Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

A/N: Because with feelings it's better. (also I've just been randomly bursting into tears because I keep thinking about that Brittana kiss) So for those of you wondering that the worst places and scenarios to start randomly sobbing because of Brittana are ... Here's a list: In front of your parents, in the car, at the grocery store, during your drama class, on the phone to your best friend, in bed hiding your face under a pillow, on a skype call with your relatives, eating cereal, listening to music, putting on socks, brushing your teeth and breathing.

No one is safe from Brittana creys. NO ONE.


This Quiet Love of Ours

~.~

Santana's parents are home so you try to be quiet. The floorboards creak as you tiptoe up the stairs giggling in undertones and sneaking kisses on the landing. It's hard to keep your voices down – to keep your joy under wraps when all either of you want to do is shout it from the rooftops. You love and are in love and not sharing this feels like a felony.

She has her arms bracketing yours hips and pulls you back seductively into what she likes to call her 'love cave'. Now that you're dating Santana has all these cute nicknames for like, everything, and you just find it so utterly adorable. You smirk down at her, heat blooming in your cheeks when you notice the rose petals strewn across every flat surface and the lit candles flickering shadows across her walls. She's been a busy bee.

"For me?" you whisper and a swooping sensation in your gut makes you smile so brightly when she nods. "You spoil me, Santana."

"Never," she breathes in your ear and you shiver.

She lays you on the bed as though you were a princess. Sometimes you think that you are from the way that Santana treats you. Nothing is ever too much, no request too extreme or outlandish. If you want to take a day trip to the countryside so that you can pet a goat, Santana packs a picnic because she knows how peckish you get during car journeys. If you're stuck on an English essay that's going nowhere she oversees your spider diagrams and makes sure that by the end of the night you have every point ticked off. If you have a rough fall at motor cross practice she's waiting by the edge of the track with a first aid kit and a reassuring kiss that you feel right down to your aching bones.

She straddles you and cups your face in her hands, just watching you. Santana does that a lot now. She studies the dips and planes of your cheeks, nose, forehead – the fullness and brightness of your eyes in the dim light of her room. She drinks you in with unparalleled adoration and your breath leaves you as it always does under the gravity and force of her feelings.

Santana takes one deep shuddering breath as she regards you with this half lidded worship. "You're …" she begins, but you reach up with the dexterity of a feline and silence her unfounded praises with your lips. How can she look at you, shower you with all these compliments and words of love, and then not see the wonder that she is? It just doesn't seem fair.

Your lips move against hers with a hunger you don't think will ever fade away. Her arms wrap around your shoulders with practiced ease, pulling you in tight, robbing you of what little sense you have left. You hold her just as close and let your hands tuck under her dress and – lift. You break apart to allow the dress to slip away from her body and discard it to the side where it lies forgotten on a bed of rose petals.

Like every time you have ever seen her naked since you started dating, your chest floods with the realization that Santana is yours and yours alone. You place a hand on the swell of her breast, just above her heart, and bite your lip as you look up and deep into her darkening eyes. Her heartbeat under your palm beats a fast steady beat.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

You exhale shakily. She tucks some loose hair behind your ear and cups your jaw.

"That's mine," you say to her and your voice sounds shaky and desperate to your own ears. You incline your head to kiss the skin covering the very thing that keeps her alive, keeps her on this earth with you. "Only mine."

"Of course it is," Santana replies with a tranquil smile, like the revelation had come to her long ago even though you both know she'd tried to evade it for so long. She kisses you so sweetly your ears start to ring.

Santana's forgotten dress finds companionship in yours once she has swiped it from your body and kicked every offending article of clothing off the bed. She moans when your bare bodies connect and you remind her softly to be quiet. Her parents are only down the hall and, even if you have permission to sleep over, you don't want her mother to give you those sly knowing looks at breakfast tomorrow. So you let your tongue flit in her mouth and groan gently at the feel and warmth of her pressing into your every curve.

