I Can See It Now
Santana/Brittany, side Quinn/Rachel, NC-17, 14.2k
Even now, three months after their wedding, Santana can't believe that she gets to call Brittany her wife.
Even now, three months after their wedding, Santana can't believe that she gets to call Brittany her wife.
Even now, three months after their wedding, Santana can't believe that she gets to call Brittany her wife.
Her freaking wife.
She shakes her head at herself, chuckling beneath her breath and ducking her chin to her chest. She's never going to stop having butterflies at the thought.
She's here at Quinn and Rachel's engagement party, sitting on the armchair in the corner of their living room just watching her wife chat to several people, throwing her head back like a little kid when she laughs and scrunching up her nose when she finds something cute. She helps Rachel when the brunette breezes past looking a little more than stressed, and Brittany even brings a smile to Rachel's face as she takes the tray from the shorter girls hands, gliding into the kitchen to grab a few more champagne flutes.
It's incredible, it really is. To know that someone as perfect and wonderful as Brittany is Santana's.
She still has no idea how she got so lucky.
Bringing the bottle of beer in her left hand to her lips, she takes a long pull and rests her head back against the cushion, eyes closing.
It's been five months since Quinn released her album, and it's stayed in the charts for all that time, too. The seven weeks following its release it managed to stay at number one, which was so unlikely for such a new artist but it wasn't like she or Quinn were going to complain.
That lead to several celebratory parties of course, and then somehow that developed into many drunken conversations with Quinn about the future between her and Rachel. Being drunk, Santana just listened and offered a few kind words here and there―she's found herself actually liking Rachel Berry. Shit, that's even weird to think―and after one particular conversation, apparently her words had planted a seed in Quinn's mind that grew over the months and four and a half of them later, the blonde was getting down on one knee and asking Rachel to be hers forever in front of an entire restaurant, and Santana and Brittany.
It wasn't exactly surprising to Santana―Rachel for her part looked like someone had given her a million dollars―and when Rachel accepted and after they kissed in front of everyone for an uncomfortable amount of time, Quinn threw herself into Santana's arms and thanked her for how much she'd helped with the decision.
Santana didn't even know she had helped, but it was totally worth nodding along anyway and receiving that soft smile from her wife that always made her insides melt. And, you know, the kiss and sighed I love you into her mouth that followed the smile was pretty awesome, too.
Anyway, getting back to the point, these last few months have been incredible. She and Brittany got married, Rachel and Quinn are heading down that route too, and she and Quinn are already planning a second album which means work is just going amazingly.
Honestly? Things couldn't be better.
“Hey, good lookin'. Wanna drink?”
Santana opens her eyes to find her wife standing in front of her, staring down with clear, blue eyes, a grin and so much adoration that Santana actually sighs. Like, legitimately lets out a sigh because fuck, she's so in love with this girl it's ridiculous. She stares at her wife for a long moment, taking in the short, black dress covering her body in all the right places, but keeping enough of her covered up that Santana doesn't have to kick some ass, and then once her trail is done, her eyes land on the tray balanced on top of long, slender fingers, containing a few empty glasses.
She tilts her head to the side, a smirk playing at her lips. “Depends on what you're offering, beautiful.”
Brittany chuckles, light and soft, hand coming up to rest on her cocked hip. “You tryin' to sweet talk me, honey?” She asks in a drawn out Southern accent. “I know for a fact that you're married.”
“I am, aren't I?” Santana slides her beer onto table beside her and shifts towards the edge of her seat, her palms skimming up the side of Brittany's thighs, feeling goosebumps form where her fingertips slide over sun-kissed legs. Their honeymoon in Hawaii was pretty damn awesome. “But it's a shame 'cause you're just so damn gorgeous,” she purrs, slowly pushing to her feet, hands slipping round and over the curve of Brittany's ass until they stop at her hips, their faces now level. “So how about some sugar for the road instead?”
Blue eyes roll but Brittany leans in, and Santana's eyes flutter shut as soon as there's the soft pressure of lips against her own. It's gone barely a second later and she frowns, opening her eyes to see her wife's teasing grin and shakes her head before tugging Brittany back in with the hand she has on her hip, their mouths coming back together, a little harder this time. Instinctively her mouth opens against Brittany's and it's so soft and warm, and she sighs into it, her other hand coming up to linger along the hinge of her wife's jaw as Brittany's spare hand winds around her neck and tugs lightly, deepening the kiss.
They kiss like that, lazy and slow, for a few moments, grinning against each others mouths when it dies down to pecks and Brittany pulls back first, pressing one last kiss against Santana's swollen lips. Santana blinks up at her wife dazed as the blonde smiles down at her.
“My girl's got skills,” Santana chuckles, eying the tray still perfectly balanced in her wife's hand She knows for a fact if she was holding the tray that thing would be on the floor by now.
Brittany kisses her nose and smiles. “Your girl has gotta go hand out some drinks,” she says. “So stop distracting me.”
“You're the one that came over here,” Santana points out then wiggles her hips into her wife's. ”And I can't help it that I'm so irresistible you can't stay away from me.”
“Shut up you,” the blonde grins back, grabbing her chin and pressing one final sloppy kiss to her mouth. “And you just wait till we get home and then I'll show you just how irresistible you are to me,” she purrs and Santana's thighs squeeze together.
Getting a boner in the middle of someone elses engagement party probably wouldn't be the most appropriate thing ever but hell, how can she not when Brittany says something like that and then walks away with an extra sway in her step and pushing out her ass when she looks back to wink? Damn. She totally has the hottest and sexiest wife ever.
So to hide the growing bulge, she sits back down, picks her beer back up and takes a long pull. Her eyes stay trained on Brittany the entire time.
//
“Oh, fuck, San―”
Santana smirks against the skin of Brittany's neck, running her tongue up the length of it before grazing her teeth over her pulse point. The hands in her hair tug and then they're kissing, her hips pinning her wife to the door as a tongue delves into her mouth, stroking over her own and making her forget her own name.
It's pretty lucky they even made it inside their apartment, actually. The entire walk back here was full of brushing hands, bumping hips and small smirks and by the time they stumbled up their stoop, they were already all over each other, Santana with her hands on Brittany's ass and their mouths fused together whilst a pale hand reached between them to unbuckle her belt.
But they did make it, luckily―only luckily because one of their neighbors found them in the shared basement one time with Santana's pants round her ankles and Brittany's legs around her waist and they were almost kicked out the building―and so now they're here, panting into each others mouth, tearing off each others clothes and bumping into pretty much everything as they move further into the apartment.
Seriously, it's like they haven’t had sex in a week instead of a day.
Then again, she supposes a day without sex is like a week in their terms. They have a more than healthy sex life.
“Take it off,” Brittany groans when tanned fingers tease with the zip on her dress.
Arousal shoots through Santana and she's does as she's told, quickly ridding her wife of her dress and standing back when it drops to pool around her feet. Brown eyes rake down her body and take in the sight and it makes her press up painfully tight against the inside of her jeans. She doesn't have time to dwell on that though 'cause a hand is suddenly warm against her cheek and lips are covering her own, a tongue slipping into her mouth once more.
She leans forward, hands finding purchase on Brittany's hips and walks them back into the living room, tipping them over the side of the sofa until her wife's lying on her back and she's lying between long legs, kicking her jeans off her feet and rocking her hips in the right place, enjoying the low aroused hiss that comes from Brittany as her clothed bulge presses against her covered center.
