Friday Nights and Book Shops
Santana/Brittany, PG-13, 6.8k, AU
Because right now she feels like a damn picture book and she doesn't really care. Especially when it's Brittany reading her.
Because right now she feels like a damn picture book and she doesn't really care. Especially when it's Brittany reading her.
Downtown New York has thousands of bars.
Well, maybe not thousands, hundreds maybe, but there are still a hell of a lot.
And Santana goes to a different one every Friday night, sliding onto a stool, ordering a beer or a glass of scotch, depending on her mood, and just drinks away her thoughts whether or not she's got Quinn or Sebastian with her. There's nothing crappy about her life really, she's got a pretty good one, actually. She goes to college and it isn't drowning her, she has a cute little studio apartment that's just hers, she's got a part time job at a book shop a few blocks away and sure, she's single but that just means she doesn't have anyone pinning her down.
See, that's the view she has on relationships, really. She would like to be in one, she really would, but she's not exactly the attachment kind of girl. She's been out the closet for a while now, ever since a stupid commercial did that for her back in Junior year, and she's not ashamed or anything but she's just never met a girl that's given her that pull, that spark, those butterflies, and so she's never really kept in contact with girls she's been with. They've left the next morning after she's made them coffee, or vice versa—after the first time someone snuck out on her, she realized how shitty it was and never did it again—and that's pretty much it.
It's become routine now, and she's content with it. College years are about doing that kind of stuff anyway, aren't they? So she doesn't spend too much time dwelling on it.
Anyway, tonight Quinn's away visiting her boyfriend, Puck, back in Lima, and Sebastian's hunting down some thick eyebrowed ass that she thinks is called Blaine in Chicago. She never really gets why Sebastian goes after people like that but apparently Blaine's different and despite him having a boyfriend, Sebastian must have him. Something about wanting something you can't have makes it a million times more attractive.
So she's sitting here, making a point not to make eye contact with the busty brunette barmaid because she likes this place, and sleeping with the barmaid would only make things awkward and would mean she couldn't return here, when she hears something down by the pool table and sofas to her right. She twists her neck, eying the situation disinterestedly when she finds a blonde sitting on one of the sofas, sipping on a clear cocktail and looking away from the guy shifting nearer to her and lifting a palm to graze over the her legging covered thigh.
Her eyebrows furrow but it's none of her business and turns back.
But the voices seem to be getting louder and louder, and as the moments pass by, Santana finds herself getting irritated by that idiot and calls the barmaid over. She comes over and throws the rag in her hand over her shoulder, leaning down with her palms braced upon the counter top, conveniently at the right angle that Santana can see all the way down her top. Seriously, she couldn't be more obvious if she tried.
“Hey, darlin'. What can I get ya?”
Brown eyes slide back to the blonde on the sofa. “Who's that?” She asks, jutting her chin toward the specified girl.
“I don't know,” the barmaid says, shrugging. “She came in alone and said she was waiting for a friend.”
Santana nods and squints as she listens, wondering if what she's thinking about doing is a good or a bad idea.
Then the douche sitting next to the blonde scoots even closer and leans into her ear, hand drifting dangerously up her thigh and the blonde smacks it away, jerking her entire body with it too. Her eyes narrow, free hand coming up to rip the glasses off her face and she begins saying something so low Santana can't hear, but Santana would bet her bottom dollar, judging by the half-disgusted, half-angered expression on the blondes face, that she doesn't want that guy anywhere near her.
Decision made.
“What's she drinking?”
“Grey goose martini.”
“Give me one of those,” Santana demands, softly. “And make it quick.”
The barmaid seems wholly bothered by the lack of interest and scoffs beneath her breath, but moves to make the drink anyway. It's what she's being paid for.
Moments later and a glass is placed before Santana, she flashes a grin—gotta give the chick something—and picks it up, slowly making her way toward the blonde on the sofa. This isn't something she'd usually do, mostly because she usually doesn't give a crap about what anyone else is doing, but there's something that's bothering her about this guy making a move on this girl. He clearly isn't getting the hint and she doesn't know why she suddenly cares so much about a stranger.
The second she approaches the couch, bright blue eyes flash to her behind glasses, but the guy's vision stays locked on the blondes profile.
“Hey, babe. Sorry about the wait. The bar was crowded,” Santana draws and moves to sit beside the blonde, throwing an arm over the back of it to pull the girl towards her after placing both drinks on the small table in front of them.
Considering she's a complete stranger, Santana's impressed that the blonde gets with it straight away and cuddles into her side, hand coming up to the one dangling by her shoulder and threading their fingers together.
“It's fine,” the blonde says, cheerily, head resting back against Santana's shoulder.
Santana grins down at her, noticing for the first time how fucking gorgeous she is, but then remembers the reason she came over here and glares at the guy who hasn't even bothered shuffling away. “Who's your friend?”
“He's not my friend,” the blonde spits back immediately. “He just came over to me.”
The guy looks between them like he's just won the lottery but Santana hates guys like this. The ones that think two girls making out with each other is hot and most probably doesn't believe that there's actually potential for love between two women. Things like that really tick her off and she feels anger curdle within her.
“Maybe you should make yourself scarce then, buddy,” Santana lifts a perfectly shaped brow to emphasize her words.
The guy doesn't budge though, just keeps looking between them. “You two are together?”
They both nod in sync.
“That's hot.”
Santana jerks forward and the blonde tenses, but shuffles out from beneath, letting Santana lean over her protectively. “Look, asshole, I'm here for a night out with my girlfriend for a few drinks. She doesn't want any attention because she's getting plenty from me and so if you don't get your pudgy ass off this sofa and wander back to your sleazy friends over there,” she nods toward the bunch of guys staring at them with drunken smirks. “Then I'm gonna kick off and you don't wanna see that, okay?”
“You can't do shit,” the guy spits back instantly, leaning forward and curling one side of his upper lip. “You're a girl.”
“A girl with a black belt so if you wanna go,” she punctuates her sentence with a pause and cranes her neck forward. “Then we can go.”
Okay, maybe it's not entirely true that she has a black belt but she's toned enough and muscly enough that it could be possible. Plus, she took like, ten jiu-jitsu lessons so she could definitely do some damage if the guy were to actually accept her proposition.
Dark, narrowed eyes glare between them, and Santana stays strong, seeing the guy break down the longer he stares between them. It works, because the guy waves his hand, glugs down the rest of his beer and slams it onto the counter top, scoffing as he walks away back to his friends. And it's not long before they all move, finish their drinks and leave the bar, and Santana can't help but smirk with satisfaction that she just made a bunch of middle-aged men leave the damn bar. That's pretty cool.
As soon as they disappear through the thick, double doors, Santana clears her throat and shifts away from the blonde, backing away a respectable distance.
The girl brushes a lock of her own golden hair over her ear and bites her lip. “You didn't have to do that,” she whispers. “But thank you.”
“No biggie,” Santana lifts a shoulder, play it casual and cool. “You looked like you wanted to be saved.”
“Maybe.”
Santana smiles and the girl mirrors it as they stare at each other. She knows that technically, that means it's probably that it's a clear for her to start hitting on the girl, but she also knows that she's meeting a friend in a bar, and she's been in bars long enough to know what this girl's about.
“Look,” she starts, leaning against the back of the couch. “You're gorgeous, and you know it, right?” Blue eyes widen considerably so but there's no denial. “And at any other time I would probably hit on you and ask before I bought you a drink,” she gestures to the full cocktail sitting on table and the girl giggles. “But clearly tonight you just want to sit down, have a drink and enjoy the night when your friend gets here.”
The girl tilts her head to the side, a smirk tugging at pink lips. “And how do you know that?”
