Hi! I'm glad everyone liked the beginning of this story so much. Here's the date!

Oh, and this one gets a little racier. Nothing too graphic, and I actually tried to keep it tame but honestly, these girls just can't keep their hands off each other.


Brittany calls down to her mother from her window on the second floor. Anna is on the back patio, trying to get the grill lit, but when she presses the ignitor, the flame doesn't catch. She squats down to examine the propane tank.

"I'm gonna go soon!"

"Ok Brittany." Anna is distracted, trying to read the gauge on the tank. She doesn't have her glasses on, squints at it.

"On my date!"

"Uh huh..."

"My date with Santana!"

Anna smiles then. Tom is still getting comfortable with the idea, and Anna has to admit, she has a few of her own reservations. But Brittany has been floating on air since Santana asked her out and as her mother, that's lovely to see, especially after all her bickering with Artie at the beginning of the summer. And Anna knows no boy has ever been as devoted, as patient with her daughter as Santana has. No boy has ever spent a weekend coaxing Brittany through geometry homework or walked over in a downpour with a Disney movie just to make Brittany smile.

She twists the propane valve all the way off and stands up, dusting her hands off on his jeans. She tilts her head back to see Brittany leaning out of her window.

"Come down then, let me see what you look like."

Brittany gives a little hop, and disappears from the window. In a few seconds, she's through the back door, out on the patio.

Anna is silent for a moment, gazing at her daughter. Then she sees doubt creeping into her eyes, so she tells her what she's thinking.

"You look beautiful."

And she does. Brittany is wearing a simple strapless sundress with a fitted bodice and a flouncy skirt that ends at her knees. The dress has horizontal stripes in various shades of blue, gray and yellow that pick up the colors of Brittany's eyes and the highlights in her hair. She's pulled her hair back at her left temple, twisted it into two thin braids held in place with a vintage hair clip. The rest of her hair falls in waves of gold against her shoulders. Her makeup is simple - lip gloss, eyeliner, a natural flush at her cheeks.

She looks like the sun shining on the sea.

Santana isn't nervous. Ever since Brittany said yes, she's just been excited, finally setting into motion all the plans she'd been pretending not to have.

She pulls up in front of Brittany's house, throws the car into park, pulls the visor down so she can see herself in the mirror. She touches up her lip gloss, kisses at her reflection.

But when it comes time to put her hand on the door handle and pull, there's a little tug in her stomach. Brittany told her parents about tonight. She told everyone with ears.

She said they were nice about it, especially her mom. But still, Santana has spent a lifetime eating their food, climbing their trees. She knew what they thought of her – she was too bossy to the other kids, too rude to teachers, but always sweet to Brittany, always respectful in their home. She wonders what they think about her now.

Santana sees a curtain flicker, a flash of Brittany blonde at the window. And then what anyone else thinks is irrelevant, she just needs to see her.

Brittany throws the door open wide before Santana can even ring the bell.



They're doing the goofy staring thing Santana always rags on Finn and Quinn about. But she can't help it. She even says the dumb shit that dumb guys always say.

"You look great."

Brittany, as always, is a little more original. She leans in, gives Santana a kiss on the cheek.

"You're like a melty bowl of ice cream."

Santana shoots her a questioning look.

"Hot." Brittany clarifies.

Santana smirks, but it turns into a real grin without her knowing it. She spent all morning in her closet, then finally grabbed her keys, picked up Quinn and headed to the mall. The dress she finally found is tight, white, shot through with thin strands of gold and copper threads. The scoop neck shows off her cleavage, the hemline is high, exposing an expanse of taut, tan thigh.

It's another minute of sappy smiles before Santana remembers the flowers in her hand.

"Oh." She holds them out to Brittany. "For you."

Brittany's eyes light up at the sight of the bouquet - gerbera daisies in deep red, hot pink, sunny yellow, bright white.

"This is the best date ever."

Santana laughs. "We didn't even go anywhere yet."

Brittany strokes the petals on her flowers with soft fingers. "I can just tell."

"You should get those in some water sweetie."

Anna has come through the kitchen door. Her eyes are quiet, watchful. But there's a slight lift at the corners of her mouth. It's hard not to smile at those blindingly bright daisies.

