Warning: Same as the first two chapters, yo!

A/N: Well, hello, there! 8)~ Happy Wanky Wednesday! I'm back with the third and final part of this story, and ya'll can thank my boo, crammit for pestering me to bring this story full circle. :)

For those of you who asked about making this a full-length story, I already have another story I planned on writing that is canon-based, very similar to my Back to Black story, which will follow the first two seasons from Britt's POV; which is why I decline to make this a full-length story. Look for it later this year, possibly October once I finish the Summer of Smut and get the ball rolling on my new multi-chaptered Pirate!Brittana story.

In the meantime, though, enjoy this final installment, and keep shipping Brittana! 8D~


Brittany feels sick.

Maybe it's because she drank too much alcohol, or drank it in the wrong order. She never could remember that rhyme about beer before liquor. (Or was it the other way?)

Maybe it's because she ate some bad party food. She's pretty sure those crackers were stale. Maybe they'd had mold on them, and Brittany hadn't realized until after she'd eaten them.

Or maybe- and most likely- it's because Santana is currently heavily flirting with Puck.

It had been a week since they'd awkwardly used each other to get off, and in that time, they'd barely spoken, and especially not about that. It left a heavy air of tension hanging between them, so that when they did actually speak, it was awkward and uneasy. Brittany was torn between wishing it had never happened, and cherishing the memory. She knew Santana wasn't ready to talk about what had happened, and might never be ready to talk about it. Maybe they didn't even need to… but regardless, Brittany wished that their friendship could go back to normal. She hoped that, if she let Santana be, she would come to her whenever she was ready. In the meantime, she tried to be patient, despite the fact that she missed her best friend.

It seemed like maybe they were on the right track when Santana had texted her earlier and invited her to this party- but then she'd spent the majority of the night doing things to catch Puck's attention and completely ignoring her, which had hurt worse.

Brittany sighs, cradling her cup of beer in her hand and feeling her stomach tie itself in knots at the sight of Santana talking to- flirting with- Puck. She's trying to be patient, but her heart hurts, and she feels sick, and it's a completely unfamiliar feeling to her. She tries to tell herself that Santana is only hanging all over Puck because she blew off hanging with him earlier in the week (to be with her, she reminds herself) but the way she's smiling and giggling at everything he says makes her stomach feel like she swallowed a heavy stone.

She takes another sip of her unappetizing beer, frowning as Santana presses her body against Puck and bats her eyelashes, smiling teasingly at him. She can't stand to watch anymore. She knows Santana will never look at her like she looks at Puck; will never press against her like she presses against Puck, out in the open. She could wait, she could be patient all she wants, but Santana will never, ever acknowledge her feelings. She's doomed to be Santana's friend and occasional fuck buddy- if she can even call herself that. A fuck buddy implies that there is fucking- which Brittany would welcome gladly over the way Santana had used her to get off earlier in the week.

Sighing bitterly, Brittany sets her beer down and wanders away to look for some place quiet to sit, some place to avoid the display that's making her stomach roil.

(She misses the way brown eyes watch her from across the room as she departs.)

She can feel a headache forming and she just wants to go home and rest. She finally finds a quiet room of the house and sits down on the floor, leaning back against the foot of the empty bed, but now she's alone, with only her slightly tipsy thoughts to keep her company.

She'd thought, being at a party with Santana, that maybe they'd make out for show like they always do to get the attention of boys. Brittany hadn't been close to Santana in days, and despite her wanting to give Santana time to come to her to talk, she still craved Santana's nearness, her touch, her warmth. She couldn't stop thinking about what happened between them, and even just the faint hope of getting to meaninglessly kiss her was enough to get Brittany's heart pounding.

But hope didn't do anything for her except hurt her worse when reality sank in. Santana had spent all night with Puck, ignoring her like maybe she had terrible breath or some horrible skin disease or something, and Brittany had never felt so lonely and upset before. She feels tears springing to her eyes. Hope is stupid.

It seems like she's only been alone with her thoughts for a few minutes of silent self-pity, though, when Santana finds her.

"Hey," she murmurs as she slides down next to her, bumping their shoulders together playfully. "You okay?"

Brittany bites her lip, keeping her tears at bay, and nods, but she knows Santana is more perceptive than that.

"B, seriously. What's wrong?"

Brittany swallows. "I just- I don't feel so good," she mutters. "I think it's the alcohol."

"Oh, honey," Santana coos as she rubs a hand over her back soothingly. Brittany feels like an idiot for practically leaning in to the affectionate touch like a starving puppy, feels like she could sob with relief from the warmth of Santana's hand. Brittany's heart pounds with traitorous hope, and her mind screams at it to stop beating like that every time Santana touches her, it will only end in pain-

"You didn't drink that blue stuff, right?"