“You're so fucking hot,” she moans, breaking the kiss and trailing them down the slope of a pale neck, sucking lightly whilst her hand traces down Brittany's ribs and fingers hook into her panties. She tugs them down at the same time she sucks in a nipple, flicking her tongue over the tip and enjoying the way Brittany's hips buck up, suddenly thankful for the lack of bra tonight.
Not wanting to waste any time, once Brittany's kicked off her panties, Santana lets her hand glide back up between their bodies and instantly begins to toy with the moisture between Brittany's legs, the pads of her fingertips rolling over her wife's clit expertly. Brittany groans and tugs her head back up, their lips coming back together in an almost bruising kiss that makes Santana's hips grind down impatiently.
“I need you,” Brittany mumbles against her mouth, teeth nipping gently at her lip.
Santana doesn't argue, just pushes her boxers down and releases her throbbing erection, replacing her fingers with the tip of her cock and pushing down until blue eyes roll into the back of Brittany's head. Heat spreads across her skin and she moves her lips back down to a pink nipple, sucking lightly as she grabs herself and rubs through Brittany's folds, earning a few groans that makes her smile against her wife's breast. Even after all this time, it still shocks her how quickly Brittany can get ready for her. How hot they can get for each other in such a short amount of time.
She hopes it'll always be like this.
But then it's down to the real business and she pulls her head back, leaning up on one elbow and glancing down between them enough to see as she lowers her hips down and nudges Brittany's entrance with her cock, before pushing the head inside and dropping her forehead to the other girls breast bone at the warmth that surrounds her. Brittany's always so fucking tight and she doesn't think she'll ever tire of being inside her.
“Santana...” Brittany grunts and Santana smirks, pressing a kiss to pale cleavage before lifting up to stare her wife in the eye as she slides in completely, mesmerized by how Brittany's mouth drops open, the crinkle forms between her brows and her neck muscles strain for a long moment before settling back and relaxing.
She keeps her hips still for a second, enjoying the wet heat and tightness covering the entire length of her shaft and leans down to kiss Brittany slowly as she moves at the same pace. Her tongue dips into Brittany's mouth and Santana shifts, realizing she still has her shirt on but not really caring now that she's inside Brittany. Her hips pull back until she's sliding out halfway, then she pushes back in gently, wanting to go slowly and give her wife as much pleasure as possible.
Except it seems Brittany has a different idea about the shirt thing because her hands come up to her back, clawing at the fabric and frowning, but not quite managing a full frown as her eyes are clouding with pleasure and arousal. Santana chuckles and buries herself in deep, earning a squeak from the other girl as she pauses to let the blonde take her shirt off, chucking it somewhere in the living room.
“Better?” She asks, but Brittany responds by rolling her hips and Santana buckles as Brittany clenches around her simultaneously. And fuck, she's not sure how long she can contain herself for.
She presses their lips back together and begins to grind her hips, one hand coming up to tangle in Brittany's hair as the other clutches to a slim waist to control her pelvis' movements. She tries to go slow, she really does, but it doesn't work and it just feels too good and so she pulls back and begins to rock faster and faster into her wife, picking up the pace so much she can't keep their lips together and instead settles for breathing into each other, foreheads pressed together.
It comes quicker than she thought and she knows she's only a few more rocks into coming and slides the hand on Brittany's waist between them, fingers finding Brittany's clit and moving over it in small circles. Brittany's hips buck into hers and pale hands slide down her back, nails biting into her skin as she quickens her thrusts and pushes deeply into her wife, eyes opening to find flushed cheeks, swollen lips, closed eyes and an open mouth and ears perking to the sound of appreciative guttural moans.
It's so hot and it always manages to get to Santana in such a way that with that image and one final thrust, she's pushed over the edge. She spills into Brittany, burying herself as far as she can go as her orgasm punches through her but then her wife grinds into her at the same time she thrusts out and in again, fingers rapidly moving, and then Brittany's clenching abruptly around her, coming and screaming her name, prolonging Santana's own orgasm.
“Fuck, Britt―”
“Santana!” Brittany half-yells, eyes clenching shut as her orgasm crashes over her and Santana can feel sparks setting off inside her body as pleasure rockets through her.
They ride their orgasms together until they're fading and parts of their bodies are twitching from the aftermath, and Santana just collapses against her wife, cheek pressing to the pale skin of Brittany's breastbone. Their breathes are heavy and irregular, and Santana licks her lips, eying the light sheen of sweat coating Brittany's skin and chuckles into it, finding the strength to pull back up, hands coming up to either side of splayed out blonde hair and kisses her softly.
“I love you,” she mumbles, wetting her lips as she backs out the kiss. “Like, a lot.”
Brittany's hand comes up to brush the hair stuck to her forehead away. She smiles softly and her blue eyes are slowly closing, and Santana can't help but laugh. Brittany always needs a nap after a powerful orgasm. It's one of the most adorable things about her.
“I love you too, baby,” the blonde mutters, yawning.
Santana nuzzles their noses together, grinning, before sitting back on her knees, slowly sliding out of Brittany―body sizzling at the sound of her wife whimpering at the loss―and she gazes at the juices covering her cock. Arousal spirals through her again but she's still worn out and her body needs some time to recover, and so she slowly shifts off the sofa, standing beside Brittany and picking her up, bridal style, to carry back to the bedroom.
Arms clutch tightly around her neck and she kisses Brittany's sweaty forehead softly as they move into their bedroom, Santana stopping at her wife's side of the bed and setting her down before rounding and sliding onto her side, wiggling forward to move into the position of the big spoon. Her left arm winds around Brittany's waist and her hips fit into the curve of the blonde's wife, nose squashing against a pale shoulder blade and inhaling coconut and almost body wash, sighing at the fluttering inside of her.
But then, as always, Brittany turns over and shuffles forward, burying her head into the crook of Santana's neck, one arm coming between their body to rest by the pillow as the other absently toys with the ends of dark locks as she falls asleep.
Santana settles for resting her chin on top of her wife's head and closes her eyes, slowly drifting off to the sound of Brittany breathing.
//
Santana wakes up the next morning to the shrill sound of her alarm clock, and she seriously wishes she didn’t have to get up when she blindly slaps her hand around to turn it off and glances down. Because Brittany’s lying against her side, nose pressed to the underside of her jaw with an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and she’s naked too and just ugh, Santana really doesn’t want to leave.
But she has to. She's got a recording session in the studio with Quinn for one of the blondes new songs and if they’re lucky, they might be able to get it over and done with within a few hours so she can leave early. Assuming there's no major problems or anything.
So reluctantly she untangles herself from her wife, kisses her on the forehead and climbs out of bed, scowling to herself as she heads towards the bathroom.
The next day off she and Brittany have together is so going to be spent in bed together.
//
Quinn’s equally as grumpy as she is when she arrives at the studio, two extra large coffees in her hand and the last bite of croissant hanging out the side of her mouth. Her friend scoffs at her as she walks in the door, kicks it open with her foot and slides in quickly to ensure it doesn’t catch her on the back swing, and in response she throws Quinn an angered look.
“Well that’s attractive,” Quinn says, sarcasm seeping into her tone. “I can see how you’re married.”
“Shut up, Fabray or I’ll pour these scalding hot coffees over your head and burn your pretty little face. Let’s see if you’re still getting married then.”