Brittany dashes off to follow her mother's advice. Santana's eyes dart around the room, avoid Anna's gaze.

"Those flowers are beautiful. Very sweet of you Santana."

"I just want..." Santana starts out mumbling, but lifts her head, starts again with more conviction. "I just want to make her happy."

Anna is suddenly reminded of a 7 year old Santana, carefully picking out all the neon colors from her big box of crayons, handing them to Brittany with a smile.

Anna walks over and puts and arm around Santana, squeezes her tight for a second. "I know."

"Mom." Brittany is back from the kitchen, the flowers in a vase now. "Tell her to leave my stuff alone."

Christina trails in after her big sister.

"Can't you just share one?" She turns her pout on her mother. "Doesn't she have to?"

Anna puts a hand on Chrissy's shoulder. "No. Brittany doesn't have to share these. Those flowers are her present from Santana."

Chrissy looks back and forth between her sister and Santana. She knows they're going on a date, Brittany only said it like a hundred thousand times this week. But she's not exactly sure how this is different from their usual outings. Still, something's changing, the level of formality and respect being afforded to the event is new and, apparently, to her disadvantage.

Chrissy slumps against the couch. "No fair."

"Hey Chris." Santana walks over to Chrissy, waits until the sulking girl looks up at her. "Next time I bring flowers for Brit, I'll bring you a special one, just for you."

Anna starts to say "Santana, you don't have to..."

But Santana's focus is on Chrissy. "Purple. To go better with your room. Ok?"

Chrissy nods happily and they seal the deal with a high five.

Santana straightens up to see Anna studying her intently, her expression hard to read.

Brittany's adoring gaze, on the other hand, is easy to understand.

Santana blushes.

"We should go."

Brittany is messing with the car stereo, trying to keep her hands busy and off Santana's thighs. She finds a song she likes, turns the volume up, hums along.

She catches a glimpse of the BreadstiX sign out the window, reaches back to pick up her bag from the back seat.

She's shocked when Santana doesn't take the turn into the parking lot.



"That was Breadstix."


"I thought we were going to dinner..."

Brittany is trying to stay calm. This is a date, for sure, Santana brought her flowers. That proves it, forever, that proves it.

"We are going to dinner."

Brittany breathes a little easier, but this still doesn't make any sense.


Brittany turns around. She can barely see the sign out the back window now.

"We're going to dinner somewhere else. Somewhere nicer."

"But...Breadstix. You love..."

"Brit..." Santana takes her hand off the steering wheel, twines her fingers with Brittany's. "We're gonna go on tons of dates to Breadstix. But for our first date...I thought it should be something special."

Brittany barely hears the second half of what Santana says. Her mind is happily rolling over and over the first half - 'we're gonna go on tons of dates.'

She leans back into her seat, plays with Santana's hand. She runs her fingertips down the length of Santana's slim fingers and back, turns her hand over to scratch lightly over her palm.

They're same little touches they've always shared, but now Santana realizes she's said "tons of dates" and suddenly it feels like Brittany's trailing fire across her skin. Santana struggles to keep her eyes on the road.

Brittany feels Santana approaching sensory overload, calms her movements. She takes Santana's right hand in both of hers, holds in her her lap, warm and still.

Santana lets out a big breath, allows herself a quick turn of the head, a smile.



Then there is quiet, just Rhianna on the radio.

Santana sees the restaurant up ahead and reluctantly takes her hand back, uses both hands to make the left turn into the parking lot.

When they're walking toward the restaurant, it occurs to her that she can just take Brittany's hand again. She does, immediately.

There's a flutter of nervousness in Santana's chest as they approach the hostess. She's a tall, gorgeous woman in towering heels, and right now she's sneering at the couple in front of them for not having a reservation.

The unfortunate couple clears away, dejected at their dismissal. Santana moves forward, straightens her shoulders, speaks up in a clear, clipped voice.

"We have a reservation. Lopez, for two."

The woman looks down at the book, then up at Santana. Her eyes roam for a second, taking in Santana's cleavage, Brittany's bare shoulders. Then she sees their linked hands and a smile finds its way through a chink in her stony expression.

"Right this way ladies."

Santana follows, surprised at the smile. She keeps her hand in Brittany's as they walk through the restaurant, out to the garden. No one stares. No one throws a slushie.