Santana grins, fully prepared to whip out her bar knowledge. “You're wearing glasses, but when that douchebag spoke to you and you yelled, you took them off, which means you're either long sighted—which I doubt considering I'm sitting pretty far apart from you now and you're still not wearing them—or they're reading glasses, yet you have no book with you,” she gestures to the blondes small clutch bag that obviously can't contain anything but make-up, a few cards and a cell phone. “And mix that with that little crease between your eyebrows that probably means you're stressed or pissed off, I'd say that the last thing you want tonight is to be hit on.”
Still smirking, the blonde tilts her head back and crosses one leg over the other, which draws Santana to her next point.
“And your appearance tonight is just emphasizing that,” she sweeps down the girls body. “Your hair is up, yet your bangs are down, you've got jeans on but they make your legs look great and most probably your ass too, you've got mascara on but no other make-up and last but not least, your shirt is a v neck but it's a high v neck so it doesn't show too much skin.”
Blue eyes narrow and the girl leans toward Santana. “So what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means you wanna feel good about yourself and get guys, or girls, to look at you, but you don't wanna offer anything out which is clear by those 'don't hit on me' signals you're sending out strongly,” Santana explains, clasping her hands together and grinning. “And if that wasn't enough, you're drinking a straight up vodka martini which means you've probably had a really shitty week at work and just want to chill.”
She knows every single point she made is correct because the blondes face breaks into a grin and she throws her head, laughing like a little kid. At any other point, Santana really would be trying to hit on this girl because everything about her is Santana's type, but she's not in it for that tonight and Santana knows when to try a little something something and when not to. Not to being tonight.
“So I'm just going to leave myself on a good note while I can,” she says, standing from the sofa and dipping her head slightly. “And say it was lovely talking to you but I should be going. So goodbye and I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”
White teeth chew on a pink lip and Santana flashes a charming grin one last time before she spins away, heading out of the bar, but not before hearing a weak “goodbye” called her way.
The moment before she leaves, she glances back to see the girl's friend sitting down beside her and the blonde just staring quizzically in the air like she just got called out on her entire life.
Yep, Santana definitely everything right.
//
The next week goes pretty smoothly, and before she knows it it's Friday again and she's slipping into another bar Downtown.
This one's a little darker and dingier than the last one, but the drinks are also cheaper and Santana knows the bartender quite well so it's cool. She kisses the bouncer, Dave, on the cheek as she enters—they have a little history in the gay beard department—and chuckles when he curses at someone who shouts after Santana that her ass looks good.
The bar's pretty crowded when she gets inside, and so there aren't any spare stools but it wouldn't help much anyway because Quinn's coming to meet her in a few.
She orders a drink—just a beer 'cause the week wasn't that tough—and takes a long pull as she turns to observe the bar. Except the first thing she sees is the first thing she saw last Friday night. A beautiful blonde. The same beautiful blonde, actually.
The girl's sitting in a booth over in the corner with a few friends, one of whom have their arm thrown over her shoulder and Santana figures she wouldn't be single so she's not that surprised as she watches her. She then begins to think about how weird it is that she's staring and turns back around, missing the moment blue eyes slide around the bar and land on her, instantly sparkling.
Santana taps on the side of her bottle and a moment later, feels a palm slide over her waist to grab her attention. She's about to turn around and make a remark about how Quinn's quite obviously gay, especially now she's cut her hair and regained contact with Rachel Berry—she was convinced they had a thing going back in high school—but is surprised to find a completely different blonde staring back at her.
One with bright blue eyes.
“Uh, hi,” she says, almost as a stutter.
The girl grins and removes her hand from Santana's waist. “Hey. I just thought I'd come and say thank you. You know, for last week.”
Santana's face split into a smile. “Like I said, it was no problem. You obviously didn't want to get hit on.”
“Well what signals am I giving out tonight?” The blonde steps back and reveals her body, dressed in a short skirt, a tight blouse with the buttons undone to the base of her cleavage. Her golden hair is down in loose curls around her shoulders, and she's got more make-up on than she did last week but still not enough to make her look like she's offering it out.
Santana takes a long look over her, before she meets blue eyes again. “I don't really think you need me to answer that.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she agrees and brings her bottle of beer to her lips. “You know you look hot, which is why you asked me.”
Brittany smirks and shifts closer. “You think I look hot?”
Santana leans in towards her until their faces are so close she can feels hot breath beating against her lips. “Everyone does,” she whispers, eyes flicking back toward the booth the girl was originally in. “But so does your boyfriend.”
There's a blonde guy sitting in the booth eying them, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched and Brittany pulls back, cocking her head and scrunching her brows together. She peers over her shoulder and makes eye contact with the guy, but then looks back to Santana. “That's not my boyfriend.”
“He wants to be.”
“No, he doesn't. That's just Sam. He's my best friend."
“Best friend or not, he wants you,” Santana looks at the guy again, this time leaning around Brittany to see him. “He's about three seconds away from marching over here and dragging you away.”
The girl squints. “How do you even know that?”
Santana lifts a shoulder. “I spend too much in bars, I guess,” she explains.
It's kind of true. Although working in a book shop, reading through human behavior books as well as going to college and learning how to become a lawyer, with criminal psychology as a minor, also helps too.
They stare at each other for a long moment, blue eyes darting between each brown one and soon enough, they're smirking and breaking into a grin, a small chuckle coming out beneath their breaths.
“You better be getting back,” Santana says when the blondes friend Sam shifts to the edge of the booth and glares determinedly at them. “Your 'friend' is about to come and kick my ass.”
Giggling, the girl bobs her head and rubs her palm over Santana's forearm, squeezing it firmly before walking away back to her booth with a “no he's not, but I should be going.” Santana turns back to her drink, elbows propping onto the bar but hears the girl says something more and twists her neck around, ready to hear it being repeated.
“My name's Brittany,” the girl says, wringing her fingers in front of her. “Just in case you like... wanted to know or something.”
Santana grins. “Well it was great talking to you again then, Brittany,” she says, not revealing her name yet.
Brittany narrows her eyes but there's a smile playing at her lips as she walks backwards to the booth, skillfully not tripping over anything or bumping into anyone. The moment Santana turns away though, a body slides next to hers and a hand snatches her drink from her grasp. She knows who it is instantly but the long huff the person lets out and rolls her eyes, twisting to her side, hip pressing into the wood of the bar to face her friend.
“Evening, Fabray,” she says, grinning. “Rough day?”
Quinn finishes the entire bottle—granted it was only half full—but then flags the bartender down and holds two fingers up in the air. “Rough week,” she grunts back, fair brows pulled together.
The bartender slides two beers over to them and Santana pushes one of them toward Quinn with the end of her fingertips before grabbing her own and taking another long sip.
“What did Berry do?”
Hazel eyes flash to her in a glare. “Why does it have to do with her?” She spits, defensively.
Santana shrugs and hides the knowing smile behind her beer bottle. “It doesn't, but you've only ever got this wound up over that thing.”
“She's not a—“ Quinn's mouth snaps shut and Santana raises both eyebrows with that 'you're so obvious' expression. “Oh, shut up,” her friend continues through a hiss. “Anyway, who were you talking to?”
Brown eyes flicker to Brittany but she just shrugs again and spins the beer in hand, looking away before she can meet blue eyes that dart to her almost instantly. “No-one,” she replies. “So are you going to finally admit to your massive girl crush on Danny Devito or not?” She quickly diverts the conversation and Quinn doesn't even ask further, just begins ranting on about how intensely annoying Rachel Berry is and how she so does not have a crush on her.
Santana just giggles, knowing better.
//
It's Wednesday and she's at the bookshop, a law textbook in her lap, glasses on her face and face screwed up because she's been looking at this damn thing for like, three hours and now the words just look like squiggly little lines. It's kind of really fucking frustrating.
There have barely been any customers this morning and it's one of those days where she's almost tempted to just shut up shop since Artie, the boss of 'Abrams Book Store,' left her with the keys last week and told her he was going on vacation with his family for a couple of weeks. She wasn't that bothered, she gets on with her boss so it's not a big deal and plus, he told her he can use any of the books to study with which means she saves a hell of a lot of money seeing as she doesn't have to buy them. Double pay, too, which isn't bad.