Quinn crinkles her face, leaning against the control panel. “Off point today, Lopez? That comeback was kind of crappy.”
Santana scowls. “Give me an hour.”
“Whatever,” her friend says, grabbing the coffee when she’s close enough and peeling off the lid to let the steam free. “So what we doing today?”
“Your stupid song,” Santana grunts, placing her coffee down and swallowing her mouthful. She shrugs off her jacket and throws it over the back of the chair in front of the MIDI, slumping down onto the seat a second later and seeing Quinn’s confusion. “The one about swimming or whatever.”
“Swim Good,” Quinn corrects, taking a sip of her coffee before setting it down and slipping through the door to take her on the stool and behind the microphone. Santana rolls her eyes and shuffles forward in her chair, adjusting the settings for a few moments then holding down the speaker button so her friend can hear her.
“Okay, you’re good to go in three, two,” she mouths one and the instruments begin to play and Quinn’s head bobs to the beat.
Santana leans back in her chair, grabs her coffee cup and brings it to her lips, mind lost in the music.
//
Thirty four tries later and Quinn’s not fucking happy with how she sounds.
“It’s just a bit… I don’t know, low?”
Santana lets her back bow forward, forehead pressing to the table top not covered by the MIDI. “Fuck, Q, just record the damn thing how you want to.” It’s muffled into the wood but she knows her friend heard her.
“You’re my manager,” the blonde replies, poking her in the ribs so she jolts up, shocked. That’s her weak spot and Quinn knows that it scares the crap out of her when people poke her there. Bitch. “Fucking act like one.”
“I’m just tired. I had a late night.”
“I did, too. Had a party, remember?”
Santana sits back in her chair but there’s a smirk playing at her lips as she stares at her friend. “Yeah, Q, except after cleaning up you went to sleep and I was a little busier,” she says suggestively, but Quinn squints, not quite getting it. “I was having sex, Quinn,” she elaborates.
“Oh.” Fair eyebrows raise, and Quinn nods, but suddenly her face contorts with disgust. “Okay, no, didn’t wanna know that.”
“Just ‘cause I’m getting more than you are,” Santana retorts, still smirking. “But getting back to the work,” she sits forward and switches into business mode. “Can we just pick this up tomorrow? I’m tired and you haven’t even made up your damn mind about the tempo or pitch yet.”
Quinn shakes her head. “You’re whining like a little bitch, Santana.” Santana’s eyes widen at the insult. “But fine. I could do with getting back to Rach early.”
“Swear to God if you say anything about getting down with the hobbit I will rip your shit in half.”
Her friend chuckles and reaches inside the microphone room to flick off the light. “Whatever, let’s bounce.”
Santana side eyes her friend. “Let’s bounce? Q, you ain’t black.”
“Neither are you yet you still act all ghetto and crap,” Quinn shrugs as they both head out the recording studio, switching off the lights and machines as they leave.
“I’m blacker and more ghetto than you.”
“Whatever, Santana. Whatever.”
//
She calls Brittany on the way home, telling her she’ll pick up some dinner on the way home and Brittany tells her she has a surprise waiting for her.
That brightens Santana’s mood immediately and she almost skips picking up some Chinese in favor of heading home and finding out what the hell the surprise is, but the grumble in her stomach makes that urge sink and she heads over to Mr Chow’s and orders the usual for her and Brittany.
But then when she gets home and opens the door, she finds Brittany sitting on the dining table, wearing a purple, silk robe and from what she can see, pretty much nothing else and there’s a smirk on the blondes face that widens the more she toys with the tie wrapped around her waist.
Santana’s mouth immediately drops and she shuts the door behind her, kicking off her shoes. “Uh, hey. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Brittany purrs, her voice dropping into that low, sexy tone that shoots straight to Santana’s groin. She picks up a remote by her thigh and points it over her shoulder, clicking it and putting it down as the sound of Marvin Gaye’s voice flow into the room. “I just missed you.”
Santana can already feel herself pressing up against the zip on her jeans but she just stares, stares as her wife slides down from the table and walks towards her, legs gliding in and out with a dancers grace whilst her hands slowly untie the knot at the front of the robe. The fabric drops open and Santana almost passes out then and there because her thoughts are confirmed and Brittany’s wearing absolutely nothing beneath the robe.
“Did you miss me, too?” Brittany whispers, biting on her bottom lip and glancing up through her eyelashes.
Santana gulps and doesn’t even hesitate in dropping the take out bag in her hand and pressing their lips together, walking them back towards the dining table to lift her wife onto it and step between her legs.
The food can fucking wait.
//
She’s at the studio bright and early the next morning, and Quinn comes stumbling in with her blonde hair all over the place and eyes half-shut and clouded with fatigue. Santana chuckles and throws Quinn the energy bar she was about to eat, laughing to herself.
Her friend shoots her a death glare as she catches the snack. “What’s this?”
“Looks like you need it more than I do. You look like shit,” Santana shrugs, twisting in her chair to adjust the settings on the MIDI. “Now come on, eat that, drink this,” she blindly grabs a cup of coffee she bought from the cart down the road and holds it out, Quinn snatching it roughly. “Apologize for snatching and then get in there. I don’t wanna be here for weeks.”
The blonde scowls but glugs down her coffee and then shuffles into the microphone room to begin.
//
Later that night when she gets home, Brittany’s already in bed and she slides in behind her after changing, pressing against her back and dusting a kiss across the bare skin of her shoulder.
She’s about to nod off to sleep when her wife stirs and turns over, and begins to trail a line of wet kisses up her neck, hand drifting down her boxers to grab and stroke at her more than willing member.
“B,” she whispers, pushing up into the wandering hand with her hips. As much as she’d like to get it on right now she’s sure Brittany was asleep and she doesn’t want her wife falling asleep mid-sex. That’d just be embarrassing. “Aren’t you too tired?”
Brittany pulls back, eyes dark and hooded but hand never straying from its motions. “Are you?”
Santana shakes her head, groaning lowly as she gets to full length.
“Then me neither,” her wife says and presses their lips back together, tongue delving into Santana’s mouth as her thumb rubs over the tip of her cock.
Santana doesn't complain.
//
The second week comes and each day and night goes exactly the same way.
On one particular night after Santana comes home, they start snuggling on the couch and manage to last ten minutes before hands start wandering and lips start searching and soon enough Santana’s laying on her back and Brittany’s riding her, spilling the syllables of her name from her lips as Santana thrusts up and presses against that spot.
They make it to the bedroom at some point and after another round or two, Santana leans over Brittany and glances at the clock, collapsing back onto the bed and groaning when she finds the time. She really needs to get more sleep. She’s got to be up and out and in the studio in four hours and they didn’t even eat the damn dinner she bought because they got into the bedroom four hours ago and never left, which means she's got to leave enough time for breakfast, too.
Fuck.
Brittany giggles beside her and she rolls until she’s facing her wife, their noses, chins and foreheads pressing together.
“Maybe you should just get the day off tomorrow,” the blonde says, kissing her softly. “Just stay in bed with me.”
“I wish,” Santana mumbles against her mouth. “But Q’s already freaked about the song so I gotta keep supporting her.”
Brittany nods but runs her thumb over the tanned skin of a collarbone. “I know but, you’re gone for so long and I just miss you.”
“You have work, baby. You’re out most of the day.”