Maybe not everywhere sucks as much as high school does.

The hostess shows them to one of the best tables outside, in a cozy corner of the garden.

"Have a great night." The hostess tosses a wink at Santana. Santana's mouth drops open a little.

They sit down, and Santana breathes a sigh of relief, thanks God for the way everything has gone perfectly so far. Well. God and Finn, of all people.

Finn had bussed tables here last summer and said it was "…super romantic. Everyone's always smoochin' over their dinners and stuff. Very Lady and the Tramp. Brittany will love it."

"How come you never took me there?" Quinn had asked.

"Can't afford it." Fin had turned red, his mouth quirked into a sheepish grin.

Quinn had kissed him then. Santana had rolled her eyes and picked up her phone to make the reservation. Still, tonight before she left home, she had checked three times to be sure she had her gold card and plenty of cash.

Brittany is too excited to look at the menu. Dozens of strands of small white fairy lights are strung around the garden. She turns her face up to their soft glow.

There's an ache in Santana's chest, like her heart is overgrown, bumping hard against her ribcage.

She's had this feeling before while watching Brittany. She used to press her arms hard against her chest, squeeze until she felt her heart fold back in on itself. But tonight she reaches out, lets her fingers bump into Brittany's on the tablecloth, next to the salt cellar. Brittany looks down, moves her hand closer, twines their fingers together for the third time that night.

When the waiter comes to tell them about the specials, Santana can't concentrate on a word he says.

She feels her heart break from its cage, rise like a balloon, fly.

The food is delicious, but they hardly eat any of it. There's so much to talk about, now that they're really talking.

Brittany's weird ass cousin in Columbus is just back from a cross-country road trip, and has her all fired up to see crazy roadside attractions.

"She had pictures of the world's largest ears of corn! And a house that looks like a shoe!"

Santana grins. "Maybe we can take a little road trip. Go see some, before school starts."

Brittany wants all the girls to come. Santana says she'll consider letting Berry in her car, but under no circumstances will her infamous 6-hour mix of show tunes be allowed to accompany her.

They analyze everyone else's relationship. Mike and Tina are boring but fine, Quinn and Finn are probably going to get married someday.

"But Rachel…"

"Rachel's not gonna stay here." Santana knows it for sure. "She's going to move to New York."

Brittany is quiet for a minute. "You used to say you wanted to go to college in New York." She twirls a strand of linguini on her fork. "Do you still?"

"I don't know…" Santana takes a sip of water, stalling for time. Maybe it's a little soon for this conversation. She decides to be vague. "It depends."

But Brittany's not satisfied yet. "On what?"

Oh, fuck it. "It depends on where you want to go."

And then Santana's thinking that maybe honesty is an awesome new policy, because Brittany is beaming and her hand is warm and strong and just above Santana's knee, under the table.

The waiter approaches again, dessert menus in hand.

"In the mood for something sweet?"

He caught on slow. But sometime during the main course it occurred to him exactly where the blonde's other hand must be. Now that he's up to speed, his smile has a lot of leer in it. Brittany notices and replaces her grin with a blank look. Santana shuts him down with a glare.

"Just the check. " She turns back to Brittany. She knows she'll be pouting at the idea of missing out on ice cream.

"I've got a surprise for dessert."

The reservoir is dark, a pair of gates locked across the access road. But Santana drives past the gates, and turns onto the narrow, gravel lined service road. Overgrown bushes scrape the rearview mirrors.

It's dark, quiet, more than a little creepy. Brittany snuggles close across the center console of the car. She pushes her nose into Santana's shoulder, breathes in the scent of warm sugar and cinnamon.

In a minute, the car emerges from the thicket and into a small parking lot. There are a three or four cars there already, Santana thinks she sees Puck's jeep in the far corner of the lot.

Santana pops the trunk, gets out and retrieves a duffel bag from the trunk – an old Cheerios bag.

Brittany starts off toward the sound of the other kids. But Santana finds her hand, pulls her back.

"This way."

Santana leads them away from the sound of everyone else, onto one of the jogging paths. The trees are taller here, shutting out the light from the moon. Brittany holds tight to Santana's hand.

Its awkward, in the dark, with the duffel bag hitting her knees at every step. Santana stumbles once. Brittany's hands find her waist, hold her steady. A warm touch lingers at the small of her back.

