AN::: So this is the last chapter. They'll be an epilogue, so I hope you guys stick around. And I just wanted to thank you all for the fabulous comments. I've poured my heart into this fic, and it's nice to hear all of your wonderful thoughts regarding it. 3 you guys.
A sliver of blinding light sliced through the darkness, stirring me awake. Still clinging to the last threads of the most amazing dream - Santana's warm body writhing beneath mine, arching against me - I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and surveyed my surroundings. My heart nearly burst when I realized that my dream wasn't a dream; my dream was flesh and blood, and laying nude in my bed.
I worried that my eyes were playing tricks on me - that she was a mirage. For so long, I'd been starved for her. I was afraid to touch her; worried that if I did, she'd disappear. So instead of reaching out, I remained idle, perfectly content to just watch the beam of light slowly glide up her neck and caress her cheek. Only when it was about to reach her eyes did I get up to close the curtains. As I pulled the drapes shut, I'd never felt so ambivalent; I was utterly torn between wanting to start the day and wanting to shut it out for just a bit longer.
When I turned back around, the whites of Santana's half-lidded eyes were peering back at me through the darkness. "Vuelve a la cama." Hearing her beckon me, her voice husky with sleep, was quite possibly the sexiest thing ever. It sent a shiver down my spine and want coursing through my body. At that moment, sleep was forgotten.
In the inky darkness, I riffled through my suitcase. Once I found what I was looking for, I slipped it on and nervously walked back over, expecting her eyes to still be watching me. To my shock, they weren't. She had already drifted off, the sheets kicked down and her perfect body on full display.
I carefully crawled my way up her lithe frame until we were face to face. Holding myself on my elbows, I hovered over her. Delicately, I brushed my lips against her and she stirred with a breathy moan.
Every nerve in my body was alert and thrumming with nervous arousal. I could feel my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. With her chest just inches from mine, I wondered if she could feel it too.
"Morning," I offered as she blinked up at me.
Rolling my hips, I rubbed the head of the dildo against her. Her eyes went wide with surprise and her breath caught, making me question my brash decision. However, when her gaze trailed lower, the corner of her lips quirked up into a smile. My heart skipped a beat at that delicious smirk.
Knowing I needed her approval before doing anything more, I just rubbed my length over her earning a symphony of moans. When she pulled back slightly, I followed her gaze. Thanks to my writhing, the dildo had unintentionally settled against her opening. I froze with panic. "It's okay." The words blew across my face, instantly soothing my worry. I looked back up; her expressive eyes were perfectly clear.
With rapt attention, I watched her rake her teeth over her pouty bottom lip. It sent a rush of moisture between my legs. My heart raced in anticipation as the hand that was stroking my neck, careened over my ribs, then my stomach, before working even lower.
Capturing my lips and my attention, Santana kissed me. Given the less than chaste situation we were in, it was surprisingly sweet and slow. Her tongue lovingly traced the shell of my lips, mapping every dip and curve. It was so thoroughly distracting, so wonderfully perfect, that everything else fell away. Just kissing her made my pulse flutter. Just kissing her made my body tingle. Just one dreamy, morning kiss made me desire her that much more.
We could've stopped right there, pressed forehead to forehead, lips to lips, heart to heart. I thought it was enough. I thought it was enough until she stopped kissing me and looked down. Framed between our breasts, I watched her fist wrap around the base of the dildo. And without warning, she sunk the tip in.
I'm pretty sure that we both moaned at the contact.
Her hips raised higher, driving it in deeper. It took all my willpower not to sheath it's full length right then and there with one long stroke. Instead, I built my rhythm. Her hips and cries kept pace as I worked into her deeper and deeper. Every small thrust, every pulse, every twist earned me a sigh, or a moan, or a growl. Gutturally, wantonly, she repeated my nickname over and over in those early morning hours.
When our hips finally connected, butting the dildo into me, I cried out. At hearing me moan her name, she pulled me down until I collapsed hard against her. With our breasts mashed together and my face in the crook of her neck, she panted in my ear, "don't stop."
Our skin smacked and each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through my body. I could feel my stomach tightening, my legs quivering, my clit pulsing. I was dangerously close, but I had no idea where she stood. Unwilling to be selfish, I slowed my pace in a last ditch effort to hold out for her.
"So close. Don't stop-" her hands grasped my ass, guiding me in the rhythm she so desperately needed. Summoning the last of my strength, focusing on her and not me, I pumped into her in a controlled frenzy.