“I miss you at work, too, but I'm talking about nighttime," Brittany pouts. “I come home and you’re not here and it sucks.”
She presses her lips together in a tight line, sadness seeping through her chest. It’s only been two weeks but she didn’t realize Brittany missed her that much. She’s really got to find a balance between work and home. Too many times has she known people to get divorced because of an imbalance and that sure as hell isn’t going to happen to her and Brittany. Not if she can stop it.
“Okay, baby, how about this?” She gazes into blue eyes and runs her thumb over her wife's bottom lip, thinking of her idea. “Next day we both have off, we spend the entire day together. In bed or out or doing whatever we wanna do, okay?”
Brittany grins like it’s the best thing she’s heard in years and Santana sighs into the kiss she receives, rolling over and laughing against her wife’s mouth as she grows against the inside of Brittany’s thigh again.
//
Part 2 - Consequences
Quinn still can’t fucking decide on pretty much anything and by the third week it goes as far as the blonde freaking out about whether this song is actually worth recording, and whether it’s actually any good, and it takes Santana half a bottle of Jack and a good three hours of talking to calm her friend down.
See, she is a pretty kick ass manager.
By the fourth week, Quinn nails the song and they get through an entire session without any minor break downs or frets about the song, and by the end of the six hour session, the song’s finished. Sure, if they want to complete the album then they've got to do this like, ten or eleven times over, but the main single is done and dusted, and all Santana wants to do is celebrate.
"You, me, your hobbit and Britt for drinks down at Benji's tonight," Santana tells Quinn instead of asking her. "We're gonna celebrate by drinking way too much and dancing until we're sweaty."
The blonde rolls her eyes at the "your hobbit" comment but ignores it and nods at her. "I'm down for it. I'll call Rach now."
"And I'll call Britt."
They both pick up their phones and Quinn slips into the microphone room, shutting the door behind her whilst Santana stays behind the MIDI, flicking the speaker button of so she can't hear what her friend's saying on the phone. Thank God for that, Santana doesn't feel like puking over nauseating number one gushing to nauseating number two.
Anyway, she finds Brittany's name in her favorites―it's not exactly hard as it's the only one in the list―and clicks it, bringing the phone to her ear as she waits out the dial tone.
"Bonjour caliente... épouse."
Santana blinks and lets out a chuckle. "Really, B? French and Spanish in the same sentence?"
"Oh, crap. Are they different languages?"
"Yeah, baby. But hola hermosa esposa."
"You've got your lovey tone on so I'm going to assume you said something good," Brittany replies cheerily. "So, hey baby. What's up?"
Santana leans back in the chair. "You up for a night out? Quinn's four week long recording session has finally come to and end which not only means I get my day off with you tomorrow, but it also means we're going out tonight to celebrate."
"Oh, yeah! I haven't been dancing in ages." Brittany's voice is jolting a little and Santana can totally imagine her wife bouncing up and down in excitement. "Where are we going?"
“B, you can't say you haven't been dancing in ages. You dance for a living.”
“It's totally not the same thing.”
Santana rolls her eyes but chuckles, thumbing a crease in her jeans. “We're going to Benji's. That cool?”
“Awesome. When will you be home?”
After all this time, it still makes her smile when she thinks of 'home.' Where her wife is. Where her life is based. All with Brittany. “In a few hours, babe. I'll see you later.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
//
She gets home a few hours later and makes a beeline for the bedroom considering she's got two hours to get ready and she still needs to shower and wash her hair. The journey is quickly stopped when out the corner of her eye she finds Brittany lying on the couch, curled up with a hot water bottle pressed to her stomach.
“Britt?” She calls, making her way over there. “What's wrong, baby?”
As she rounds the sofa she sees that Brittany's eyes are squeezed shut, her entire face scrunched and Santana can tell she's in pain. She runs a hand over her forehead but doesn't feel any heat.
“Are you sick?”
Slowly, Brittany opens her eyes but winces and curls up into the fetal position. “Cramps,” she gets out. “They were real bad earlier but now I'm just waiting them out.”
“Aw, babe,” Santana pouts and kneels by the sofa, running one hand down to press on top of the hot water bottle gently. “Do you want me to get you some Midol?”
Brittany nods but whimpers half-way through and Santana leans forward to kiss her wife's temple before making her way to the kitchen. She returns five minutes later with a glass of water and two pills and sees Brittany sitting up, the hot water bottle still pressed low on her belly. She hands over the items and takes a seat beside her wife, one hand going to her thigh and her lips pressing to the bare skin of a pale shoulder as Brittany takes the pills and takes a long sip of the water.
“How long do they take to work?”
Santana lifts a shoulder. She didn't read the packet but usually all painkillers are the same right? “Like, half an hour, I think?”
Brittany nods and curls up beside Santana, legs folding beneath her and forehead pressed into the crook of a tanned neck. Santana leans back against the sofa, wrapping one arm around her wife and settles down, waiting out the cramps. “We don't have to go tonight if you're not feeling well, Britt.”
“I know,” the blonde says, kissing tanned skin. “But I want to and I know you won't go without me.” Santana smiles. “We haven't gone out with Rachel and Quinn in so long and I was looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, but if you're not feeling well then―”
“They're just cramps,” Brittany cuts in, pulling back to look into brown eyes. “They'll go. Seriously, honey. It's fine,” she smiles but Santana can tell she's still in a little bit of pain.
And Santana hates it, but knows there's nothing she can do and so kissing Brittany's nose, she leans back again and they wait half an hour before Brittany says the pains have gone and they start getting ready.
//
“You two are late,” Rachel shouts when Santana and Brittany climb out the cab and Santana hands the driver a twenty, telling him to keep the change. “And not fashionably so, either.”
Santana rolls her eyes and turns around, arm slipping around her wife's waist. “Shut your trap, short stuff. Britt wasn't feeling well.”
Rachel's face softens immediately and she turns to said blonde, ignoring the insult. “Oh, I apologize. Are you feeling alright now, Brittany?”
“Yes, thank you,” Brittany nods at her and shuffles closer to Santana.
And only Santana sees the way her wife's hand press gently against her stomach. The cramps haven't gone. They shouldn't have come out. But she doesn't have time to lean over and whisper that into Brittany's ear because Quinn's being let out of Benji's through the red rope near the bouncer and waving them over.
“Hey, guys,” she greets and kisses them both on the cheek. “I managed to get us a booth.”
Rachel grins at her fiancee and twists their arms together. “You are so amazing, Quinn.”
Bile rises in the back of Santana's throat and she almost makes a scathing remark about how nauseating they are but realizes that they're actually kind of cute in a weird way, and all the time Rachel's staring at Quinn, she isn't annoying the crap out of Santana so it's a win-win situation really.
“Awesome, so let's go in?” Brittany suggests and Santana looks at her, furrowing her brow for a second but then Brittany's kissing her quickly and the worry fades away as she's tugged into the bar.
//
As soon as they get in there, Brittany goes to pee with Rachel and leaves Quinn and Santana to get the drinks. They order the usual, some pink cocktail for Rachel, a Perfect Ten for Brittany―as always―and beers for them, and they head over to the booth where a guy in an all-black suit asks for their names and guides them to the correct one.
It's pretty cool; there's neon lights beneath the circular booth seats and at least nine people could fit in here, but that just means there's more room for Santana and Brittany to shuffle away from Quinn and Rachel when they get so drunk they lose all personal awareness and start dry humping inside the booth.
