A/N: So... surprisingly enough, I wrote this because I was listening to Beyonce's Lay Up Under Me. And so there's this. I realized as I wrote this that I'd pretty much started in the middle of Santana and Rachel's story here. So what I did was start another fic...kind of. Basically, these will be drabble's or one shots that I'll (try to) keep between 100-1000 words. They'll be in no specific order unless I specify otherwise. Umm..think that's all, enjoy.

Her eyes were the first thing Santana poured her attention into, those ever-expressive orbs that so often captivated her. They smiled along with Rachel's perfect lips, calling the singer over to her without words leaving the talented performer's mouth. As illegitimate and unfounded as the fear has been, it feel good to realize that her girlfriend still fit as perfectly against her body as she always had. She leaned down, breathing in that familiar scent of chai and vanilla as Rachel sighed against her neck.

"I love you." They both whispered at the same time. They kissed softly, finally noticing afterwards the large group of paparazzi surrounding them. Rachel led them through the vultures, pulling her girlfriend's black luggage behind her. It was moments like this when they both, for a few minutes,allowed themselves to wish they didn't have the fame they worked so hard for. Moments like the one just shared between them were best when private.

The ride home is silent, their communication purely unspoken, physical in its nature. Held hands, kissed knuckles and lips. Santana can't help but bury her hands in the hair she loves so much. Her girlfriend does complain about the disruption of her carefully-scultped curls, but quiets down in anticipation when the singer promises that she has every intention of completely destroying them when they arrive home. It's been too long since they've been able to touch each other that way, and more than anything, Rachel just misses the way Santana clings to her in the aftermath of their shared bliss.

Their voices fill the house for hours, simple sounds at first, loudly screamed names and gutteral moans, Rachel's familiar whimpers that she only let's herself utter when Santana is between her legs. Afterwards it's all loud laughs and stories of the friends the taller woman missed dearly, newer tales of the too-long tour that took her away from everything that mattered.

Rachel is stubborn when her girlfriend tells her that she refused the offer to go on another tour.

"This is what you wanted. You wanted to be famous, to make music that you love, that your fans would love. The tours are an important part of that, you should go...it's, it's only for two months and I'll be okay if you go, San. Don't turn it down on my account." Santana looked up at the ceiling, breathing out heavily before her dark eyes fell to lock onto Rachel's clear, deep, brown.

"I know you always say i'm selfless, but I'm gonna prove you wrong here, baby. I said no for me. Because I can't bear ever being away from you for that long again. I love you, shorty, and I refuse to let us turn into the type of couple who barely get to see each other because of our careers. I love you, and you love me, and I just want us to be all pezberry for a while, and then maybe I'll think about it."

"Okay." Rachel shrugs and leans over their take-out, loving Santana's hands in her ruined hair. Being them again after months apart sounded like a perfect idea.