Brittany shakes her head, wondering if Santana can suddenly hear the way her heart is hammering in her chest. "No, you told me not to."

"Mmhm," Santana purrs, making gentle circles over her shoulder. "Do you want to go home?"

"I- I don't want to pull you away from the party-"

The hand halts. "Britt, stop. It's just a stupid party. You're way more important. I can watch these Neanderthals stumble their way through beer pong every weekend, since there's literally nothing else to do in this lame-ass shit town." Brittany smiles slightly (heart fluttering) and Santana mirrors it, her dimples showing (heart aching) and slides her hand down to link their pinkies (heart pounding.) She tugs gently.

Brittany nods. "Then let's go."


They end up back at Santana's house, and Brittany feels nervous. It's the first time she's been over since- well, since what happened, and the first time she's been completely alone with Santana since then, too. Her buzz from earlier is gone, replaced with a different kind of buzz that only being around Santana can produce, and her stomach is tense again with nervousness. She's not sure where they stand, because they haven't talked about anything (Brittany's fingers are itching to reach out and touch Santana, her skin is aching to feel Santana's touch, her lips are tingling with the remembrance of Santana's lips against them, and her body is eager to have Santana's pressed against it again) so Brittany stands silently in Santana's room, watching Santana unpin her dark hair and remove her earrings.

"B, you can borrow some PJs. You know where they are," Santana says softly with a shrug, avoiding looking directly at her, and Brittany nods, feeling a lump forming in her throat. She hadn't expected to stay the night at Santana's house, but now that she is, she has conflicted feelings again; is Santana going to use her, since she didn't have Puck? Is she going to ignore her and just go to sleep? Are they going to talk?

She reaches to rifle through the bottom drawer of Santana's dresser, pulling out spare cheer shorts and a t-shirt, and before she can think better of it, she begins to undress, realizing too late that she probably should've moved to the bathroom.

But why? They've always changed in front of each other, and they still do every day at Cheerios practice. Why should now be any different? Because they slept together? We didn't, though, Brittany argues internally. But she doesn't know what exactly it was that they did do, because Santana refuses to talk about it-

Brittany jolts as she feels warm hands on her stomach from behind, and before she can respond, Santana's moist lips press against her bare shoulder. She curses (praises) herself again for not using the bathroom to change, then shivers as she remembers she's currently in cheer shorts and a bra, and Santana's hands are on her stomach.

Her thoughts race- is Santana going to use her again? (Her pulse pounds, her clit throbs, her heart sinks at the thought) Is Santana just being affectionate? Should she-

Warm, tan hands turn her around by her hips, and then Santana's leaning up and they're kissing, softly at first, but then more aggressively as Santana licks into her mouth, hot and demanding and eager. Brittany moans lowly, struggling not to pull Santana closer or touch her at all, but when Santana moves herself closer of her own free will, sliding her hands onto Brittany's ass, Brittany can't resist reaching up to wrap arms around her back to press their bodies together.

Santana pulls back for a moment to ask in a mumble, "Is your stomach feeling better?"

Panting, Brittany nods quickly, and then Santana's mouth is back on hers, kissing fiercely, biting and sucking gently at her lips. Somehow they end up on the bed, with Brittany on the bottom once again. Santana's hands haven't stopped groping her ass, and Brittany's heart is pounding, the insistent ache between her legs getting harder to ignore the longer Santana moves atop her. She can feel Santana's hips starting to rock against her, and her throat constricts with emotion.

This is it. Santana's going to use her again. That's all Brittany will ever be, just an object for Santana to get off on, and she'll never be anything more. (Santana will never look at her like she looks at Puck, will never press against her like she presses against Puck- her heart clenches painfully.) She breaks the kiss, lowering her eyes, and dejectedly moves to turn onto her stomach so that Santana can do what she needs to-

A hand on her shoulder stops her, and she dares her gaze up to Santana's face, which holds a pained, regretful expression (and something else she's never seen before, something she thinks she might have dreamed.) Brittany allows herself to be pressed back onto the bed, and Santana's eyes soften as she studies Brittany's face.

(Santana's not looking at her like she looks at Puck- she's looking at her like Brittany is everything.)

Slowly, Santana leans in and Brittany shakes as their lips touch softly, sensually, and Brittany feels as if the pillows are swallowing her up, as if she might sink through the sheets and the mattress and land on the floor, and the jarring blow will wake her from the dream she must obviously still be in. Santana's hand is gentle and reverent as she touches Brittany's face, strokes down her neck and chest and stomach, and all Brittany can do is tremble with anticipation, her heart thundering with traitorous hope.