They slide into the seats, putting the drinks in front of them and lean back to relax, waiting for their better halves to come back from the toilet.
“What was wrong with Britt?”
Santana reaches for her beer. “Just cramps.”
“Oh,” Quinn's face twitches a little like she's uncomfortable. It's not like Santana doesn't know about periods. “Did she have some Midol?”
“Yeah, but I think she's still a little off. She wanted to come out tonight though, so I couldn't stop her.”
Her friend takes a swig of beer and she does the same, bobbing her head to the music playing overhead. “She'll be fine in a few hours. And if not you guys can go home. It's not like this is a proper celebration.”
Santana shrugs. “It took four weeks to do this, Q. I think that's worth of a drink,” she holds up her beer and chuckles when Quinn clinks hers against it.
A few minutes later, Brittany and Rachel come sliding in and they take their seats beside their girls, Brittany squeezing Santana's thigh and kissing her cheek as she picks up her drink and takes a sip. They all chatter for a moment, talking about the next songs they need to record and how long they'll take, Santana taking the piss out of Quinn because it's likely to be next November by the time they finish another few songs, but then she catches the way Brittany's scrunching her nose up at her drink in disapproval.
She ignores it at first, carrying on talking to Quinn and Rachel because she's always paranoid that something's wrong with her wife, but then somehow the conversation slides to the nauseating duo and Santana takes this opportunity to lean into Brittany's ear.
“What's wrong?”
Brittany shakes her head and licks her lips, but she's still scrunching her nose. “Try this,” she says, offering out the drink. “Does it taste weird?”
Santana eyes the drink warily, quirking a brow before leaning forward and taking a sip. She's never liked the drink but from what she can tell it tastes like normal. “No, babe. Seems fine to me. You want me to go get you another?”
“No, it's fine, thank you. I'm gonna go dance though. Dance with me?”
She doesn't have to ask twice before Santana's grinning and she's being tugged out the booth and lead through the dance floor, Brittany turning and looping her arms around a tanned neck as their bodies come together, hips fitting together perfectly. They dance and dance, and Brittany begins to smile and grind back up against her so she can't feel that ill.
Still doesn't completely settle Santana's concern, though.
//
A little while later when they're considerably worked up and hot, Santana trying to think of the least sexiest things in the world to stop the pressure in her groin region, they head back to the booth and find Quinn with her tongue stuck down Rachel's throat, hand grabbing her thigh and sliding up dangerously high.
“Okay, guys, seriously,” Santana waves her hand towards them. “I wanted to celebrate not test my upchuck reflex.”
It doesn't deter them though. They're probably been caught making out millions of times by Santana and it's actually getting pretty hard to come up with an insult, hence the weakness of her last one, and so she just slides into the booth again as far away from the tongue twins in the corner as physically possible, pulling Brittany onto her lap and staring up at her in complete awe. She's had a few beers and there's a comfortable lightness in her head, and Brittany just looks really fucking gorgeous right now. And it's not even the beer goggles. Brittany's just gorgeous in general.
“I love you,” she tells Brittany, wrapping one arm around her lower back and draping the other across the bare skin of her thighs, right below where her dress is riding up.
Brittany giggles and kisses her temple. “I love you, too. Do you want a drink?”
Santana shakes her head. “I want you,” she replies, smirking and leaning up to kiss her wife. It's slow and lazy, their tongues dipping in and out at a leisurely pace, long fingers sliding into dark hair and tanned ones thumbing the hem of Brittany's dress, resisting the urge to slip beneath it and Santana moans into her wife's mouth when Brittany nips on her bottom lip and pulls away. Okay, that totally didn't help with the whole groin region thing.
“I gotta pee,” Brittany says abruptly, hopping off Santana's lap.
“You've been like six times, already.”
Brittany shrugs. “I drank a lot of water today,” she replies and disappears into the crowd.
Santana just sits back and chews on the inside of her cheek. What's wrong with Brittany?
//
After Brittany comes back from her ninth visit to the toilet, Santana's more than concerned, and Brittany's looking a little peaky to say the least. As soon as she had disappeared to the loo, Santana headed up to the bar to grab a bottle of water since Brittany refused to touch another alcoholic drink, saying she was feeling a little queasy. So when Brittany comes back, Santana unscrews it and hands it to her, rubbing her lower back gently and trying not to focus on the unnatural paleness tinting her wife's skin.
Except it doesn't work and it's only a minute of watching later that she says something.
“You're not well,” she states.
Brittany doesn't even argue and nods weakly. “I don't think so,” she admits. ”Can we go home now?”
Santana doesn't hesitate in turning around and snapping her fingers between Quinn and Rachel's faces, breaking them apart and finding dazed hazel eyes staring at her. “We're going home. Britt doesn't feel well.”
“Is she okay?” Quinn asks, but she doesn't look too invested in the conversation seeing as Rachel's now trailing a line of wet, opened mouthed kisses down her throat. “Do you want us to come with?”
“Definitely not,” Santana retorts, pulling a disgusted expression when she sees Rachel's tongue poke out and lick up the side of her friend's neck. Gross. “Britt already doesn't feel well and she doesn't need you two making her feel worse with your revolting display of affection.”
“Whatever.”
She shakes her head but urges Brittany out the booth as her wife taps on Rachel and Quinn's shoulders and says goodbye to them, not leaning in to give them a kiss for two obvious reasons. Then they get up, Santana sliding her fingers through Brittany's and leads them out of the club and into a cab waiting by the side walk.
//
When they get home, Santana fetches some painkillers and a few bottles of water and they both head straight to bed, changing and slipping beneath the covers after Santana sets down the items on her wife's bedside table. They snuggle together, and Santana lies on her back, tracing patterns up and down the length of Brittany's arm as she stares at the ceiling, listening to the steady breathing beating against her neck.
Somewhere along the line she drifts off to sleep, and it's a while later that she's woken up to the sound of retching and vomiting. She rubs the ache from her eyes and climbs out of bed, padding along the hardwood floor towards the bathroom where she finds Brittany hunched over the bowl, one hand clutching her hair back whilst the other clamps onto the toilet bowl. She instantly helps her, taking over the hold on blonde hair and rubbing her back soothingly as Brittany continues to throw up into the toilet.
She stays silent, knowing that when she's thrown up in the past if anyone tried to talk to her she'd kick them out the bathroom, and just lets Brittany know she's there. It's only when Brittany finishes and rests her temple against the toilet bowl to stare at Santana that she says anything.
“I'll go get you some water,” she whispers and Brittany groans before twisting back to throw up again.
Barely thirty seconds later and she's returned, setting the glass down and reaching for a towel to dab at Brittany's forehead. She sits down cross legged, and returns to rubbing her wife's back and pouts when a whimper comes from the blonde, at the same time she slumps down to the floor.
“I think you've got a bug, baby,” she murmurs and Brittany's bottom lip quivers. Ever since they were kids Brittany's hated being ill. She's usually the most energetic person in the entire world and when she's ill, all that energy just drains straight out of her. “Do you wanna go to the doctors tomorrow?”
Brittany can't respond because she's too busy retching and clapping a hand over her mouth as she rises back to her knees to vomit, and Santana just feels so helpless but stays by her side and does everything she can.
Even though it's not a lot.