At some point her toned legs encircled my waist, and her hands roughly fisted my hair. "Please- harder!" she panted hotly against my ear. Obeying, I wrapped my arms under her and rocked our bodies together, bottoming out inside her on each stroke. "Oh- oh- oh-" Her cries went an octave higher.
Passionately, I ground our hips together, putting my weight behind every thrust. She met me stroke for stroke, touch for touch, moan for moan. We lost ourselves to each other.
As she tensed, I continued to pound into her, my own orgasm mere moments away.
When she came, she was like a snapped rubber band; every one of her muscles constricted. Her back arched, her heels dug into my ass, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her nails left half moons on my shoulders, and her inner walls pulsated along the shaft of the dildo so strongly that I could feel it against my clit. It was my undoing.
What started excruciatingly slow, ended in a frenzy with both of us spent and panting.
Worried I was crushing her, I tried to roll off, but she held me to her. "Don't go." Naked, sweaty, and thoroughly satiated, I promised her that I wouldn't.
I'm not even sure when I fell asleep, but the next time I woke, it was to the sound of a meeting reminder on my iPhone. I brusquely silenced it and rolled over in a state of panic. To my shock, the other side of my bed was empty, cold. No mess of dark hair. No sprawling, lithe limbs. No half covered body. No Santana.
My eyes frantically darted around the room only to come up empty. Had I dreamt it? Imagined it? Could I be so crazy? Deep down, I hoped that I was, because I couldn't bear the other possibility.
Pointedly ignoring the phallus still between my legs, the pair of wine glasses on the bedside table, and the tears welling in my eyes, I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow with a groan. Something cool crinkled under my cheek. Curiously, there was a piece of paper where Santana's head should've been.
My pulse raced as I unfolded the hotel stationary and instantly recognized her unmistakable handwriting. It read:
My Dear Brittany,
I turned your alarm off. You just looked too peaceful. I have a surprise for you. There's a dress hanging in your bathroom. Put it on and come to my room. Door will be open.
I read her note over and over. It was like glue piecing my broken heart back together. When every word was memorized, burned into me, I neatly folded the paper back up and placed it in my purse, right next to her other one.
After I showered and made myself presentable, I slipped the dress out of it's protective bag. It was throwback, with a flared skirt - very 1930's, but with a modern twist. Beyond excited, I did a happy, little twirl in the mirror, loving how the material swooshed a second behind. It was undeniably gorgeous and fit me perfectly.
I don't even remember how I got to Santana's room; I think I may have skipped.
As promised, her door was unlocked and I quickly spotted her outside. She was seated on her balcony, framed in the window like a painting. Her face was lit by the late morning sun and a gentle breeze was blowing her dark locks. I could've stayed there all day admiring her like a work of art.
"Wow-" my head whipped around at the familiar voice, "you look perfect!" All I wanted was to wake up and have Santana still wrapped around me; instead, I was graced with Puck's presence and the bitter sting of jealousy. He walked out of the bathroom and went to hug me. When I froze, he laughed. "Don't worry. My Momma raised me right-" he held out his hands, "-I washed 'em."
"Wow-" my head whipped back at hearing Santana's husky voice. Braced in the doorframe, she was looking at me not unlike how I had just looked at her.
Lost in her admiring stare, I almost forgot about Puck until he interrupted, "that's exactly what I said."
"Puck, can you go pick us up some coffees?" The way Santana asked, I knew she was trying to get rid of him. It was far more of an order than a question, but thankfully, he took the hint and disappeared without a word.
Standing in the middle of her hotel room, she took my hands. When she didn't speak - she just let her eyes wander over my body - I was the one to break the silence. "Thank you for my surprise. I love the dress. It's beautiful."
"Brittany," I cringed at the formality, "the dress isn't your surprise."
"Please tell me that it's not Puck."
I was serious, but she just laughed. "No- well...actually kind of." Her shoulders slumped and she wrung her hands nervously. It scared me, leaving a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I haven't been completely honest with you. I didn't ask you to come to New York-"
As she spoke, memories of that long-forgotten email rushed back, darkening my thoughts. I ducked my head when my eyes brimmed with tears. And as hard as I tried to stop them, they still overflowed. Without hesitating, she rolled on to her tiptoes and kissed the wetness from my cheeks. I remained unresponsive, my stomach churning painfully.
Trying to get my attention, she gently squeezed my hands. "Do you remember that story I told you on the plane?" I nodded, finally looking up at her. When she continued, her voice held an air of determination. "Even though I didn't know it - even though I didn't see it at first - I was made for that role. And as your agent, I'm telling you..." she passed me some papers from her desk, "-you're made for this one."