"You ok?"


Brittany reaches across, takes the bag, slings it over her own shoulder. She wraps an arm around Santana's waist, keeps her hand at her hip, guiding her over the uneven ground as they walk on.

They come out onto a little rise, about half a mile away from the crowd down at the other end of the reservoir. They can hear snatches of music; Puck must have brought his guitar. But their spot is mostly hidden by a little bend in the bank of the reservoir. Through a copse of trees they can see occasional flashes and winks, the moonlight bouncing off of raised beer bottles.

Santana leads Brittany a few feet past the tree line, closer to the water. The ground turns to grass, softer beneath their feet. A patch of dirt has been cleared, in the center sits a pile of kindling, waiting to be lit.

Santana takes the bag from Brittany, takes out a thick blanket, spreads it on the ground and motions for Brittany to sit.

Brittany kicks off her shoes, leans back on her hands. She watches Santana strike a match, touch it to the kindling. The tinder catches, glows. Wisps of smoke rise.

Santana watches warily for a minute, readjusting a few branches. But Puck did a good job with the setup, before too long there's a decent sized fire cracking in front of them.

Santana slides her sandals off, crawls onto the blanket with Brittany. She lays on her stomach, toys with the hem of Brittany's dress.

"Is this…" but she can't finish the question, doesn't want to hear if maybe Brittany had something else in mind.

But she doesn't need to ask.

"It's perfect San."

Santana lays her head in Brittany's lap. Brittany runs her fingers gently through Santana's dark hair.

"You're perfect."

Santana knows that's not true, but she's not in the mood to protest. She smiles up at the sky.

"Look B." She points at a plane blinking across the deep blue night. "Make a wish."

Brittany bends down, brushes the tip of her nose across Santana's forehead. "I already have my wishes."

Santana tilts her head back, seeking Brittany's lips. Their mouths brush, but it's an awkward angle. So Santana sits up, reaches for Brittany again.

But Brittany pulls away to dip a hand in the pocket of her dress.

"I brought you a present."

Santana wants her close again, as soon as possible. She plucks at Brittany's elbow. But still, Brittany hangs back, a small smile on her lips.

"I know you like bling…so…"

She presses something into Santana's hand.

Santana looks down, confused. Then she sees what it is and grins.

"Can I put it on you?" Brittany asks. She sounds shy.

Santana nods, and lets Brittany slip the candy necklace over her head. She feels Brittany's fingers settle it around her neck, delicate touches at her collarbone. She has to work to control her breathing.

"How do I look?"

"Tasty." Brittany leans down, presses her lips to Santana's neck. Her nose presses against the soft skin behind Santana's ear. She nips at the candy necklace, teeth scraping the skin underneath, raising goose bumps.

Santana tilts her head to the left to allow Brittany better access, brings a hand up to tangle in Brittany's silky hair. The movement releases a scent, honey and oranges.

Brittany pushes closer, bites at the necklace again, getting mostly Santana's neck this time. She sucks, little pulses of pressure that send shivers everywhere on Santana's skin, start a flame burning in the pit of her stomach.


Santana's voice is husky, almost hoarse. Brittany likes the sound so much. She licks at Santana's neck once more, chasing a trail of sugar along her jugular vein.


Brittany looks up. Santana's skin is gold in the firelight.

Santana licks her lips. "I…"

But Brittany doesn't let her finish. She covers her mouth with kisses.

Santana puts her arms around Brittany, holds her close to keep from sliding off the planet. She kisses back, licks at Brittany's lower lip, tastes candy.

In the past, their kisses have always become so demanding, so quickly. But last night in bed, Santana resolved to herself that she would take it slow tonight. She wants to keep the focus on romance and away from sex.

She wants to make every kiss last for as long as possible.

Brittany smiles into the kisses, enjoying Santana's newfound tenderness. She trails a line her lips past the corner of Santana's mouth, over to her ear. She sucks her earlobe into her mouth, loves the soft sigh she gets in response.

Despite her resolution, Santana's fingers slide over Brittany's knee, push the hem of her dress up, trace lazy circles on her bare thigh.

Brittany brings her mouth back to Santana's and their next kiss is deeper, hungrier. When they separate, minutes later, they're both short of breath, suffused with warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.