Anyway, they've got an old fashioned bell above the door so when it opens, Santana can hear it no matter where she is in the store, whether that's in the back, upstairs on the second floor which isn't really a second floor, just a balcony on the inside with bookcases on the walls. Just so happens she's in the back at this point and she sticks her bookmark into the book, making sure to keep her page, closes it and rests it on the desk as she pushes up and moves to the front of the store.
When she gets there, though, it's most definitely not the usual clientele waiting for her.
“Brittany?”
The blonde spins around, face grinning and eyes beaming. “Santana,” she purrs back and dark brows push together.
“How do you know my name?”
Brittany shrugs and tilts her head to the side, slowly walking around with her fingertip trailing over the spines of the books in the shelves. “My friend knows your friend,” she explains, simply.
“And which friend is that?”
“Sam.”
Santana purses her lips. “Oh, really?” She asks, knowingly. “That's nice.”
Blue eyes narrow playfully as they dart to her. “It is, actually. Sam knows Quinn.”
Santana stops by the small staircase leading to the second floor, leaning back against the railings. “Ex-girlfriend?”
“You could say that.”
“Small world.”
Brittany begins moving toward Santana and it's only now Santana realizes how tall the girl is. “Apparently it's getting smaller.”
Santana hums and ignores the way her heart leaps at the scent of vanilla and honeycomb wafting off the other girls skin. “So how can I help you? Need some college books or something?”
“Nope,” the blonde says, shifting to lean beside Santana, head rolling to the left to look at her. “Just wanted to come and see you. Kind of surprised you work in the book shop, though. You don't seem like the... type.”
Santana lets her head roll too, their noses almost bumping they're that close. “Because I'm not nerdy, wear glasses or dress like I have my grandmother's wardrobe?”
“Something like that,” the blonde lets out through a chuckle. “But no, you just don't seem like the bookshop worker type.”
“Not everyone is easy to read.”
Pink lips turn up into a smirk. “And I am?” Brittany questions, lowly, inching in bit by bit.
Santana wets her lips, deeply focused on not taking in a breath because seriously, this girl smells way too good and it's so strong that Santana might actually sigh and lose her game, which is the one thing she strongly prides herself on. She knows how to hit on a girl and get her into bed the same night. She knows and can pick out the girls that want to get some action and the ones that are just teasing, and she's used her looks, skills and charm to do all of that for as long as she can remember. Yet here's Brittany, making her head dizzy with just her damn scent and it's completely throwing Santana off her game.
She coughs, feigning the need to clear her throat and straightens up, realizing how close she'd got to the other girl and pushes off from the staircase to stand in front of Brittany.
“Most of the time,” she breathes out, glad she's actually able to handle this conversation.
Brittany eyes her for a few moments, but then drops her vision to the floor and begins moving toward the door, ready to leave. Her hand reaches for the handle but she pauses to look back at Santana with her chin nearly on her shoulder and blue eyes boring into brown.
“You're not you know.”
Santana stares, confused.
“Easy to read,” Brittany elaborates. “You've got your guard up.”
The smile dropping form her face, Santana suddenly feels a little uncomfortable and crosses her arms over her chest. “That's why I read books, to confuse people,” she admits but then furrows her brow. “But if I'm so hard to read, how do you know that?”
She has a good point, yet Brittany just flashes a smile back at her and winks.
“Because you're letting it slip with me,” she answers, opening the door. “See you around, Santana.”
For five minutes after Brittany leaves, Santana can do nothing but stare and smile.
//
Two days later and it's Friday. Sebastian's still trying to chase after that tail of his, Blaine or Brad or whatever the hell it was, and Quinn's decided to go fly to London to see Rachel in her debut show of Les Misérables—if flying to London to see your 'friend' in a show doesn't shout lesbian, Santana doesn't know what does—and so Santana's on her own. Again.
She doesn't really feel like going to a bar tonight, especially seeing as the last two times she's ended up running into Brittany and now she can't get the damn girl off her mind. It's screwing with her thoughts and she's never this caught up over a girl, especially one she's spent no more than half an hour with in total, and it's kind of bugging her. Sure, she knows that whole psychological thing works on girls, but having it done back to her, she realizes it's not as nice as she'd like.
Maybe that's just her, though.
So, yeah, she's still at the bookstore, choosing to stay open late even though she's only had like, seven customers today and is up on the second floor—read: balcony—sorting out the books when her phone rings. She can see it from up here, it's on the front desk, vibrating and glowing and she just ignores it because even from up here she can see it's Sebastian. The guy can wait. It can't be that important, anyway.
//
The time goes by quickly it turns out, and soon enough it's 9pm and Santana still in the bookstore. This time she's downstairs and she hasn't called Sebastian back but he hasn't rung again and it's only an emergency when he does that, so whatever.
She's sorting out the pile of books on the desk when the bell above the door rings and she doesn't even look up, ready to tell the person that actually, they're shut for the night now but then she looks up, and the breath is ripped straight from her chest. Brittany's standing there, clutch pursed in both hands in front of her, lips sucked into her mouth, hair wild around her shoulders and eyes bright and sparkly. The blonde's got on a tight blue dress that rides a little high on the thigh but shows off her legs and she's got cream high heels on her feet, making her like four inches taller.
And Santana can't stop staring. Brittany looks so beautiful she finds that as her mouth pops open and lips begin to move, she's actually freaking speechless.
“Hey,” Brittany whispers, shyly tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
Santana subtly takes a glance down at herself. She's wearing jeans that could probably do with a wash, a white superman t-shirt and a denim shirt over the top. She looks like a tramp compared to Brittany right now and almost feels self-conscious.
“Hey there,” she drawls, trying to keep it cool and stay on track. “You look a little dressed up to be in a bookstore.”
“I've just come from Bar 89.”
Santana sucks in her lips and bobs her head, picking up a pile of books and walking toward the correct bookcase. “Why'd you leave?”
“It got boring. Plus, Sebastian said you were here.”
She spins around, wide eyed. “You know Sebastian?”
“I don't,” Brittany explains, placing her clutch onto the desk and moving beside Santana, picking up a few books from her pile and helping in putting them into the bookcase. “But I know Kurt, and Kurt's boyfriend is Blaine.”
“Blaine?” Santana repeats, then it clicks in her mind. “But Sebastian's after Blaine...”
Blue eyes twinkle when she looks into them. “Apparently Sebastian knows about Kurt, too.”
Shaking her head, Santana lets out a dry laugh and clucks her tongue. That's so Sebastian. “He's such an ass.”
“He's your friend.”
“Guess I make poor decisions.”
“Not all of them.”
Santana twists her head back to the bookcase, trying to figure out the meaning behind Brittany's words. “Yeah...” she trails off. “So anyway, what are you doing here? If the club was boring then you could have gone somewhere else,” she offers with a shrug, her hand still moving the books from the pile in front of her to the bookcase.
“It wasn't the club that was boring,” Brittany reaches down to grab another book and slides it in beside the one Santana just put away, which leads to the back of their hands brushing as Brittany goes in as Santana pulls out. It sends a flare across tanned skin and Santana resists the urge to jerk back, instead coughing to clear up the fact that she gasped the moment they touched. Seriously, she has game, why is this so hard? “It was the company.”
“Sounds like your friends are a bundle of fun,” Santana scoffs playfully, moving back toward the desk to grab another pile of books to sort out and put away. There are only a few though, and so when Brittany follows her, she just pushes up onto the desk top and sits on the top, letting her legs dangle off the side as her eyes watch Santana put the remaining books away.
“They are, but I just didn't want to be with them tonight and... I don't know, when Sebastian mentioned you and said you weren't going out tonight, I thought I should come check up on you.”
