasingly. Brittany looks up at her, urging the sheet around her a little until she sits up.
Brittany wraps it again, tucking it over a little under her armpit like a towel before looking too. “That is!” she says and Santana wraps her arms around Brittany's shoulders to let her help her down off the counter. “That's Artie's favorite shirt!”
Santana turns, Brittany holding the sheet, to look at her. “His favorite?!” she gasps scandalously.
It's that moment that Artie rolls in, sleepy and without his glasses, in nothing but a pair of boxers. Santana gasps at the same time that Brittany does an excited little shuffle, pointing at the pair of them.
“YOU HAD SEX!” she accuses.
Quinn opens her mouth but her blush gives her away quickly. Probably because it was already there.
She points with the opposite hand to Brittany. “YOU HAD A DAMN ORGASM!”
Brittany frowns. “She did?” she asks. She takes a closer look then she clicks her tongue and nudges Santana a bit. “Of course she did. Artie's really good at orgasms.”
Santana turns to her incredulously. “Well, I can believe that now!” she says. “It just makes sense to why she's been so freaking chirpy recently.”
“Can you guys stop—”
“Sam! Stop it!”
Santana barks out a laugh when the back door swings open and Rachel Berry comes in wearing a damn Superman t-shirt.
“This is the best night of my life,” she whispers, turning to Quinn. Quinn sits at the breakfast table with her head in her hands. Artie looks like he doesn't know what the hell is going on.
“Is this a sex house?!” Brittany asks suddenly, eyes wide.
Rachel looks as shocked as if someone had told her that Barbra Striesand was waiting for her on the porch to duet Don't Rain on My Parade.
“We haven't had sex!”
Santana narrows her eyes disbelievingly. “Yeah, but you were about to.”
“How do you know?!” Sam says with a glare.
Brittany points at his crotch. “Because the last time I checked there weren't any gnomes in the garden you could smuggle in your underwear!”
Sam covers his crotch without even looking.
Santana leans back against Brittany, unable to stop giggling and only laughing more when Artie narrows his eyes and looks at Sam.
“Dude, that thing is huge!” he whispers. “I can see it without my glasses.”
“BRITT! BOOBS!” Santana shouts as Brittany starts laughing so vigorously she almost drops the sheet, tugging it up quickly.
“Just... EVERYBODY STOP!” Quinn yells and they all do, apart from Brittany who manages to quiet her laughs just a little bit. Rachel's somehow managed to turn herself until her forehead is pressed against the wall, her hands at her sides. “Let's just forget this happened and go back to whatever it was we were or were not doing.”
Santana stares at her before taking a deep breath in. “Let's make pancakes!” she says to Brittany.
“Ooo, pancakes,” Artie whispers.
“I'll help!” Rachel says, spinning around.
It's possibly one of the most surreal moments of her life, flipping pancakes in her grandmother's kitchen at 6am as she sings loudly along to Stevie Nicks' “Edge of Seventeen” with her friends.
It's made even more surreal by the fact that those friends are as barely dressed as she is, in her bed sheet toga she shares with Brittany.
It's made even weirder than that by the fact that none of them are questioning it.
Except for Quinn, who goes from hating it to trying to tug it off of them.
It's probably not the best moment to announce the fact that she and Quinn kissed, but it's really funny to watch her panic. She looks from Brittany to Santana to Artie as she gawps like a fish, trying to find her excuse.
“She's a good kisser, right?” Brittany says softly.
Santana shrugs. “You're better,” she says honestly. Brittany leans forward and kisses her just to remind her.
“Why aren't you freaking out about this?” Quinn says, eyes switching from Artie to Brittany to Santana.
“Are you in love with Santana, Quinn?” Brittany says softly, fork digging into her pancakes. Quinn quickly shakes her head. “And Santana's in love with me, so what do I have to worry about? It was just a kiss—”
“She showed me her boobs, too...”
Brittany's eyes brighten. “Wow,” she says and that does make her eyes widen a little. “Okay, little jealous, but whatever. Still. She's in love with me, so I'm not worried.”
Quinn turns to Artie. “And what about you?”
Artie shrugs. “She's in love with Britt,” he repeats. “Nothing to worry about.”
Santana softens and she thinks Artie Abrams has grown up a bit.
“Also,” Brittany says softly. “I've had my tongue in the mouths of everyone in this room, so how is it any weirder than that? Kissing's awesome.”
Santana kisses her and loves that she can prove all her points.
She never thinks she'll tire of the color of Brittany's soft, pale skin in the burnt light of the afternoon sun or the way that it makes her hair look like glitter. She runs her fingers through it and down Brittany's spine as they lay together, the sheet tangled around their legs, forgotten.
“So, I have a question,” Brittany says softly, bright blue eyes glowing with gold. Santana moves closer and hums to show that she's listening. Brittany gulps. The hand she has tucked up under her chin loosens and reaches to stroke Santana's cheek. “Are you coming back to Lima?”
Santana's stomach drops a little, more with worry than anything. Brittany must see it because she shifts a little more suddenly, her hand cupping Santana's jaw.
“I don't want to push you or anything,” she whispers. “I just... I want to know what's happening and we keep talking about things but missing other things out and Artie and Quinn said you were thinking of staying and I just want to know. I just want to know.”
Santana clicks her tongue and leans forward to kiss her quickly. She catches her bottom lip and sucks in the taste of Brittany as she pulls back. “Of course, I am,” she whispers softly.
Brittany's eyes brighten. “You are?”
Santana nods. “I don't know how or what I'm going to do with—with my parents and stuff,” she shrugs softly, reluctantly, because even though it feels easier to talk about it now, it still hurts and scares her. “But how can I not, you know? You're there. And my grandmother wants me to look after Libby but... we can visit, right? I mean I don't think I have to worry about stuff because of my inheritance but... I can maybe get a job so we can go visit her at the holidays and stuff and then we'll be in Miami in a year and that's where she lives—I think—and just...” Brittany looks at her fondly and it makes her feel silly in the best way. “We'll figure it out.”
Brittany nods. “We'll figure it out.”