Brittany remembers exactly how it started. Remembers the moment that was like a drop of food coloring in the clarity of their friendship, blurring lines and sullying what they thought they knew.
She remembers how darkness hung thick in the air like the smoke from the blunt Puck and Santana shared in his basement. She'd tried it once, but she didn't like the tight itchy feeling her throat got when she inhaled wrong so she never did it again. But Puck and Santana sort of bonded over it. It was one of those things that Puck and Santana shared, aside from sex and endless Mario Kart and Brittany liked keeping them company when they did it.
The high would make them laugh light, joke playfully and trade insults that would probably cause fights under any other circumstances. Sometimes Brittany just watched as their bodies sunk deep into the dingy old couch that seemed to know their contours by memory. They'd pass around a plate of oft-burnt Pillsbury sugar cookies and end up tickling each other.
That's what she thinks about that night when they're curled up in Santana's bed on dark sheets, under a blood red duvet, legs tangled together out of habit. Her head rests on the same pillow as Santana. The one that should be hers is pressed against her back. She inhales and the faint smell of marijuana is laced in Santana's hair. She smells what she usually smells too: coconut, mint and coffee. It makes her feel warm.
She thinks about how Santana has to be high with Puck to relax the way she does around her normally. How she doesn't mind if Puck touches her when her eyes are low and her feet are draped lazily on his coffee table. It makes Brittany feel special for some reason. That what happens so naturally between the two of them needs coaxing for interactions with others.
That's what she's thinking about when her lips press softly against Santana's forehead. She only stirs lightly. She's lying on her back; one arm stretched above her head the other at her side, two fingers wrapped around Brittany's corresponding ones. Her ankle is pressed tightly against Brittany's as if the connection is deliberate. Brittany knows it is. Knows that Santana likes being close to her in the dark but she doesn't think much of it until she does. Until her lips seem to hurt from longing.
They've kissed before, but what she feels when she wants to do it is different. It's not like the quick pecks they share when Santana is overcome with excitement or the soft kisses they've exchanged in darkness since they were twelve.
She chews at her lip for a moment before she decides to go for it. She dips her head, blond hair sliding across her shoulder as her head angles just right, and presses her lips flush against Santana's. She feels her smile against her, but her eyes remain closed. She only stirs to turn on her side, her body angled closer to Brittany's.
"San," she whispers against her lips. Brown eyes flick open and stare unfocused, blinking until they brighten at the recognition of blue through the darkness. Brittany leans back and sighs.
"Hm?" The back of Santana's hand presses against her eyes and she rubs jagged strokes over them with a grimace. If anyone else had woken her up, she'd have already hurled them across the room, but this is Brittany. She inhales, deep, like strawberry flavored paper is pursed between her lips again. She's not angry just curious and her mouth is dry with stale smoke and sleep. She stares blinking, adjusting to the darkness.
Brittany doesn't say anything, just drops her head and presses their lips together with more purpose. Something that might be thanks is laced between the eagerness of her parting lips as she suckles softly on Santana's bottom one. Her teeth drag across it slowly and then her tongue is flecking out to tease it. Santana tastes like smoke, sugar cookies and a hint of mint but mostly she just tastes like home or comfort. Brittany can't decide which but she loves it, that's all that matters.
She doesn't even wait to see if she's kissing her back. She knows she will. She has to feel like this too, even if she was sleeping when the fire in Brittany's belly got to be too much. But she is, she definitely is and when she whimpers against Brittany's top lip, it seems license to straddle her, so Brittany does.
Her knees dig into the mattress that has cradled her on a number of nights as she presses herself against Santana's belly. Their lips haven't parted for even a moment and she's sure the moisture pooling at her core is glistening against Santana's exposed stomach.
They've slept like this, in too small t-shirts and colorful underwear for as long as she can remember, but it feels most convenient now. She giggles against Santana's mouth and parts her lip when Santana's tongue comes searching. She sighs as the hands with fingernails dipped in darkness splay across her back, press her forward until she feels like they're only one entity – the BrittanyandSantana everyone teases about.
The kisses are warm and wet, but she needs more. Her hands draw up and down Santana's arms before she snakes one between them, shifting her body to accommodate wandering fingers.
"What are you doing?" Santana gasps when curious digits skirt under the elastic of the too-expensive purple brief's that clutch her hips.
"Shh," Brittany says right against her mouth. Her eyes stare, fixated and wait for recognition, for permission to surface in the brown orbs looking back. Her hand stills for what seems like forever before she sees a faint nod and chocolate eyes are hooded in caramel lids.
The pads of Santana's fingers dig into her hips when her own nimbly slip through a foreign sea. She's wanted to do this for longer than she'd like to admit, but any anxiety is fleeting because Santana's lips ghost against her ear and the sound that passes through them makes her shudder. Her fingers recognize intent again and she circles the spot that makes her tingle when her hands traipse past her own waistband.
Santana arches up against her, her head worrying deep into the pillows beneath her. She kisses every inch of her face like she's wanted for so long. All the places the light hits in the daylight that makes a pretty face beautiful. Two slick fingers take residence inside the girl beneath her and she gasps. Santana doesn't stop her and that's what matters most. Santana wants it too. She wants it just as much as Brittany.
She kisses her deep, glides an open mouth along her jaw, down her neck; nibbles at her collarbone while her fingers say the words she can't. Her heart thuds against her chest in sync with her exploration and Santana's hips match that and it's so much, almost too much for her to handle. Her eyes sting and her lungs feel tight and she can't identify why because this is what she's wanted, what she's needed for so long.
The way Santana arches into her hand with need should make her swell with warmth and pride, but instead the tightness just grows and when she blinks her eyes as Santana tips over the edge, her name on her lips floating out in a moan like smoke toward light, a tear slips out that she can't explain.
When she slips her hand away, glosses a curious finger along her own lips and flecks her tongue out and settles her body on top of her best friend and they meld together in the way only BrittanyandSantana can, she realizes that she's terrified for the morning.
When she wakes up, she realizes she has good reason to be. There's a note on a pillow in the bed that's not hers. She crumples it after she reads it and tugs the blanket over her head.
I don't know what happened but I need some time.
Brittany remembers exactly how it started. Remembers feeling like her December would never be another June when daylight cloaked her with weightless possession like the knowledge of ownership of a check she couldn't cash.