Santana shifts to straddle Brittany's thigh, and carefully begins to rock against it, pressing her own to Brittany's center. Brittany gasps in the dark at the contact, and Santana kisses her again, stealing her breath.

(Santana doesn't press against her like she presses against Puck- she presses against her as if she needs her.)

When Santana touches her stomach fleetingly, Brittany visibly shakes, wishing Santana would go higher, wishing Santana would touch her breasts- or lower, wishing Santana would touch her wet, aching sex. She wishes she could touch Santana there, also, but Santana's thigh against her feels good, too, and her thigh against Santana feels even better, so Brittany is content to not push Santana too far too fast.

(Santana will come to her when she's ready- Brittany must be patient.)

They don't stop kissing, and Brittany's heart doesn't stop racing in her chest. She can feel how wet and hot Santana is against her thigh, even through her sleepwear, and the knowledge that she's the one that caused it makes her stomach tighten in the best way. Santana's small whimpers in her mouth only confirm that Brittany's making her feel good, and maybe Brittany doesn't mind the fact that they never talk about this, as long as she can continue to make Santana feel good, as long as she can keep sharing this part of Santana.

(As long as Santana looks at her like she's everything, presses against her like she needs her.)

Their movements grow jerkier, they lose their rhythm. Brittany can feel herself getting close, but she thinks Santana is closer, judging by the way she's had to stop kissing her to pant heavily against her jaw. Brittany tightens her grip around Santana.

"Britt," Santana whimpers, her hips rutting forward hard, and Brittany presses a kiss to her cheek as Santana's fingers dig into her shoulders. In the next instant, Santana lifts her head, and her brown eyes find Brittany's blue ones; Brittany feels like a thunderbolt jolts through her at the contact, and she can't believe Santana's looking at her with her dark, burning eyes. She's never felt so connected to a person before, and the fact that that person is Santana makes Brittany feel like she might explode from feeling too much.

Santana doesn't break eye contact, not even when she falls apart with a shuddering cry and a hard buck of her hips, and Brittany knows, in that moment, what Santana's trying to unknowingly tell her- that Santana is hers, and that she's always been hers, and (Brittany hopes) she will always be hers.

When Santana finally squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face in Brittany's neck, shaking, Brittany cradles her to her chest, reveling in her warmth against her bare skin. Santana keeps her thigh pressed to Brittany's center, though, and just the memory of the way Santana looked seconds before when she came helps Brittany find her release. She holds Santana tightly as she arches up, her hips jerking against Santana's bare thigh, and she feels Santana hum and press a kiss to her neck in response, then move to kiss her on the lips. Brittany can barely breathe but she kisses back sloppily, stroking shaky fingers through Santana's hair, overwhelmed with the feelings and knowledge she now has.

After long moments, their breathing slows and Santana doesn't move from against her, settling her weight down and burying her face in Brittany's neck. Brittany lazily strokes up and down Santana's back, her thoughts racing.

Tomorrow, Santana might wake up and panic. She might run to Puck. She might ignore Brittany for another week.

But Brittany knows what she saw in Santana's eyes. She knows how Santana really feels, even if Santana doesn't.

Brittany is patient.

Brittany will wait.

(Someday, Santana will be ready.)


And that's a wrap! :')
I hope you enjoyed the story, and will continue to read whatever other crap I post, haha.

Leave a review if you'd like, because I always appreciate your thoughts, but it's not a requirement. :)

See you next time, pals!

AND NOW A WORD FROM ~OFFICER SAFETY:

Drinking at parties is all fun and games, but, as you should all know, underage drinking is a thing, and is illegal. However, it's gonna happen, so here are a few tips to stay safe:

NEVER drink and drive. I mean NEVER. You are not only putting your life at risk, you are putting everyone else who may be on the road with you's life at risk as well. You may think you are good to drive, but everyone who gets behind the wheel of a car drunk and kills or injures someone thinks that, too. Don't be an asshole. Have a designated driver, stop drinking with enough time to sober up before you head home, or make plans to crash at the party.

Or die. Those are your options.

Also, don't leave your drink unattended at any party. You may trust most of the people there, but there's always that one group of creepy people that show up that no one really invited but who somehow manage to be at the party and give you the crazy eyes. Even though you don't hear about it quite so often, GHB and Roofies are still a very serious problem, and alcohol in and of itself can also lower your ability to make good choices. Always keep your wits about you if you are drinking at a party.

I mean, what if you wake up next to JBI in the morning? You'll wish you had listened to me, right?

PLAY SAFE AND STAY SAFE!

******title is from the song of the same name by Selena Gomez, and I highly recommend listening to it if you want to hear the inspiration for this chapter. SO MANY S2 FEELS!