Santana tugs her hemline back into place, tries to cool down.


"Huh?" Brittany's eyes are on Santana's mouth, but the word doesn't mean anything for a second.

Santana pulls the duffel bag closer, upzips it, holds up a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, a Hershey bar.

"S'mores. For dessert."

Brittany blinks, wondering why Santana just won't kiss her again. But then she wonders about the taste of melted chocolate on Santana's fingers, and thinks maybe s'mores are a pretty good idea.

""Yours always catch on fire."

"No. I light them on fire. To create a delicious layer of charred goodness."

Satisfied that her marshmallow is evenly burned, Santana brings it closer, blows out the flames. The outer layer is black and crackling all the way around. She tilts her head and takes a bite, right off the stick.

Brittany shakes her head and goes back to patiently rotating her marshmallow on its stick, keeps it a measured distance away from the fire, carefully keeps it from going up in flames.

She looks over her shoulder. Santana is finishing her marshmallow, licking sticky fingers.

"Hook me up."

Santana knows what she means. She breaks a graham cracker in two, breaks off two squares of the Heshey bar. She layers the components, holds it out to Brittany.

Brittany's marshmallow is an even golden brown, melting off the stick. She lays it on top of the layer of chocolate. Santana tops the sandwich with the other graham cracker, and Brittany slides the stick out of her marshmallow.

"See?" Brittany holds up the s'more, admiring its perfection.

"Hmm..." Santana lunges forward, steals a bite.

Brittany lets her, smiling. Santana comes away with crumbs at the corner of her mouth, and Brittany reaches out, wipes them away with her thumb.

Santana turns back to the fire, sets a second marshmallow ablaze. Brittany sets up the graham cracker and chocolate for her, helps her build her own s'more.

They eat in companionable silence for a moment. Santana watches the fire. Brittany watches Santana. Marshmallow and chocolate ooze out the sides of the s'more, make Santana's fingers sticky.

"I have napkins..."

Brittany shakes her head, swallows her last bite, moves in close at Santana's side. Their thighs touch, her hair brushes Santana's shoulder.

She reaches down, brings Santana's fingers to her mouth. She runs her tongue over the tip of Santana's thumb, puckers her lips, kisses it.

Santana's 'take it slow' plan have already started unraveling. Then Brittany moves on to Santanas index finger, runs it along her bottom lip before sliding it into her mouth, sucking softly and any shreds of resolve Santana had left go up in flames.

Brittany sees the firelight reflected in Santana's eyes. She smiles, a slow, sultry smile, and moves on to lavish attention on Santana's middle finger.

Santana moves closer, she's almost in Brittany's lap now. She slides her finger a little further into Brittany's mouth; it slips easily over the warm wet surface of her tongue. Then she slides her finger out, slowly, her eyes locked on Brittany's.

They both lean forward at the same moment, their mouths crash, starved for kisses.

Santana can feel the fire at her back, but where her chest is pressed against Brittany, her skin is even hotter. She knows a flush has spread up her neck, into her cheeks, down her thighs.

Brittany's fingers slide under the hem of Santana's dress, and she pushes up, working the dress up to Santana's hips.

Santana can feel the focus and purpose in Brittany's movements, taste insistence on her tongue. She knows her dress is going to be gone in a few moments, and her own fingers are already working on the zipper of Brittany's dress. But right now, in this second before it happens, she has something to say.

Santana pulls back from their kiss. Brittany's mouth follows her, and she can't help but lean back in, give her two, three more small kisses. But then she takes a deep breath, leans her forehead against Brittany's.

And then Santana realizes there's actually no big speech. There's nothing really new to say. Just the truth.

Her warm breath whispers against Brittany's mouth.

"I love you."

And she keeps saying it, as they lay down on the blanket, as their hands slide over each other, revealing skin, reveling in the feel of each other's bodies. She keeps saying it, as Brittany's kisses steal her breath, as sweat from each other's skin turns their mouths salty. She keeps saying it, as they slide against each other, inside each other, as they gasp and surge and tremble in each other's arms. She keeps saying it.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

The fire is low now. Shadows flicker over their bare arms, legs, breasts.

A slight breeze blows, the sweat on Brittany's skin turns to goosebumps.

Santana runs a hand over Brittany's ribs. "You're cold."