Santana's back is to Brittany, so lucky the blonde doesn't see how she smiles softly to herself. “Well thanks, but I'm fine. Just didn't really feel like going out.”
“I have days like that sometimes, too.”
“I didn't have a bad day,” she asks, turning around and staring curiously at the blonde.
A fair eyebrow arches. “I never said you had a bad day. Just that it was one of those days where you don't want to go out.”
Letting out a throaty chuckle, Santana gravitates toward the desk, and the blonde perched on top of it. She reaches down to grab the last book there but the moment her fingers curl around the spine, a hand snatches out and wraps around her wrist, stopping her from the movement. Head lifting, she shoots Brittany a quizzical glare and waits for an answer.
“Why didn't you? Want to go out?”
Santana straightens up and the grip around her wrist loosens until long, slender fingers begin dancing up the inside of her wrist. “Like I said, didn't feel like it.”
They're considerably closer than they were before now, and it shouldn't make Santana feel nervous because they've been this close before. Well, their faces have and it's always ended up in one of them pulling back with a grin and not going any further. Maybe that's the reason why she's nervous though, because it doesn't feel like one of those times. They're breathing into each other, Brittany in and Santana out, and Santana can see every detail on the other girls face. How there's a tiny scar on the bridge of her nose, how silver specks dart around her iris and how beneath the layer of foundation, there's a sprinkling of freckles stretching from one cheek to the other.
She swallows audibly and pulls her lips into her mouth, teeth digging into them inside her mouth and gets ready to speak but Brittany beats her to it.
“It had nothing to do with me, then?” She whispers, and the sound of her voice shoots down Santana's spine, making her shudder, her shoulders roll.
“No.” She tries to sound convincing but somehow, she doesn't think it comes across like that. “Nothing to do with you.”
The hand tickling up her wrist moves to her hip, the other hand joining it on the opposite side and before Santana knows it, she's standing between long legs, the buckle of her belt digging into her skin from where it's being pushed against the lip of the desk from the other side and her heads slightly tilted back because Brittany's just that little bit taller, especially on the desk. It's most definitely different now, than those other times when she was close to Brittany, and she knows what comes next, but she's never the one in this position. Being the one seduced, or being the one not under control.
It's strange... But it's a good strange.
“What are you doing?” She gets out, stumbling over her words. It's a stupid question because really? What does Brittany look like she's freaking doing.
The blonde reaches up to brush a lock of dark hair behind Santana's ear, letting the tips of her fingers trail along the line of Santana's cheekbone before dropping to her neck to toy with the fine hairs at the base of it. “How do I read now?”
Santana gulps and tries to look everywhere but bright blue eyes except it doesn't work. They're too deep, too distracting and too blue, and she can't help but stare straight back into them, wondering who's going to make the first move.
“Anyone could read you right now,” she answers, breathlessly.
“You too, Santana,” Brittany answers and drops her vision between them to where tanned hands have made their way onto slim hips, tracing over the protrusion of hipbones through the thin fabric of the dress.
Santana holds back a gasp, completely unaware of when she did that but just looks up, suddenly finding herself breathing a lot harder than she was a moment ago. “So what am I saying?” She manages to get out, keeping her voice strong.
“You know what you're saying.”
Dark eyebrows rise. “So what are you going to do about it?” Santana asks, leaning in and up ever so slightly.
Brittany smirks down at her, but doesn't even bother replying before they're leaning into each other. Their lips hovering teasingly over each other for three long seconds, their eyes searching each other, waiting for someone to back out but neither of them do and before Santana knows what she's doing, she's pinching Brittany's chin and tilting her head down, kissing her on the mouth and sucking her bottom lip between her own.
The hand on Brittany's hip fists the dress, and she pulls the girl closer as she begins to kiss back, her lips parting enough so Santana can flick her tongue against her upper lip. Her mind swarms and she hears the moan before she registers she created it as Brittany deepens the kiss, threading her fingers through dark locks and tilting her head so her tongue can push past into Santana's mouth. It curls around her teeth, then strokes over her own tongue and she wonders how she went from starting the kiss to being the one controlled, but she shortly finds out as Brittany smirks against her mouth, that she couldn't really give a damn.
Her hand drops from Brittany's chin and down to her thigh, thumb rubbing circles on smooth skin as the other hand tugs the girl tighter, hoping that somehow they'll just melt together. They kiss and they kiss, deep and slow, until Santana feels like she's about to pass out. Brittany tastes so sweet and so cool, but yet the kiss is so hot and fiery that Santana might just burst into flames right here and now, in the middle of a bookstore at 9:30 on a Friday night. Her hands begin mapping out the blondes body, smoothing up her thighs, around her hips and down to her ass where she slips her fingers beneath it and between the table, squeezing the covered flesh gently and dying inside when Brittany groans into her, lifting her hips from the counter and pressing into Santana like she needs her.
Their tongues stroke each other like they've been doing it for years and Santana doesn't know how long they've been kissing for when teeth nip at her lip as their kiss begins to slow, but she does know she whimpers embarrassingly loud and slides her hands out from beneath Brittany's ass and up to her ribs, desperately wishing that Brittany was wearing a shirt or something so she could push it up and touch her skin. God, she just wants to touch Brittany.
And apparently Brittany has the same though, but she's at more of an advantage because Santana's actually wearing a shirt and so one moment she's pulling back for a split second, sucking in air and the next she's sucking Santana's bottom lip and slipping her hand beneath the hem of her shirt, her nails scratching at smooth, tanned skin. It makes Santana's entire body flush and scorch, and her knees almost buckle at the sensation but there Brittany is, holding her up and kissing her and shit, this is ridiculous.
She's only just met the girl. Well, technically she met her two weeks ago but their interactions barely combine to more than thirty minutes. It's ridiculous and sure, she sleeps around and goes to bars with the purpose of reading the signs of some poor woman just so she can take them back to her studio apartment, but there's something different about Brittany and she kind of hates it because Brittany's reading her. Brittany's guiding her into the kiss and coaxing her mouth open. Brittany's taking the lead and it's dizzying and perfect and Santana doesn't even know what she's thinking because Brittany's tongue is sliding back into her mouth, tracing the edges of her teeth and she knows she's done for.
Fuck. How did this even happen again?
It's all too confusing, and she breaks the kiss, dropping her forehead to Brittany's shoulder and breathing hard against her dress. She's making out with a beautiful girl, what's wrong with her?
The hand tangled in her hair slowly slides out, raising to the crown of her head and stroking slowly as Brittany's other arm wraps around her, pulling her into a hug.
“Are you okay?” Brittany ask and her voice is hoarse.
Santana's thighs pinch together at the sound. “Yeah,” she nods and brings her head back, tipping their foreheads together. “I'm fine.”
The thing is, now she's looking into blue eyes and exhaling into Brittany's mouth, she is feeling fine. She grins and rubs her palms up Brittany's thighs, gliding over smooth skin, cocking a brow. Okay, maybe she was overreacting with the whole kissing Brittany thing. Maybe it isn't as confusing as sudden as she thinks and maybe she only felt like that because something's different.
Maybe Brittany's reading her and maybe she's seeing the fear and trying to push past it.
Just maybe, though.
“Can you read me yet?” She asks without even meaning to.
Brittany's smile turns into to a smirk and she's back to playing with the fine hairs at the base of Santana's neck. “I don't know,” she drawls. “I think I'm going to have to try again.”
Santana smirks and shrugs, like it doesn't really matter to her either way but really, she's dying for Brittany to kiss her again. Wetting her lips, she slides her palms around to Brittany's spine and lets her fingertips map out each notch of it as their mouths come together, kissing her and reading her.
And maybe she's not easy to read for most people. Maybe she reads books to confuse people and reads other girls to get them into bed. Maybe she likes reading books and reading people because it makes her feel comfortable seeing as if she does the reading, no-one else is reading her. Maybe she does those things and yeah, maybe it's not always a good thing but maybe it's about time someone starts reading her back.