As I flipped through the stapled sheets, my mind rushed to connect her words to the print in front of me. "Wait, what- what?" I sputtered.
"Britt, I didn't ask you here as my assistant and this meeting later today isn't for me..it's for you. You're here because the studio, the director, and Puck want you to star in this film." As I tried to wrap my head around her statement, she folded my fingers over the script, holding my hand in the process. "So as your agent, I'm telling you...this is the opportunity of a lifetime. This is your Long Way Home."
"You can thank Puck."
"So, those lunch dates..."
"-were him pitching the idea. Well, not the first one-" Santana chewed her lip, "-the first one was him promising that nothing happened between the two of you - that you didn't want him, you wanted me."
For all those months I had felt like a love-struck teenager, but I thought I had done an admirable job hiding it. "Was I that obvious?"
"Obviously not...because even after he said it, I still didn't believe him. Knowing that he was the one that got to dance with you- touch you- make you smile- make your eyes shine brighter than I'd ever seen-" Santana cringed, and it was like a switch flipped, illuminating her odd, angry, evasive behavior from the previous week. I suddenly realized that she was jealous; but not of me, of him.
"When we met up the second time, he suggested you for the role of Jessica. He said that you deserved the part." Santana let out a long breath. "Oh- what were his exact words...'she wants you, you fucking idiot! And if you haven't realized it by now, you seriously need to reevaluate Brittany's acting chops and your career choice.' I didn't believe him. After everything that happened, how could I? But then he told me about what happened after I left. About how you looked for me. How you looked so sad. How you didn't even deny it," her dark eyes darted back and forth between my own, "and he was right. This is my job, Britt, it's what I do. I find talent. And yet, there you were, for all those months, giving the performance of your life and I didn't even see it."
I stood there speechless, my mind racing from the script to Puck to Santana and back. I wasn't even aware that she had closed the gap between us until I felt her breath tickle my lips. "Britt-" Instead of finishing her sentence, she leaned forward. Unhurriedly, she brushed her lips against mine, capturing my bottom one. It was sweet, chaste.
Whereas, our first two kisses felt like admissions, this one felt like a promise.
A dull thud at the door finally pulled us apart. After Santana let Puck in, who was precariously balancing a tray of coffees, she excused herself to make a phone call on the balcony.
I knew that I should've trusted my gut, but I let my jealousy blind me about Puck's intentions. After learning what he had done for me, I felt like a fool. I was about to apologize when he passed me a coffee. "Latte?"
"I don't know how to thank you."
"It's just a latte," he deadpanned.
"No, I mean about this role. This chance-"
He cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Just kick some ass today." His eyes darted past me. "She talks about you," he whispered and I felt my cheeks flush as I considered all the inappropriate things she could've told him, "and she never talks about anyone. Before I even met you I knew that you love vanilla lattes, and that you get a Snickers bar every afternoon, and how you scrunch your nose when you don't like something, or how you cock your head like a puppy when confused. I could go on, but I won't. I'm not sure why it took you two so long to get together, but now that you've got each other," obviously uncomfortable with the topic, Puck blushed, "just take care of her, okay?"
Wrapping my arms tight around his neck, I kissed him on the cheek. "I promise."
A few moments after we broke apart, Santana reemerged. Before she even opened her mouth, I could tell she was in business mode. "Okay, we've got just a few hours before we need to be at the studio and no time to waste."
Sometimes I wish that I could pause or rewind life like a movie because the next five hours flew by. From practicing our lines, to driving to the studio, to Santana sneaking a kiss in the limo when Puck wasn't looking, to meeting the director, to demonstrating that I could dance, to actually running our lines in front of a dozen people on camera. It was too much, too fast. There were cheers and bottles of champagne exploding. Celebratory bubbles dripped on the floor. But it wasn't until Puck hoisted my frozen body and twirled me in the air, did I finally realize what had happened.
In all the chaos, I could still feel Santana's eyes on me. When I turned, she was waiting, a proud smile plastered on her face.
I joked, "I thought you said that agents never go to auditions," hoping to bait her.
The most adorable laugh erupted from her chest. "Guess you're the exception," she bumped my shoulder with hers, "but don't expect me next time, and don't tell my other clients."
I laughed even though my heart crumpled just a little. Despite what we shared, we still had yet to talk about it. My heart assumed that she wanted more, but in reality, I had no idea. Hell, we hadn't even had a real date yet.
Interrupting the increasingly awkward silence, Puck draped his arms over our shoulders. "Party's relocating. Come on, sexy ladies. I could use a few hot, lesbro wingmen." By the way he crumpled over, I could only assume that we both must have jabbed him in the side at the same time.