Brittany's fingers trail over Santana's bicep. "You too..."

Neither of them wants to move. But it's too cold to stay.

"We should go..."

Brittany nods, sits up. Santana watches her, marvels at the way her hair tumbles over her shoulders, brushing the swell of her breasts. Her golden hair looks red in the dying firelight.

They dress quickly, wanting to touch each other again as soon as possible. Santana kicks dirt over the remnants of the fire, Brittany folds the blanket and re-packs the duffel bag, slings it over her shoulder, takes Santana's hand.

They're quiet as they walk back along the jogging path. They're tired, happy. An owl screeches somewhere above. They jump and giggle.

Santana's car is the only one left in the lot. Before they can get in, Brittany pulls Santana to her, leans them back against the side of the car, kisses her breathless.

"Missed you."

One more kiss turns into ten more minutes.

Brittany nuzzles into Santana's neck, nibbles on the last of the candy necklace.

"Love you."

In the car, they don't turn on music. They hold hands, let the quiet night wash over them.

Santana pulls up in front of Brittany's house, notices the time on the dashboard clock. 1:04 AM.

Brittany tugs at Santana's hand.

"Come up. Stay over."

"I can't."


"Brit, think about it. Your mom and dad wouldn't let a boy sleep over after her took you out."

"But you're…you."

Santana steps out of the car, walks around to open Brittany's door. She holds out her hand. "C'mon, I'll walk you to the door."

They kiss under the porch light, whisper a thousand 'I love yous' at each other's lips.

"Come on, come up…" Brittany asks again.

"Brit, look."

Brittany looks where Santana is pointing, through her living room window. Her mother. She's surprised. They never wait up for her anymore.

She looks back at Santana, understanding dawning.

"If we go out, we're not just friends. We can't just…"

Santana nods, slowly. "Is that…I mean, if you don't want it to be like that…"

Santana can't believe she's going to say this. After the night they just had she's not even sure it's possible. But she's got to clear that doubt from Brittany's eyes. "If you don't want to…we could try to just be…"

Brittany doesn't even let her finish. "You know we can't." Brittany trails her fingers down Santana's arm. "That's just silly now."

Santana breathes a sigh of relief. Tonight is real after all.

"So we're dating."

"You're my girlfriend." Brittany clarifies.

"You're my girlfriend." Santana realizes she has a new favorite word. So she says it again. "My girlfriend."

Santana kisses Brittany goodnight, soft and sweet. She moves her lips to Brittany's ear. "There's one more surprise for you. In your room."

Brittany smiles, reluctantly pulls away from Santana and turns to the door.

"Call me when you get home?"

"Of course."

Brittany's glad her mother doesn't have all the lights on. The hickeys on her neck are pretty dark. Thank goodness her dress covers the one on her thigh. She's got to remember, no shorts for the next few days.

"Did you have a nice time?

Brittany just nods. There's no way she can explain to her mother the way she feels tonight.

Anna watches Brittany head up the stairs. Maybe she's just tired. But honestly, it looks like she's floating.

Brittany wonders what the surprise might be. She wonders while she brushes her teeth, wonders while changes into pajamas in the hall bathroom. But when she opens the door to her room, nothing is new or out of place.

Someone has put the flowers Santana brought on her desk. She walks over, caresses the petals, remembers the feel of Santana's soft skin on her fingertips. She can't wait until tomorrow. They'll hang out by the pool, start planning the road trip. Santana in a bikini sounds like a lovely way to spend the day.

Her phone buzzes. She picks it up, checks her texts.


Brittany furrows her brow for a second, then gets it. She crosses to the window, slides it up, breaks into a huge smile.


Santana has traded her dress for jeans and a tanktop. She's crouched on the roof outside Brittany's window.


Brittany leans out for a kiss. "But you said…"

"Shh…gotta be quiet…"

Santana climbs in through the window, whispering. "I said I can't just waltz up here like we're friends. But as your girlfriend, I am totally not above sneaking around."

Brittany walks over to the door, locks it. Then she's back, pulling Santana close, sliding her hands under Santana's tanktop.

Her nails rake softly across Santana's abdomen while her mouth finds Santana's ear. "Best. Girlfriend. Ever."

Santana can't stop smiling. Life is going to be even better than she imagined.