And maybe, just maybe, that someone is Brittany.
Because right now she feels like a damn picture book and she doesn't really care. Especially not when it's Brittany reading her.
Well, maybe not thousands, hundreds maybe, but there are still a hell of a lot.
And Santana goes to a different one every Friday night, sliding onto a stool, ordering a beer or a glass of scotch, depending on her mood, and just drinks away her thoughts whether or not she's got Quinn or Sebastian with her. There's nothing crappy about her life really, she's got a pretty good one, actually. She goes to college and it isn't drowning her, she has a cute little studio apartment that's just hers, she's got a part time job at a book shop a few blocks away and sure, she's single but that just means she doesn't have anyone pinning her down.
See, that's the view she has on relationships, really. She would like to be in one, she really would, but she's not exactly the attachment kind of girl. She's been out the closet for a while now, ever since a stupid commercial did that for her back in Junior year, and she's not ashamed or anything but she's just never met a girl that's given her that pull, that spark, those butterflies, and so she's never really kept in contact with girls she's been with. They've left the next morning after she's made them coffee, or vice versa—after the first time someone snuck out on her, she realized how shitty it was and never did it again—and that's pretty much it.
It's become routine now, and she's content with it. College years are about doing that kind of stuff anyway, aren't they? So she doesn't spend too much time dwelling on it.
Anyway, tonight Quinn's away visiting her boyfriend, Puck, back in Lima, and Sebastian's hunting down some thick eyebrowed ass that she thinks is called Blaine in Chicago. She never really gets why Sebastian goes after people like that but apparently Blaine's different and despite him having a boyfriend, Sebastian must have him. Something about wanting something you can't have makes it a million times more attractive.
So she's sitting here, making a point not to make eye contact with the busty brunette barmaid because she likes this place, and sleeping with the barmaid would only make things awkward and would mean she couldn't return here, when she hears something down by the pool table and sofas to her right. She twists her neck, eying the situation disinterestedly when she finds a blonde sitting on one of the sofas, sipping on a clear cocktail and looking away from the guy shifting nearer to her and lifting a palm to graze over the her legging covered thigh.
Her eyebrows furrow but it's none of her business and turns back.
But the voices seem to be getting louder and louder, and as the moments pass by, Santana finds herself getting irritated by that idiot and calls the barmaid over. She comes over and throws the rag in her hand over her shoulder, leaning down with her palms braced upon the counter top, conveniently at the right angle that Santana can see all the way down her top. Seriously, she couldn't be more obvious if she tried.
“Hey, darlin'. What can I get ya?”
Brown eyes slide back to the blonde on the sofa. “Who's that?” She asks, jutting her chin toward the specified girl.
“I don't know,” the barmaid says, shrugging. “She came in alone and said she was waiting for a friend.”
Santana nods and squints as she listens, wondering if what she's thinking about doing is a good or a bad idea.
Then the douche sitting next to the blonde scoots even closer and leans into her ear, hand drifting dangerously up her thigh and the blonde smacks it away, jerking her entire body with it too. Her eyes narrow, free hand coming up to rip the glasses off her face and she begins saying something so low Santana can't hear, but Santana would bet her bottom dollar, judging by the half-disgusted, half-angered expression on the blondes face, that she doesn't want that guy anywhere near her.
Decision made.
“What's she drinking?”
“Grey goose martini.”
“Give me one of those,” Santana demands, softly. “And make it quick.”
The barmaid seems wholly bothered by the lack of interest and scoffs beneath her breath, but moves to make the drink anyway. It's what she's being paid for.
Moments later and a glass is placed before Santana, she flashes a grin—gotta give the chick something—and picks it up, slowly making her way toward the blonde on the sofa. This isn't something she'd usually do, mostly because she usually doesn't give a crap about what anyone else is doing, but there's something that's bothering her about this guy making a move on this girl. He clearly isn't getting the hint and she doesn't know why she suddenly cares so much about a stranger.
The second she approaches the couch, bright blue eyes flash to her behind glasses, but the guy's vision stays locked on the blondes profile.
“Hey, babe. Sorry about the wait. The bar was crowded,” Santana draws and moves to sit beside the blonde, throwing an arm over the back of it to pull the girl towards her after placing both drinks on the small table in front of them.
Considering she's a complete stranger, Santana's impressed that the blonde gets with it straight away and cuddles into her side, hand coming up to the one dangling by her shoulder and threading their fingers together.
“It's fine,” the blonde says, cheerily, head resting back against Santana's shoulder.
Santana grins down at her, noticing for the first time how fucking gorgeous she is, but then remembers the reason she came over here and glares at the guy who hasn't even bothered shuffling away. “Who's your friend?”
“He's not my friend,” the blonde spits back immediately. “He just came over to me.”
The guy looks between them like he's just won the lottery but Santana hates guys like this. The ones that think two girls making out with each other is hot and most probably doesn't believe that there's actually potential for love between two women. Things like that really tick her off and she feels anger curdle within her.
“Maybe you should make yourself scarce then, buddy,” Santana lifts a perfectly shaped brow to emphasize her words.
The guy doesn't budge though, just keeps looking between them. “You two are together?”
They both nod in sync.
“That's hot.”
Santana jerks forward and the blonde tenses, but shuffles out from beneath, letting Santana lean over her protectively. “Look, asshole, I'm here for a night out with my girlfriend for a few drinks. She doesn't want any attention because she's getting plenty from me and so if you don't get your pudgy ass off this sofa and wander back to your sleazy friends over there,” she nods toward the bunch of guys staring at them with drunken smirks. “Then I'm gonna kick off and you don't wanna see that, okay?”
“You can't do shit,” the guy spits back instantly, leaning forward and curling one side of his upper lip. “You're a girl.”
“A girl with a black belt so if you wanna go,” she punctuates her sentence with a pause and cranes her neck forward. “Then we can go.”
Okay, maybe it's not entirely true that she has a black belt but she's toned enough and muscly enough that it could be possible. Plus, she took like, ten jiu-jitsu lessons so she could definitely do some damage if the guy were to actually accept her proposition.
Dark, narrowed eyes glare between them, and Santana stays strong, seeing the guy break down the longer he stares between them. It works, because the guy waves his hand, glugs down the rest of his beer and slams it onto the counter top, scoffing as he walks away back to his friends. And it's not long before they all move, finish their drinks and leave the bar, and Santana can't help but smirk with satisfaction that she just made a bunch of middle-aged men leave the damn bar. That's pretty cool.
As soon as they disappear through the thick, double doors, Santana clears her throat and shifts away from the blonde, backing away a respectable distance.
The girl brushes a lock of her own golden hair over her ear and bites her lip. “You didn't have to do that,” she whispers. “But thank you.”
“No biggie,” Santana lifts a shoulder, play it casual and cool. “You looked like you wanted to be saved.”
“Maybe.”
Santana smiles and the girl mirrors it as they stare at each other. She knows that technically, that means it's probably that it's a clear for her to start hitting on the girl, but she also knows that she's meeting a friend in a bar, and she's been in bars long enough to know what this girl's about.
“Look,” she starts, leaning against the back of the couch. “You're gorgeous, and you know it, right?” Blue eyes widen considerably so but there's no denial. “And at any other time I would probably hit on you and ask before I bought you a drink,” she gestures to the full cocktail sitting on table and the girl giggles. “But clearly tonight you just want to sit down, have a drink and enjoy the night when your friend gets here.”
The girl tilts her head to the side, a smirk tugging at pink lips. “And how do you know that?”
Santana grins, fully prepared to whip out her bar knowledge. “You're wearing glasses, but when that douchebag spoke to you and you yelled, you took them off, which means you're either long sighted—which I doubt considering I'm sitting pretty far apart from you now and you're still not wearing them—or they're reading glasses, yet you have no book with you,” she gestures to the blondes small clutch bag that obviously can't contain anything but make-up, a few cards and a cell phone. “And mix that with that little crease between your eyebrows that probably means you're stressed or pissed off, I'd say that the last thing you want tonight is to be hit on.”