Our group commandeered a nearby Italian restaurant. Drinks turned into dinner. Dinner turned into more drinks. We ended up shutting the place down. Finally, well after midnight, they kicked us out. After saying our goodbyes, Santana turned to me with a twinkle in her eye. "It's such a nice night. I thought we could walk back. Is that okay?" I let my smile answer for me.
It was more than a nice night. It was a perfect, brisk, fall night; but linked arm in arm, it felt more like summer. Chatting about everything and anything, we meandered aimlessly through the city streets. Even surrounded by the hustle of people, it was just us. At one point, I wondered if she even knew where we were, but ultimately, I think she was just giving me a chance to clear my head in the crisp night air.
We rounded a corner and I spotted a sign for gelato. My eyes must have lit up - as they do whenever sweets are involved - because Santana playfully elbowed me. "It's a wonder how you stay so thin." Despite the glowing sign, they were already closed for the night. "Come on." Dragging me around the corner, she explained, "I know where to get you something sweet."
I followed her into a bodega a few blocks from our hotel. The cover story, 'Lovers Santana Lopez and Noah Puckerman Both Sighted in NY' instantly caught my attention. As I held up the paper to show her, I noticed her paying for a Snickers bar and 'I Love NY' charm. I never pinned her for the type to buy tchochkes - especially ridiculously cheesy ones - but I've learned that Santana Lopez is full of surprises. "What's that?" I asked as she pocketed the item with a blush.
"Your favorite-" she passed me the candy, "Snickers."
I laughed softly as I took it from her hand. "Are you trying to distract me from your adorableness with sweets?"
"Maybe," she batted her long lashes coyly, "is it working?"
Once my midnight snack was finished, Santana grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together. I shot her a questioning look, but she just smiled. It was that easy smile; the one that made my heart flutter; the one that was reserved solely for me.
With her confident, steady hand in mine, she led me back towards the hotel. Both lost in our thoughts, neither of us said a word. As the hotel came in to view, out of nowhere, several paparazzi swarmed us. "Santana! Santana!" Their voices echoed in the darkness, ruining our peaceful moment. "Where's Noah tonight?" The flashes blinded me and I frantically tried to untangle my fingers; however, Santana just gripped me tighter and kept walking. "Who's your date?" A different one shouted, "is she your girlfriend?"
Santana pulled me to a dead stop and my breath caught in my throat. I hung there, immobile and without air. Finally, I swallowed thickly, steeling myself for the inevitable onslaught. I expected her to use her viscous words to belittle him. I expected her to bite his head off. I expected threats of lawyers, libel, and slander. What I didn't expect was when she turned and smiled. "I'd like her to be." Her frankness caught me entirely off-guard.
Disbelieving, I stuttered, "you- you would?"
Grabbing my other hand, Santana turned me to her. Even as the lights blinded me, all I could see was her open, smiling, unconcerned eyes. In front of the forgotten cameras, in front of the paparazzi, and ultimately, in front of America, she kissed me. Before I even had a chance to react, it was over. It left my head spinning.
Still staring into my eyes, she stated, "we're going to go now." She turned and the smile fell from her face, "and you're not going to follow. Understood?" Like synchronized swimmers, the men nodded in unison.
With her spine straight and shoulders back, Santana Lopez, my girlfriend, spun on her heels. With her hand unabashedly wrapped around mine, she half-dragged my shocked body the remaining two blocks to our hotel. She never once dropped my hand. She never once looked back. She never once wavered.
As we made our way through the maze of hotel corridors, I could feel her sense of urgency. Whether it was adrenaline or repressed desire, I'm not quite sure. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Whatever it was, it was palpable. It travelled through her fingertips and up my arm, making my heart race in anticipation.
We'd barely made it into her room before she roughly pressed me to the wall. With her foot, she kicked the door shut before claiming my mouth with her needy kisses. Quickly, she worked a hot path down my neck and her hands desperately pulled at my dress.
I tried to work her shirt over her head, but she smacked my hands away. "Britt, please-" there was an unfamiliar edge to her voice, "-let me show you what I've wanted to do to you-" her hands disappeared behind me, pulling down the zipper to my dress, "-what I've dreamt about so many times," it fell to the floor, pooling at my feet, "-let me appreciate you," she lowered my panties, trailing her fingers down my legs as they went, "let me show you how good you've made me feel."
Her eyes were dark and hard. They weren't the eyes I had grown so used to; they were 'business Santana' eyes. They screamed 'don't argue with me'. And even as she pushed me to the bed, they stayed sharp -clear in intention. "Just let me."
