I don't know what my problem is. I have a new job, and the Sleepovers fic to finish and like three original stories that I'm working on...but then I was like, huh. That road trip *does* sound kind of fun. The siren song of Brittana fic.

So, to keep this somewhat manageable, and not boring, I'm kind of thinking of this as road trip snapshots, little flashes of what they experience over the week. Hence the name.

And to those people who reviewed A Real Date - you guys are the awesomest awesomes ever. Really, you all have no idea how much your enthusiasm means to me, and helps me to be a more productive, creative person. Thank you.

It's early. The heat of the day hasn't yet burned off the morning haze. The grass is still wet with dew, droplets dampen the hem of Santana's jeans as she walks across the Fabray's lawn.

She's carrying two grocery bags full of snacks that Quinn's mom packed for their trip. She peeks in over the top of one of the bags. Mallomars. Score.

She's smiling as she walks toward the car. Six full days with Brittany. Five full nights with Brittany. This trip is going to be amazing.

The other girls…they'll be fun too. Quinn has been normal lately, relaxed and happy. She and Berry have sorted their Finn shit out, for the time being anyway, bonded over whatever it is uptight chicks have in common. Mercedes couldn't make it, she's got a family reunion in Missouri. But Santana is sort of psyched to have Tina along. Tina cracks her up sometimes.

The hatchback of her RAV 4 is open. The third row of seats is folded and stowed, as always, leaving them with plenty of room to put their bags. Brittany is sitting in the open trunk, leafing through a magazine, her feet dangling over the back bumper.

Santana slows down as she gets closer. It's been almost a month, but she still flushes with pleasure when she looks at Brittany and gets to think the word girlfriend. The scrape on Brittany's left knee, the bug bite on her right elbow, the fading hickey only half covered by the collar of her t-shirt - every imperfection makes her perfect.

Santana is close enough now to see the freckles dusted across Brittany's nose.

"You've got an eyelash..."

Brittany looks up, smiles, brushes a hand across her cheek. But the eyelash clings.

Santana sets the bags down, reaches out and brushes Brittany's cheek with her thumb.

Brittany nuzzles into her touch. Santana leans down, brushes kisses across those adorable freckles and at the corner of Brittany's mouth.

"Mmmm..." Brittany murmers nothing in particular, and turns her head to meet Santana's lips. Her hands find Santana's hips, fingers slide into the beltloops of her jeans. She pulls her closer, until she's standing between Brittany's knees.

Their kisses start out gentle - pecks and nibbles. Then Brittany's go roaming down the backs of Santana's thighs. They slide back up, fit themselves to the curve of Santana's butt, squeeze.

Santana feels the sun on her shoulders, the warmth of Brittany's body so close to her own. She feels alive and pleasantly hot. She feels fucking fantastic.

Santana tangles her left hand in Brittany's hair, pulls her in to press their mouths closer together. Her tongue slips into Brittany's mouth. Brittany sucks, hard.

Minutes pass. They don't notice. They're lost in each other, aflame. They suck and lick and bite and kiss and kiss. Their hands are all over each other, seeking more, more, more warm skin.


Quinn stands on the lawn, a backpack slung over one shoulder, mouth agape.


Tina rounds the corner of the house, stops short. Her duffel bag bangs back against her hip.

"Ohhh. Well. I think it's kinda cute."

Walking in on Brittany and Santana making out is now a daily occurrence for anyone who knows them. Quinn is happy for them, she really is. And sometimes it is sort of adorable to see how in love they are. But on the Brittany-Santana Scale of Gettin' It On that Puck invented, this is at least a 12 out of 15. And anything above a 6 is inappropriate for the front yard.

"I hate to ask..." Rachel has joined them, dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her - it's red, with gold stars. "...but where is Brittany's other hand?"

Quinn glances back at the house, glad that her mother doesn't appear. Judy Fabray has loosened up over the past year. But she's not *this* loose.

A muffled moan comes from the pair.

"Ok. That's enough." Quinn decides. She strides toward them, clears her throat.

Brittany and Santana don't notice Quinn approaching. She's close enough now to see that Brittany's hand is under Santana's tanktop. Doing something that Santana enjoys very much, apparently.

"Brittany. Santana. Guys!"

Quinn is loud, but not loud enough. She looks over her shoulder for help.

Tina is staring, wide-eyed. "I don't like it when Mike does that but it looks like Brittany is really good at..."

Rachel claps a hand over Tina's mouth.

"Quinn, on three...One. Two..."

"SANTANA!" Quinn shouts.

"BRITTANY!" Rachel hollers, putting the full force of her well-trained lungs to use.

Brittany and Santana separate slowly, lingering over their kisses like they have to last a few years instead of a few minutes. Finally, they turn around, see the girls on the lawn.

"Why are you yelling?" Brittany's blue eyes are wide and wondering.

Quinn rolls her eyes and tosses her backpack to Santana, who catches it, laughing.

Brittany slides out of the car, making room for Quinn, Rachel and Tina to put their bags in the trunk. They're all impatient to get on the road; it only takes a few minutes for them to stow their gear.

Rachel and Tina hop into the backseat, Santana slides into the driver's seat. Brittany heads for the passenger seat, but Quinn stops her.

"Nuh uh."

Santana looks up from the GPS, where she's punching in their first destination.

"You two and your wandering hands are going to drive us right off the road. Back seat, Brittany."

Santana snarls and Brittany pouts, but Rachel and Tina side with Quinn and pull Brittany into the back seat with them. She settles in behind Santana, happy to find she can still play with her hair from back there.

Santana rifles through the sheets of paper and books of maps that Quinn's mom pressed into her hands before they left the house.

"I don't know why your mom made us print all that stuff out *and* bring the maps." She jabs at the GPS console again. "We have the robot bitch to tell us what to do."

"Better safe than lost in the middle of creepy West Virginia."

"Alright well you be Clark then, I'll be Lewis." Santana tosses the maps and papers into Quinn's lap.

Quinn raises a quizzical eyebrow at her.

"Clark did the maps. Duh."

They're grinning at each other now. No more Cheerios drama, no more boyfriend drama, they're really friends, maybe for the first time ever.

In the backseat, Tina leans over to Brittany.

"Umm...so..." She's not really sure how to ask, but she's so curious, she has to try. "Does Santana really like it when you..." She whispers the last part into Brittany's ear.

"Oh yeah!" Brittany nods enthusiastically. "She likes it even better when I do it with my tongue."

Tina flushes a deep red and sits back in her seat.

Put on some music before I have to hear another word of this nonsense." Quinn demands. But the corners of her mouth are still curled into a smile.

"I concur." Rachel pipes up from behind Quinn. "And I brought just the thing..." she whips out her iPod. "A specially crafted mix of..."

Santana surprises Rachel by holding out her hand for the iPod. Rachel hands it over, astounded into silence. Santana is equally shocked when she hooks it into the car stereo and the first song that plays is The Pixies - Here Comes Your Man.

"Berry! Drums!"

Rachel beams, triumphant.

Santana cranks up the stereo, rolls down her window. She catches Brittany's eye in the rearview mirror, blows her a kiss and they're on their way.