Still smirking, the blonde tilts her head back and crosses one leg over the other, which draws Santana to her next point.
“And your appearance tonight is just emphasizing that,” she sweeps down the girls body. “Your hair is up, yet your bangs are down, you've got jeans on but they make your legs look great and most probably your ass too, you've got mascara on but no other make-up and last but not least, your shirt is a v neck but it's a high v neck so it doesn't show too much skin.”
Blue eyes narrow and the girl leans toward Santana. “So what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means you wanna feel good about yourself and get guys, or girls, to look at you, but you don't wanna offer anything out which is clear by those 'don't hit on me' signals you're sending out strongly,” Santana explains, clasping her hands together and grinning. “And if that wasn't enough, you're drinking a straight up vodka martini which means you've probably had a really shitty week at work and just want to chill.”
She knows every single point she made is correct because the blondes face breaks into a grin and she throws her head, laughing like a little kid. At any other point, Santana really would be trying to hit on this girl because everything about her is Santana's type, but she's not in it for that tonight and Santana knows when to try a little something something and when not to. Not to being tonight.
“So I'm just going to leave myself on a good note while I can,” she says, standing from the sofa and dipping her head slightly. “And say it was lovely talking to you but I should be going. So goodbye and I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”
White teeth chew on a pink lip and Santana flashes a charming grin one last time before she spins away, heading out of the bar, but not before hearing a weak “goodbye” called her way.
The moment before she leaves, she glances back to see the girl's friend sitting down beside her and the blonde just staring quizzically in the air like she just got called out on her entire life.
Yep, Santana definitely everything right.
//
The next week goes pretty smoothly, and before she knows it it's Friday again and she's slipping into another bar Downtown.
This one's a little darker and dingier than the last one, but the drinks are also cheaper and Santana knows the bartender quite well so it's cool. She kisses the bouncer, Dave, on the cheek as she enters—they have a little history in the gay beard department—and chuckles when he curses at someone who shouts after Santana that her ass looks good.
The bar's pretty crowded when she gets inside, and so there aren't any spare stools but it wouldn't help much anyway because Quinn's coming to meet her in a few.
She orders a drink—just a beer 'cause the week wasn't that tough—and takes a long pull as she turns to observe the bar. Except the first thing she sees is the first thing she saw last Friday night. A beautiful blonde. The same beautiful blonde, actually.
The girl's sitting in a booth over in the corner with a few friends, one of whom have their arm thrown over her shoulder and Santana figures she wouldn't be single so she's not that surprised as she watches her. She then begins to think about how weird it is that she's staring and turns back around, missing the moment blue eyes slide around the bar and land on her, instantly sparkling.
Santana taps on the side of her bottle and a moment later, feels a palm slide over her waist to grab her attention. She's about to turn around and make a remark about how Quinn's quite obviously gay, especially now she's cut her hair and regained contact with Rachel Berry—she was convinced they had a thing going back in high school—but is surprised to find a completely different blonde staring back at her.
One with bright blue eyes.
“Uh, hi,” she says, almost as a stutter.
The girl grins and removes her hand from Santana's waist. “Hey. I just thought I'd come and say thank you. You know, for last week.”
Santana's face split into a smile. “Like I said, it was no problem. You obviously didn't want to get hit on.”
“Well what signals am I giving out tonight?” The blonde steps back and reveals her body, dressed in a short skirt, a tight blouse with the buttons undone to the base of her cleavage. Her golden hair is down in loose curls around her shoulders, and she's got more make-up on than she did last week but still not enough to make her look like she's offering it out.
Santana takes a long look over her, before she meets blue eyes again. “I don't really think you need me to answer that.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she agrees and brings her bottle of beer to her lips. “You know you look hot, which is why you asked me.”
Brittany smirks and shifts closer. “You think I look hot?”
Santana leans in towards her until their faces are so close she can feels hot breath beating against her lips. “Everyone does,” she whispers, eyes flicking back toward the booth the girl was originally in. “But so does your boyfriend.”
There's a blonde guy sitting in the booth eying them, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched and Brittany pulls back, cocking her head and scrunching her brows together. She peers over her shoulder and makes eye contact with the guy, but then looks back to Santana. “That's not my boyfriend.”
“He wants to be.”
“No, he doesn't. That's just Sam. He's my best friend."
“Best friend or not, he wants you,” Santana looks at the guy again, this time leaning around Brittany to see him. “He's about three seconds away from marching over here and dragging you away.”
The girl squints. “How do you even know that?”
Santana lifts a shoulder. “I spend too much in bars, I guess,” she explains.
It's kind of true. Although working in a book shop, reading through human behavior books as well as going to college and learning how to become a lawyer, with criminal psychology as a minor, also helps too.
They stare at each other for a long moment, blue eyes darting between each brown one and soon enough, they're smirking and breaking into a grin, a small chuckle coming out beneath their breaths.
“You better be getting back,” Santana says when the blondes friend Sam shifts to the edge of the booth and glares determinedly at them. “Your 'friend' is about to come and kick my ass.”
Giggling, the girl bobs her head and rubs her palm over Santana's forearm, squeezing it firmly before walking away back to her booth with a “no he's not, but I should be going.” Santana turns back to her drink, elbows propping onto the bar but hears the girl says something more and twists her neck around, ready to hear it being repeated.
“My name's Brittany,” the girl says, wringing her fingers in front of her. “Just in case you like... wanted to know or something.”
Santana grins. “Well it was great talking to you again then, Brittany,” she says, not revealing her name yet.
Brittany narrows her eyes but there's a smile playing at her lips as she walks backwards to the booth, skillfully not tripping over anything or bumping into anyone. The moment Santana turns away though, a body slides next to hers and a hand snatches her drink from her grasp. She knows who it is instantly but the long huff the person lets out and rolls her eyes, twisting to her side, hip pressing into the wood of the bar to face her friend.
“Evening, Fabray,” she says, grinning. “Rough day?”
Quinn finishes the entire bottle—granted it was only half full—but then flags the bartender down and holds two fingers up in the air. “Rough week,” she grunts back, fair brows pulled together.
The bartender slides two beers over to them and Santana pushes one of them toward Quinn with the end of her fingertips before grabbing her own and taking another long sip.
“What did Berry do?”
Hazel eyes flash to her in a glare. “Why does it have to do with her?” She spits, defensively.
Santana shrugs and hides the knowing smile behind her beer bottle. “It doesn't, but you've only ever got this wound up over that thing.”
“She's not a—“ Quinn's mouth snaps shut and Santana raises both eyebrows with that 'you're so obvious' expression. “Oh, shut up,” her friend continues through a hiss. “Anyway, who were you talking to?”
Brown eyes flicker to Brittany but she just shrugs again and spins the beer in hand, looking away before she can meet blue eyes that dart to her almost instantly. “No-one,” she replies. “So are you going to finally admit to your massive girl crush on Danny Devito or not?” She quickly diverts the conversation and Quinn doesn't even ask further, just begins ranting on about how intensely annoying Rachel Berry is and how she so does not have a crush on her.
Santana just giggles, knowing better.
//
It's Wednesday and she's at the bookshop, a law textbook in her lap, glasses on her face and face screwed up because she's been looking at this damn thing for like, three hours and now the words just look like squiggly little lines. It's kind of really fucking frustrating.
There have barely been any customers this morning and it's one of those days where she's almost tempted to just shut up shop since Artie, the boss of 'Abrams Book Store,' left her with the keys last week and told her he was going on vacation with his family for a couple of weeks. She wasn't that bothered, she gets on with her boss so it's not a big deal and plus, he told her he can use any of the books to study with which means she saves a hell of a lot of money seeing as she doesn't have to buy them. Double pay, too, which isn't bad.