//
It gets to 4am and Brittany's stopped throwing up, but she's so worn out that she refuses to move from the bathroom and so Santana kisses her forehead and tells her she'll be right back. She heads into the bedroom, grabs two pillows and a blanket and walks back to the bathroom, propping one pillow against the wall and sitting down, back resting against it and legs stretched out in front of her, and the other pillows lies across her lap.
Reaching for Brittany, she softly tugs her over until her blonde head of hair is splayed across the pillow and then throws the blanket over her wife, not caring that it's not big enough for both of them or that she'll get cold and starts to rake her fingers through Brittany's hair, gently.
This sucks. Seriously. Tomorrow is their day off as well and now they won't be able to go out or do anything because Brittany's sick. And it's not like that's the only thing bumming Santana out because it's not. She hates when Brittany's ill. If there was any way she could get the virus instead of Brittany she totally would. She hates seeing Brittany suffer.
Maybe she should book an emergency doctor's appointment for her wife.
“Santana?”
Santana snaps her head down to see sleepy, blue eyes blinking up at her. “Yeah, B?” She whispers, using her free hand to cup a too-pale cheek.
“Thank you,” Brittany croaks and Santana laughs, shaking her head. Sometimes her wife is so adorable.
“For better or for worse, babe,” she repeats, letting the memories of their wedding vows wash through her.
Brittany turns into her stomach and nuzzles gently, hands reaching for tanned ones and threading their fingers together when she finds one. “For better or for worse,” she mumbles, drifting off to sleep a second later.
Santana leans down to drop a kiss to her wife's forehead and then settles back for a few hours of uncomfortable sleep.
//
“This is so not how I planned spending our day off together,” Brittany grumbles against Santana's stomach.
Santana brushes back a piece of hair and sighs. “I know, honey, but you've got to get better.”
“I know,” she groans and twists further, pressing her cheek to Santana's covered stomach. Their eyes meet and Santana smiles softly, her head tilting to the side. “This sucks,” Brittany whines, pouting and Santana would do literally anything to wipe that look off her face.
So she thinks of the only thing she can do and shifts, hooking her hands beneath Brittany's arms and tugging her up so her head's on the pillow. Blue eyes roam gaze at her, filled with confusion and she just waits, reaching down the bed to pull the comforter up and over their heads, burying them in darkness.
Brittany giggles and Santana smiles at the sound, shifting closer and pulling their bodies together, legs tangling down by the end of the bed. Her arms come around her wife's waist and she snuggles deeper until there's no space between them, and even though they're covered in darkness, Santana leans forward and finds Brittany's lips with ease, brushing her own over them once, gently, before her wife reels back.
“Don't kiss me,” Brittany says and Santana frowns and pouts simultaneously. “I'm sick.”
“Baby, I don't care,” she drapes her hand across a slim waist and nuzzles their noses together.
“You might catch it.”
“Then I guess you'll just have to look after me, won't you?” She grins and there's a pause before Brittany's kissing her, cupping her jaw and exhaling through her nose as Santana puts a little more pressure into it.
They kiss softly for a few moments, Santana dipping in and tasting toothpaste and mouthwash but not caring because there's still that underlying sweetness that's all Brittany, and Brittany sighs as the kiss slows and leaves them pecking at each other playfully. The lips on hers are warm and soft and even though this isn't what they had planned for today it doesn't matter, as long as they're together.
She smiles into the next kiss, threading her fingers through blonde hair to keep Brittany there and just thinks about how she has this forever.
And what a wonderful future she has.
//
Four days later and Brittany's still ill. She's still vomiting―admittedly not as much―but she definitely still is, but the weirdest thing about that is that she hasn't eaten so neither of them know what the hell she's throwing up.
But she supposes stomach bugs just do that, and so when the fifth day comes, Santana tells Brittany that if she's still throwing up tomorrow she's calling the doctor. The only reason she hadn't so far was because her wife begged her not to, telling her that doctors always managed to find a reason to keep you there, and so Santana sighed a small 'fine' and kissed Brittany goodbye as she headed off to work.
She really had no intention of going, but Brittany told her again that it was pointless her being at home and not earning money purely because she was throwing up. And after a long not-really-an-argument argument, Santana agreed to it and headed off to work the third day that Brittany was ill.
It didn't matter though. The entire time she was supposed to be listening in the meeting that discussed Quinn's album cover, she was staring at her phone and thinking of how she'd make Brittany feel better when she got home and if Brittany would kill her for calling a doctor despite her previous objections.
Brittany being sick has really started pressing on Santana and even though Brittany says she's feeling better, Santana can't shake this weirdness that there's something more.
On the third day Brittany was sick, and Santana had come home from her first full day at work in a couple of days, she found her wife in the kitchen making a peanut butter and Oreo sandwich, claiming that she had a craving for it. The whole experience was strange, but Brittany's done weirder things and so Santana just shrugged and asked her if she could make her one too. Safe to say it was in her top five most disgusting things that she's ever eaten.
The fourth day Brittany was sick, Santana came home to find Brittany in the bedroom completely topless, pushing at the her boobs and nipples and wincing. Shamefully, it'd made a flush scorch across Santana's skin because they'd been having sex every single night for the past four weeks and it'd been days since she and Brittany had slept together, but then her wife started crying and all thought of arousal just shot straight from her mind and body.
It was so weird because only moments later when Santana came back with a few tissues, Brittany was no longer crying but throwing her pajama pants across the room and saying how itchy they were. And Santana just stood there, mouth open and confusion racing through her.
So now it's day five and Santana's in the kitchen, cooking up some breakfast for her after leaving a frowning and mostly naked Brittany in bed, staring down at her stomach and claiming she's bloated despite Santana not seeing a single thing wrong with her body. She's still as smoking hot as she was when she wasn't sick.
“Baby?” She calls from the kitchen. “Do you want to try and eat a pancake?”
A muffled “okay” comes from the bedroom and Santana flicks off the stove, grabbing another plate from the cupboard above her and poking one onto the spare plate, whilst three lay stacked on her own. She doesn't know whether Brittany wants any maple syrup or anything with it, so she just drowns hers in syrup so if her wife wants some, she can just steal some off her plate.
She walks back into the bedroom, carrying both plates and the correct cutlery and nudges open the door with her foot, sliding in and smiling softly as her eyes meet crystal blue ones. Brittany's hands are pressing against her flat stomach as she sits cross legged on the bed and Santana pinches her lips up at the side, knowing her wife's thoughts immediately. But there's no point in trying to tell Brittany that she really doesn't look bloated, because the hormones have been so all over the place recently Santana could either be yelled at or cried at and she's not quite sure how to react yet.
Plus she's already said it like, fifteen times and Brittany hasn't believed her, so.
“Here you go, B,” she whispers, climbing onto the bed carefully and handing a plate, knife and fork to her wife before sitting down opposite, mimicking her position.
“Hmmm,” Brittany hums and inhales the food. “These smell good.”
Santana grins and nods. “Yeah, now eat up, sweetie.”
They both begin to eat, their kneecaps touching and eyes flicking up with each bite to smile at each other, and Santana begins to feel a little more at ease. She knows Brittany hates being ill but Brittany has never been ill for this long before―she always sleeps it off and recovers really quickly―and it's kind of worried her.