"Britt—" Santana huffs when you sweep her hair back from her neck and lick a trail of fire over her skin. "Oh god, baby!" she squeals.

You're grazing the spot under her jaw that makes her melt. You found it by accident when you were fourteen and so deliriously happy that your best friend hadn't pushed you away when you'd expressed wishes of kissing her. Now you're eighteen and Santana's still your best friend – but she's your girlfriend now too - the girl you love more than anything in the world and you're still so deliriously happy that you get to lavish her body with attention.

"I love kissing you," you mutter in her ear between pecks to her temple.

When Santana whines, quick and high pitched like a whistle, she begins to rut shamelessly and you groan at the delicious friction. Her thigh is rubbing up against your core and the sweet pressure of it makes you buck up and be rewarded instantly by a soft mewl of pleasure.

"Q-quiet," she stutters as you fall into a rhythm. "My parents are …"

You kiss her throat and hold her so close you wonder if you'll merge into one person. The thought isn't unappealing. You want to be as near to Santana as humanly possible and there's a separate ache than the one between your legs that makes your eyes water.

You gasp when Santana bumps your clit. You don't waste a second and flip her onto her back so quickly she doesn't even have a second to react before your fingers are burying in dizzying heat.

She moans brokenly in relief and reaches for you. You sink into her, propping yourself up on one arm so that you can see her face and the tightening of her features as you stroke her clit with your thumb and plunge deep inside her. Santana's lips part and open slightly, shiny and plump from kissing, and you nudge the upper one with your nose tenderly.

Her hands cup the back of your neck and push you down for a searching kiss, only broken by her pants and breathless keening. Santana's walls tighten around you and the graceful arch of her neck as she strains back lets you know that she's close. But you don't want it to end. You don't want this evening to ever end.

You look at your girlfriend's face and feel struck by how far you have both come. Here is this amazing girl who you have been in love with for forever. A girl who refused to acknowledge her feelings, who pushed you away because she was so scared of what people might say. A girl who now kisses you in the hallways before class or just because. A girl who fights for your right to show your love like every couple at McKinley. A girl who dedicated a love song to you so that even strangers knew that she is head over heels in love with you, Brittany Piece.

She's a girl who treats you like a genius, like a princess, like a friend and a lover. She's a girl who treats you like you're her greatest treasure.

You feel tears slip down your cheeks but pay them no heed once you see Santana let her walls break down and her own tears surface to match yours.

"I love you," you croak and know that you have breathed no greater truth in your entire life.

She frames your face as hers pinches with emotion. You know yours is. You must look a sight the pair of you, kissing and crying and making love in the middle of yellow candles and strewn roses.

"I love you so much," she gasps. "Oh god. So much, BrittBritt. Don't ever doubt that," she begs.

You reassure her that you don't. You've never doubted her love. You know that she'd rather die than let anything bad happen to you or make you feel unloved for even a moment. Her ultimate goal in life is to make you happy and you hope she knows that yours is too. You'll give up everything for her if you have to. Every chance to dance, every rainbow, every cat – absolutely anything. If she asked you to run away tomorrow you would.

"My baby," you croon as your hand gains speed and you feel her clamp down on your fingers. You kiss her nipples, tongue swirling around the nubs before climbing back to her lips and kissing her long and hard. "My girl … my only love."

Santana lets out a shuddering breath that makes your insides squeeze. She's so close, teetering on the edge. She kisses you breathless and murmurs against your lips as you both sob softly.

"I love you," she bawls and you let out another quick sob of your own as she falls into pleasure and traps you in an embrace that makes you feel whole.

Your soul vibrates with hers as she twitches and gasps and cries under your lean body, also shaking with tears. You just hope that you've been quiet enough to avoid detection by Mr. and Mrs. Lopez. If they came barging in on your moment because they'd heard you crying out you don't think you'd have the energy or the strength to pull away from Santana now.

"Happy Valentine's day," she rasps once you've both gotten yourselves under control. You smile dotingly at her and gather her in your arms, holding her until you both fall asleep.