Anyway, they've got an old fashioned bell above the door so when it opens, Santana can hear it no matter where she is in the store, whether that's in the back, upstairs on the second floor which isn't really a second floor, just a balcony on the inside with bookcases on the walls. Just so happens she's in the back at this point and she sticks her bookmark into the book, making sure to keep her page, closes it and rests it on the desk as she pushes up and moves to the front of the store.
When she gets there, though, it's most definitely not the usual clientele waiting for her.
“Brittany?”
The blonde spins around, face grinning and eyes beaming. “Santana,” she purrs back and dark brows push together.
“How do you know my name?”
Brittany shrugs and tilts her head to the side, slowly walking around with her fingertip trailing over the spines of the books in the shelves. “My friend knows your friend,” she explains, simply.
“And which friend is that?”
“Sam.”
Santana purses her lips. “Oh, really?” She asks, knowingly. “That's nice.”
Blue eyes narrow playfully as they dart to her. “It is, actually. Sam knows Quinn.”
Santana stops by the small staircase leading to the second floor, leaning back against the railings. “Ex-girlfriend?”
“You could say that.”
“Small world.”
Brittany begins moving toward Santana and it's only now Santana realizes how tall the girl is. “Apparently it's getting smaller.”
Santana hums and ignores the way her heart leaps at the scent of vanilla and honeycomb wafting off the other girls skin. “So how can I help you? Need some college books or something?”
“Nope,” the blonde says, shifting to lean beside Santana, head rolling to the left to look at her. “Just wanted to come and see you. Kind of surprised you work in the book shop, though. You don't seem like the... type.”
Santana lets her head roll too, their noses almost bumping they're that close. “Because I'm not nerdy, wear glasses or dress like I have my grandmother's wardrobe?”
“Something like that,” the blonde lets out through a chuckle. “But no, you just don't seem like the bookshop worker type.”
“Not everyone is easy to read.”
Pink lips turn up into a smirk. “And I am?” Brittany questions, lowly, inching in bit by bit.
Santana wets her lips, deeply focused on not taking in a breath because seriously, this girl smells way too good and it's so strong that Santana might actually sigh and lose her game, which is the one thing she strongly prides herself on. She knows how to hit on a girl and get her into bed the same night. She knows and can pick out the girls that want to get some action and the ones that are just teasing, and she's used her looks, skills and charm to do all of that for as long as she can remember. Yet here's Brittany, making her head dizzy with just her damn scent and it's completely throwing Santana off her game.
She coughs, feigning the need to clear her throat and straightens up, realizing how close she'd got to the other girl and pushes off from the staircase to stand in front of Brittany.
“Most of the time,” she breathes out, glad she's actually able to handle this conversation.
Brittany eyes her for a few moments, but then drops her vision to the floor and begins moving toward the door, ready to leave. Her hand reaches for the handle but she pauses to look back at Santana with her chin nearly on her shoulder and blue eyes boring into brown.
“You're not you know.”
Santana stares, confused.
“Easy to read,” Brittany elaborates. “You've got your guard up.”
The smile dropping form her face, Santana suddenly feels a little uncomfortable and crosses her arms over her chest. “That's why I read books, to confuse people,” she admits but then furrows her brow. “But if I'm so hard to read, how do you know that?”
She has a good point, yet Brittany just flashes a smile back at her and winks.
“Because you're letting it slip with me,” she answers, opening the door. “See you around, Santana.”
For five minutes after Brittany leaves, Santana can do nothing but stare and smile.
//
Two days later and it's Friday. Sebastian's still trying to chase after that tail of his, Blaine or Brad or whatever the hell it was, and Quinn's decided to go fly to London to see Rachel in her debut show of Les Misérables—if flying to London to see your 'friend' in a show doesn't shout lesbian, Santana doesn't know what does—and so Santana's on her own. Again.
She doesn't really feel like going to a bar tonight, especially seeing as the last two times she's ended up running into Brittany and now she can't get the damn girl off her mind. It's screwing with her thoughts and she's never this caught up over a girl, especially one she's spent no more than half an hour with in total, and it's kind of bugging her. Sure, she knows that whole psychological thing works on girls, but having it done back to her, she realizes it's not as nice as she'd like.
Maybe that's just her, though.
So, yeah, she's still at the bookstore, choosing to stay open late even though she's only had like, seven customers today and is up on the second floor—read: balcony—sorting out the books when her phone rings. She can see it from up here, it's on the front desk, vibrating and glowing and she just ignores it because even from up here she can see it's Sebastian. The guy can wait. It can't be that important, anyway.
//
The time goes by quickly it turns out, and soon enough it's 9pm and Santana still in the bookstore. This time she's downstairs and she hasn't called Sebastian back but he hasn't rung again and it's only an emergency when he does that, so whatever.
She's sorting out the pile of books on the desk when the bell above the door rings and she doesn't even look up, ready to tell the person that actually, they're shut for the night now but then she looks up, and the breath is ripped straight from her chest. Brittany's standing there, clutch pursed in both hands in front of her, lips sucked into her mouth, hair wild around her shoulders and eyes bright and sparkly. The blonde's got on a tight blue dress that rides a little high on the thigh but shows off her legs and she's got cream high heels on her feet, making her like four inches taller.
And Santana can't stop staring. Brittany looks so beautiful she finds that as her mouth pops open and lips begin to move, she's actually freaking speechless.
“Hey,” Brittany whispers, shyly tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
Santana subtly takes a glance down at herself. She's wearing jeans that could probably do with a wash, a white superman t-shirt and a denim shirt over the top. She looks like a tramp compared to Brittany right now and almost feels self-conscious.
“Hey there,” she drawls, trying to keep it cool and stay on track. “You look a little dressed up to be in a bookstore.”
“I've just come from Bar 89.”
Santana sucks in her lips and bobs her head, picking up a pile of books and walking toward the correct bookcase. “Why'd you leave?”
“It got boring. Plus, Sebastian said you were here.”
She spins around, wide eyed. “You know Sebastian?”
“I don't,” Brittany explains, placing her clutch onto the desk and moving beside Santana, picking up a few books from her pile and helping in putting them into the bookcase. “But I know Kurt, and Kurt's boyfriend is Blaine.”
“Blaine?” Santana repeats, then it clicks in her mind. “But Sebastian's after Blaine...”
Blue eyes twinkle when she looks into them. “Apparently Sebastian knows about Kurt, too.”
Shaking her head, Santana lets out a dry laugh and clucks her tongue. That's so Sebastian. “He's such an ass.”
“He's your friend.”
“Guess I make poor decisions.”
“Not all of them.”
Santana twists her head back to the bookcase, trying to figure out the meaning behind Brittany's words. “Yeah...” she trails off. “So anyway, what are you doing here? If the club was boring then you could have gone somewhere else,” she offers with a shrug, her hand still moving the books from the pile in front of her to the bookcase.
“It wasn't the club that was boring,” Brittany reaches down to grab another book and slides it in beside the one Santana just put away, which leads to the back of their hands brushing as Brittany goes in as Santana pulls out. It sends a flare across tanned skin and Santana resists the urge to jerk back, instead coughing to clear up the fact that she gasped the moment they touched. Seriously, she has game, why is this so hard? “It was the company.”
“Sounds like your friends are a bundle of fun,” Santana scoffs playfully, moving back toward the desk to grab another pile of books to sort out and put away. There are only a few though, and so when Brittany follows her, she just pushes up onto the desk top and sits on the top, letting her legs dangle off the side as her eyes watch Santana put the remaining books away.
“They are, but I just didn't want to be with them tonight and... I don't know, when Sebastian mentioned you and said you weren't going out tonight, I thought I should come check up on you.”
Santana's back is to Brittany, so lucky the blonde doesn't see how she smiles softly to herself. “Well thanks, but I'm fine. Just didn't really feel like going out.”
“I have days like that sometimes, too.”