But now Brittany's showing a little more brightness and Santana loves it. So much so that she waits until she catches blue eyes again and swallows her mouthful before lifting herself to kiss Brittany, feeling the lips curl into a grin against her mouth. It's quick but meaningful and she bites back a smile as she pulls back. Even now kissing Brittany still manages to give her butterflies.
They finish their pancakes in silence―Brittany leaning over to swipe some syrup up for a few bites―and remarkably, Brittany actually gets through hers and manages to keep it down. It's the first piece of normal food―meaning not peanut butter on melon― she's eaten in days and Santana almost makes a comment about how Brittany puking was probably because she's been eating the weirdest mixes of food that wouldn't settle well, but she doesn't and instead grabs their plates, shoving them back onto the side table and crawls up the bed to sit behind her wife, arms wrapping around her waist and lips dropping small kisses to her bare shoulder.
“You feeling any better?”
Brittany rests her head back, twisting her head to kiss the underside of Santana's jaw. “A little. I reckon I'll be fine by the end of the week,” she says, resting her hands over the tanned ones laying across her stomach. “Then we can have a proper day off together.”
Santana hums in acknowledgment and lets her chin rest on Brittany's shoulder, turning every now and then to press a kiss to her cheek just because. They sit like that for a while, thumbs stroking over skin and chests rising and falling together in sync, but then natural calls and Santana groans.
“Need to get up, Britt,” she says, a soft, reverent kiss placed on the base of a pale neck. “Gotta pee.”
She slips out from behind her wife and makes her way to the bathroom, pulling down her boxers when she stands over the toilet. Her eyes search around the bathroom, looking for random things when something catches her eye and she actually freezes, mid-pee and everything, to stare at it. Her vision wavers a little and her heart begins to beat so loud she can't even hear her own breathing over it pounding inside her ears as she shakes and puts herself away, reaching up towards the item and holding it between both hands as she brings it to her chest.
And that's when it pops into her mind. That's when things start making sense.
Holy shit.
Her legs begin to lead her out the bathroom before she makes the conscious decision, and she stops in the doorway, mind registering Brittany lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling but eyes staying firmly locked on this item.
“Uh,” she clears her throat and swallows thickly. “Britt?”
Brittany shifts and Santana hears her breath hitch as blue eyes slide her way, finding the small box between her hands.
“When...” she trails off, mouth becoming so dry she's sure she can't speak, but she coughs again and glances between her wife and the box, trying to think of the right way to put it. “Um, when was your―your, um, last per―period?”
And then it goes silent.
//
Part 3
Brittany's clearly freaking out.
Her eyes are wide and Santana lets her eyes drift to find two pale hands reaching to press either side of Brittany's stomach, both of them finally registering the words and situation that might have arisen without either of their knowledge. She can feel heat spreading across her skin and not in the way she's accustomed too. This is panic. She's panicking and she knows she really shouldn't be because if she feels this way then how the fuck does Brittany feel.
She drops the box of tampons and quickly moves to Brittany, sliding onto the bed and sitting close to her, her hands finding Brittany's on her stomach and covering them. Brittany's eyes are clouded and dazed, and Santana can't help but stare as her eyebrows knit together, unsure of how she feels.
Are they ready for this?
For a baby?
Her heart almost stops beating right then and she's not sure how she feels so panicked but strangely relieved at the same time. She knows they had a discussion about this a few months back after that fight... But she didn't think they'd be seriously considering it so soon.
Shit.
“Britt... I... What―” she stutters and tries to wet her lips but fails. Her mouth's so dry she's not sure a gallon of water would help her.
“But I'm...” Brittany's mouth parts as she whispers the word, her eyes finally coming back to look straight into Santana's. “I'm on... I mean―I'm on the pill.”
Santana's eyes widen and she nods, not entire sure why the hell she's nodding. Her face feels so hot right now, her cheeks spiking with heat but she's not sure how that's possible because the moment the thought, the possibility popped into her head, all the blood drained from her face.
They're both speechless and they stare at each other like one will come up with the answer, but then Santana thinks about it, like really thinks about it and without conscious thought, her gaze is dropping down to Brittany's stomach, to the tanned and pale hands still pressing either side and something inside of her flutters. A sound comes from her throat, halfway between an exhalation of air and halfway between a croak, and Brittany's eyes bore into her own when she looks up, trying to read her.
“You...” She pauses when crystal blue eyes begin to gloss over, fearing she's said the wrong thing. One hand comes up to cup Brittany's cheek and she stares into her eyes, trying to think of the right thing to say.
Usually she can read her wife like a book. It's somethings she's always been able to do but right now, she can't seem to pick up on a single thing. Not an emotion or a flicker or fucking anything, and Santana has this desperate need to know what's going on inside Brittany's head.
“We need―We need to get you a preg―” the word makes her breath catch but she clears her throat, pushing through it. “We need to―to make sure.”
Brittany's staring at her but it doesn't feel like she's really looking, and Santana can feel her own perplexed expression on her face as she processes the events that have just arisen.
Brittany might be pregnant. It makes sense. All the symptoms of Brittany's illness points towards it; cravings, throwing up, cramps, hormones. It makes perfect sense and Santana gets into this weird daze as she thinks about it more and more, wondering what this means. What's going to happen from now? Their one and only conversation didn't really lead them anywhere. It didn't have a final decision about the future, it was just left open and now she knows they've got to discuss this. They have to now.
But first, they've got to make sure of something.
“Shall I...” she can't seem to finish a full sentence without interrupting with some bodily function and blinks, shaking away the overwhelming amount of thoughts in her mind. “Shall I go and buy you one?”
It takes her running the pad of her thumb over Brittany's cheek to grab the blonde's attention and Brittany just ends up nodding weakly, like she's not sure what's going on. Santana doesn't think she's seen her wife like this, even when they were 'just best friends,' and honestly, it's scaring the crap out of her.
Standing on shaky legs, she mindlessly picks up a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and begins to change, sliding her belt through her buckle and tightening it when she's finished. Her neck twists and eyes search without choosing to and she glances back at Brittany, who's still sat still on the bed, frozen and void of any emotion and she just has to do something. She has to because she's not sure what's going on.
Is Brittany distraught? Disappointed? Angry? Upset? Santana doesn't know and it's killing her.
But now isn't the time to ask. Now isn't the time to act on what she wants and so she walks back to the bed, whispering to Brittany to get back beneath the covers and that she's going to be back within ten minutes and Brittany just slides into bed, her eyes still clouded and body tense.
And with a kiss to her forehead, Santana leaves the apartment and heads for the market.
//
With two pregnancy tests bought and in a paper bag in her left hand, she walks back to the apartment, suddenly feeling very conscious that everyone has suddenly gained x-ray vision and can see inside the bag. It's stupid because they can't, and it's not like she should worry anyway because she doesn't know what's going to happen from now. But that makes her worry more: not knowing.
Does Brittany want a baby? For that matter, does Santana want a baby?
She knows she was staring at that woman in the supermarket a few months back, wishing that Brittany was carrying a piece of both of them inside her, but was that just a temporary craving?
And now that it's actually here, does it mean something complete different to back then? This is way more serious now.
Shit.
How are they be able to cope with it if Brittany is pregnant? When will they have the discussion about it? They've only been married for a few months and sure, it feels like forever already but is it too soon? Will Brittany even want to keep the baby?