Finally finding my voice, I squeaked, "I trust you," as I softly wrapped my hands in her hair, submitting to her completely.
Curiously, she stopped her fevered assault and crawled up my body. Time slowed immeasurably as she leaned forward and murmured against my lips, "te adoro."
Her simple declaration made my heart swell, pushing against my ribs, making it hard for me to breath.
I felt dizzy, so I did the only thing I could think of: I grounded myself by kissing her. We kissed until my heart raced. We kissed until my body thrummed with anticipation. We kissed to make up for every kiss we missed along the way. And when we kissed until I was sure that I couldn't take it any longer, she kissed her way down my body.
Try as I might, I couldn't prevent the gasp when she toyed with my nipples. I couldn't prevent my hips from pressing against her. I couldn't prevent the throaty moan when she worked her mouth over my center. I couldn't stop shuddering when she pushed her tongue inside me.
"San. Oh fuck! San."
Embarrassed at my outburst and how insanely aroused I was - considering she had barely touched me - I tried to muffle my cries in my pillow. One of her hands snaked up my stomach and through the valley of my breasts, coasting over my heart. "Let me hear you," she rubbed her thumb across my lower lip, "please...no more hiding." Her eyes were soft again, rich chocolate pools pleading up at me. They melted my reserve.
Never breaking her gaze, she licked me softly with the flat of her tongue. Her mouth was electric, zapping life into long forgotten parts of me. My body trembled with warning, tightening with a terrifyingly unfamiliar, unstoppable force.
When I came, it wasn't like how it usually felt. It wasn't a gentle wave rolling into shore; it was overwhelming like a tsunami.
Unprepared, I cried out for her. Fearlessly, she tangled her fingers in mine, anchoring me as I was stripped bare. Pieces of me - ones that had never seen the light of day - were uncovered. Even with everything exposed - every depth, every crack - she never let go and never looked away. She just held my hand firmly, her mouth lapping at my center, as my orgasm crashed over me in an unrelenting tidal wave. The sheer force of it floored me, flooding my landscape, drowning me, leaving the coastline of my heart forever changed. Had she let go, I'm confident I would've been swept away.
When it finally subsided, I was destroyed, wiped clean.
After Santana climbed up my body, a comfortable silence filled the room. Her hands softy played in my hair. I tried to fight sleep. I tried to stay awake so my perfect day would never end. But ultimately, exhaustion won out.
When my alarm sounded the next morning, an eerie sense of deja vu gripped my chest. My worst fears were confirmed when, yet again, I found myself alone in bed. I bolted up.
"Morning." Tucked in the corner of the oversized couch, surrounded in papers, sipping a coffee, Santana waved me over.
Eagerly, I slipped on my robe and curled into her side. With my head just above her heart, it thrummed slow and steady under her skin. In some strange way, it gave me strength. "Did you really mean what you said last night?"
Instead of responding, she handed me the newspaper she was reading. Right there, on the front page of the entertainment section, in black and white, was a picture of us kissing. Hesitantly, I pulled back, trying to gauge her unreadable face. She sat stock still, before taking the paper back. I cringed when I heard it rip in her hands.
With my eyes shut - unable to see the anger, or sadness, or regret on her face - I tried to apologize. "I'm so sor-" she rubbed her thumb over my lips, silencing my words.
"I meant what I said, Britt," she admitted softly - her voice like honey, coating me in sweet reassurance. I chanced a glance at her; she was staring reverently at the perfectly torn-out picture in her lap. "I think we should frame it." There was a smile to her voice; it lifted the heavy weight from my chest.
Looking between Santana and the image of us kissing, for the first time in my life, I finally knew what it felt like to belong to someone - to belong with someone. To my surprise, her eyes glistened. Mine must have too, because she gingerly swiped the pad of her thumb across my cheek.
In all those times hidden behind a locked door, alone in the dark of my room, or lost in my thoughts, I never imagined what this would feel like - being in the light of day with her. That I could be more than some unconventional assistance. More than a hidden affair. I never let myself hope that we could be something. That she could desire me as much as I desired her. That there could actually be an us.
Knowing that Santana, my Santana, wanted me the way that I wanted her was more than I ever dreamed, ever imagined. It rocked me to my core. When I shifted - trying to reclaim my previous position - she pleaded, "don't go."
I latched myself tightly to her side, my cheek pressed to her chest. Her heartbeat quickened. Mine matched hers beat for beat. In unison, they pounded steady and strong. I realized that my perfect day would never end as long as I had her. "Never. Te adoro."