“I didn't have a bad day,” she asks, turning around and staring curiously at the blonde.
A fair eyebrow arches. “I never said you had a bad day. Just that it was one of those days where you don't want to go out.”
Letting out a throaty chuckle, Santana gravitates toward the desk, and the blonde perched on top of it. She reaches down to grab the last book there but the moment her fingers curl around the spine, a hand snatches out and wraps around her wrist, stopping her from the movement. Head lifting, she shoots Brittany a quizzical glare and waits for an answer.
“Why didn't you? Want to go out?”
Santana straightens up and the grip around her wrist loosens until long, slender fingers begin dancing up the inside of her wrist. “Like I said, didn't feel like it.”
They're considerably closer than they were before now, and it shouldn't make Santana feel nervous because they've been this close before. Well, their faces have and it's always ended up in one of them pulling back with a grin and not going any further. Maybe that's the reason why she's nervous though, because it doesn't feel like one of those times. They're breathing into each other, Brittany in and Santana out, and Santana can see every detail on the other girls face. How there's a tiny scar on the bridge of her nose, how silver specks dart around her iris and how beneath the layer of foundation, there's a sprinkling of freckles stretching from one cheek to the other.
She swallows audibly and pulls her lips into her mouth, teeth digging into them inside her mouth and gets ready to speak but Brittany beats her to it.
“It had nothing to do with me, then?” She whispers, and the sound of her voice shoots down Santana's spine, making her shudder, her shoulders roll.
“No.” She tries to sound convincing but somehow, she doesn't think it comes across like that. “Nothing to do with you.”
The hand tickling up her wrist moves to her hip, the other hand joining it on the opposite side and before Santana knows it, she's standing between long legs, the buckle of her belt digging into her skin from where it's being pushed against the lip of the desk from the other side and her heads slightly tilted back because Brittany's just that little bit taller, especially on the desk. It's most definitely different now, than those other times when she was close to Brittany, and she knows what comes next, but she's never the one in this position. Being the one seduced, or being the one not under control.
It's strange... But it's a good strange.
“What are you doing?” She gets out, stumbling over her words. It's a stupid question because really? What does Brittany look like she's freaking doing.
The blonde reaches up to brush a lock of dark hair behind Santana's ear, letting the tips of her fingers trail along the line of Santana's cheekbone before dropping to her neck to toy with the fine hairs at the base of it. “How do I read now?”
Santana gulps and tries to look everywhere but bright blue eyes except it doesn't work. They're too deep, too distracting and too blue, and she can't help but stare straight back into them, wondering who's going to make the first move.
“Anyone could read you right now,” she answers, breathlessly.
“You too, Santana,” Brittany answers and drops her vision between them to where tanned hands have made their way onto slim hips, tracing over the protrusion of hipbones through the thin fabric of the dress.
Santana holds back a gasp, completely unaware of when she did that but just looks up, suddenly finding herself breathing a lot harder than she was a moment ago. “So what am I saying?” She manages to get out, keeping her voice strong.
“You know what you're saying.”
Dark eyebrows rise. “So what are you going to do about it?” Santana asks, leaning in and up ever so slightly.
Brittany smirks down at her, but doesn't even bother replying before they're leaning into each other. Their lips hovering teasingly over each other for three long seconds, their eyes searching each other, waiting for someone to back out but neither of them do and before Santana knows what she's doing, she's pinching Brittany's chin and tilting her head down, kissing her on the mouth and sucking her bottom lip between her own.
The hand on Brittany's hip fists the dress, and she pulls the girl closer as she begins to kiss back, her lips parting enough so Santana can flick her tongue against her upper lip. Her mind swarms and she hears the moan before she registers she created it as Brittany deepens the kiss, threading her fingers through dark locks and tilting her head so her tongue can push past into Santana's mouth. It curls around her teeth, then strokes over her own tongue and she wonders how she went from starting the kiss to being the one controlled, but she shortly finds out as Brittany smirks against her mouth, that she couldn't really give a damn.
Her hand drops from Brittany's chin and down to her thigh, thumb rubbing circles on smooth skin as the other hand tugs the girl tighter, hoping that somehow they'll just melt together. They kiss and they kiss, deep and slow, until Santana feels like she's about to pass out. Brittany tastes so sweet and so cool, but yet the kiss is so hot and fiery that Santana might just burst into flames right here and now, in the middle of a bookstore at 9:30 on a Friday night. Her hands begin mapping out the blondes body, smoothing up her thighs, around her hips and down to her ass where she slips her fingers beneath it and between the table, squeezing the covered flesh gently and dying inside when Brittany groans into her, lifting her hips from the counter and pressing into Santana like she needs her.
Their tongues stroke each other like they've been doing it for years and Santana doesn't know how long they've been kissing for when teeth nip at her lip as their kiss begins to slow, but she does know she whimpers embarrassingly loud and slides her hands out from beneath Brittany's ass and up to her ribs, desperately wishing that Brittany was wearing a shirt or something so she could push it up and touch her skin. God, she just wants to touch Brittany.
And apparently Brittany has the same though, but she's at more of an advantage because Santana's actually wearing a shirt and so one moment she's pulling back for a split second, sucking in air and the next she's sucking Santana's bottom lip and slipping her hand beneath the hem of her shirt, her nails scratching at smooth, tanned skin. It makes Santana's entire body flush and scorch, and her knees almost buckle at the sensation but there Brittany is, holding her up and kissing her and shit, this is ridiculous.
She's only just met the girl. Well, technically she met her two weeks ago but their interactions barely combine to more than thirty minutes. It's ridiculous and sure, she sleeps around and goes to bars with the purpose of reading the signs of some poor woman just so she can take them back to her studio apartment, but there's something different about Brittany and she kind of hates it because Brittany's reading her. Brittany's guiding her into the kiss and coaxing her mouth open. Brittany's taking the lead and it's dizzying and perfect and Santana doesn't even know what she's thinking because Brittany's tongue is sliding back into her mouth, tracing the edges of her teeth and she knows she's done for.
Fuck. How did this even happen again?
It's all too confusing, and she breaks the kiss, dropping her forehead to Brittany's shoulder and breathing hard against her dress. She's making out with a beautiful girl, what's wrong with her?
The hand tangled in her hair slowly slides out, raising to the crown of her head and stroking slowly as Brittany's other arm wraps around her, pulling her into a hug.
“Are you okay?” Brittany ask and her voice is hoarse.
Santana's thighs pinch together at the sound. “Yeah,” she nods and brings her head back, tipping their foreheads together. “I'm fine.”
The thing is, now she's looking into blue eyes and exhaling into Brittany's mouth, she is feeling fine. She grins and rubs her palms up Brittany's thighs, gliding over smooth skin, cocking a brow. Okay, maybe she was overreacting with the whole kissing Brittany thing. Maybe it isn't as confusing as sudden as she thinks and maybe she only felt like that because something's different.
Maybe Brittany's reading her and maybe she's seeing the fear and trying to push past it.
Just maybe, though.
“Can you read me yet?” She asks without even meaning to.
Brittany's smile turns into to a smirk and she's back to playing with the fine hairs at the base of Santana's neck. “I don't know,” she drawls. “I think I'm going to have to try again.”
Santana smirks and shrugs, like it doesn't really matter to her either way but really, she's dying for Brittany to kiss her again. Wetting her lips, she slides her palms around to Brittany's spine and lets her fingertips map out each notch of it as their mouths come together, kissing her and reading her.
And maybe she's not easy to read for most people. Maybe she reads books to confuse people and reads other girls to get them into bed. Maybe she likes reading books and reading people because it makes her feel comfortable seeing as if she does the reading, no-one else is reading her. Maybe she does those things and yeah, maybe it's not always a good thing but maybe it's about time someone starts reading her back.
And maybe, just maybe, that someone is Brittany.
Because right now she feels like a damn picture book and she doesn't really care. Especially not when it's Brittany reading her.