Her thoughts are so muddled and overwhelming that she ends up walking the wrong way home and it takes an extra five minutes to get home, but she gets there and then it hits her. It hits her so hard she reaches that freezing stage Brittany was at when she left and stills on the stoop, staring blankly at the door whilst her hand grasping the key hovers by the lock.
This is actually happening.
She's actually just bought two pregnancy tests because Brittany might actually be pregnant.
Holy crap.
Her son or daughter might be growing inside Brittany at this very moment.
(She tries not to smile.)
//
It takes her another ten minutes of standing there, riffling through her thoughts and trying to go through every possible path that might occur when she goes inside, whether it's an abortion, or keeping the baby, or even putting it up for adoption, for her to get moving once more.
Her heart clenches at two of those paths, but it smiles at one of them.
Cautiously, she slides the key into the lock and twists it open, pushing the door open and stepping over the threshold, inhaling Brittany and warmth and home. Her heart flutters and she throws her keys into the bowl to her right as she kicks the door closed behind her.
She's pretty much shaking as she walks through the apartment, discarding her jacket and throwing it somewhere before entering the bedroom. She pushes the door open cautiously and finds Brittany lying down in bed, curled up above the covers now, one hand pressed to her stomach and the other wiping tears from her eyes.
Panic immediately shoots through Santana and she drops the paper bag onto the dresser before bolting over to her wife, sliding in behind her and hugging her close to her body. Kisses, small and soft press to pale skin as Santana slips her palm down over Brittany's, fingers sliding between long, slender ones and pushing gently into the fabric covering toned abs.
“I'm here,” she whispers, feeling her wife's body wrack with sobs. “I'm here, baby. We'll be fine. We'll be okay.”
Brittany turns over and presses her face into a tanned neck, nose nuzzling the skin there as Santana adjusts and shuffles further into the other girl, dropping kisses into blonde hair. She lets Brittany cry for a little while, just calming her down with small murmurs of “I love you” and “I'll be here no matter what” just to let her know. She doesn't know how her wife feels. She doesn't know how she's reacting and it's making her freak out but she won't show that. Not whilst Brittany's like this.
//
A few moments later, Brittany's body begins to slow down, her shoulders no longer jolting as she cries against Santana's neck. They lay there together, curled up into each other and Santana swallows against a thick layer covering her throat, nervous for what's to come. The paper bag is still on the dresser, staring at her mockingly and she doesn't know how to feel.
She wants to have babies with Brittany. There's no question about that. She wants the sleepless nights and the erratic hormones. She wants to look after Brittany when she cries and be there when she just wants to shout. She wants the panicked run to the hospital and the hours of labor because she knows at the end, she's going to get some perfect out of it. Something that's hers and Brittany's, and something that's come from Brittany.
And nothing can be more perfect than that, in her opinion.
(Apart from Brittany of course.)
But she doesn't know if she wants that now. She doesn't know if Brittany wants that now. It might be too soon.
Rubbing her hand up and down her wife's ribs, Santana rolls onto her back, pulling Brittany with her until the blonde's draped over her body. She just listens to her wife's breathing calming down, and how she sniffles and uses the hand by her face to wipe the drying tears away. She lies there and listens, and stares at the ceiling, wondering how to approach this.
Except she doesn't know what to say.
“Santana?”
Her eyes widen at the sudden voice and she tilts her head down to look into blue eyes. “Yeah?”
“Did...” Brittany takes in a shaky breath. “Did you get one?”
Santana bites her lip and nods slowly. “I got two. Just―you know, to make sure.”
Brittany stares at her with red eyes and keeps the hold for a long moment before bobbing her head, swallowing and rolling off. Santana's following her not a second later, a step behind as the blonde walks towards the dresser and reaches out with a quivering hand to grab the paper bag, her breath stilling as she peels it open and takes a peek inside.
Silence is all that is around them as Santana waits. She knows she needs to be patient even though everything inside of her just burns with the need to know. But she won't give into that. This isn't about her and what she wants. She isn't the one that might be pregnant. She isn't the one that might be carrying a baby for the next nine months or the one that might be taking a trip to Planned Parenthood and coming back with something less than she got there with. She'll be the one standing by the side watching and trying to help but failing since there's nothing she can do.
Oh, God. This is actually happening.
Santana sucks in a deep, shaky breath at the thought.
“I'm gonna―I'm gonna go and...” Brittany trails off, eyes dropping to the bag to finish the sentence she can't.
Santana steps forward and cups her cheek. She doesn't know what to do. Should she go in with Brittany whilst she takes the test? Or should she give her some space and privacy and just wait in the bedroom, instead? She doesn't know. So she asks, instead.
“Shall I wait out here?”
Blue eyes gaze into hers, whilst Brittany chews on the corner of her lower lip and thinks about the answer. She's clearly deep in thought and Santana still doesn't know what to do. And frankly it's sort of pissing her off. Why doesn't she know? She thought if the time came she'd know exactly what to do, to say, to make Brittany feel better, or to take some of the pressure off but she doesn't.
And she doesn't know whether that's a good or a bad thing.
Fuck.
“Yeah,” Brittany finally answers, the uneasiness in her voice evident as her eyes dart between brown ones. “I have to do this on my own,” she whispers afterward, mostly to herself, Santana thinks. “Is that―Is that okay?”
Shocked that she's being asked that, Santana sort of just stares blankly for a moment, trying to think whether that's okay. She knows that this is definitely to do with her so she should have some input into the matter at some point, but at this stage? The not knowing part? She doesn't know whether she's allowed to say anything.
So she just makes this weird, throaty sound that sounds like a confirmation, but she knows it might not come across like that to Brittany and begins to move her head up and down in a strange, awkward half-nod. Her hand drops from her wife's face and squeezes at her hand grabbing the bag as she takes a step back, letting Brittany step past her and she just observes as Brittany heads towards the bathroom, head dropped and eyes most probably focused on the bag she's carrying.
And when the door closes, Santana does all that she can not to collapse onto the floor and manages to get to the bed, dropping down onto the edge and burying her face into her hands.
The next few minutes are about to change everything.
//
Even though it's only several minutes of wanting, it feels like hours.
Santana sits on the bed, feeling her stomach twist with nerves and hands shake, too and just thinks about her wife on the other side of the bathroom door. With a deep breath she picks her head up and flops back to the bed, legs still dangling off the edge as her elbows stick up in the air and hands come back to cover her face.
This is so hard, just waiting and thinking. She doesn't know what's going to happen, and her thoughts are too wild to even consider what might happen. She breathes out steadily, trying to keep her heart rate down but failing as she listens to the intense thumping. She can't even imagine how Brittany's feeling because Santana herself is a nervous wreck.
Never once has she imagined this situation. She thought many times about having a baby with Brittany and their future with children, but all those thoughts were filled with what comes after the birth. She never thought about the finding out, the conception or the actual birth itself. And fuck, she's seen childbirth. She remembers sitting in the back row with Brittany in high school watching some gruesome video that was way too graphic for a bunch of thirteen year old's, and quivering at the detailed scenes on TV, selfishly glad she'd never have to go through it herself.
She's heard how painful the birth is and she doesn't want Brittany to go through that, not if she doesn't want it. She can't imagine Brittany being in that much pain and Santana having absolutely no method of making her feel better.
It's awful. It really is. Santana feels so helpless and she wants to be there for Brittany, but she doesn't know how.
Swallowing hard, she scrunches up her face and lets out an angry growl, pushing up from the bed and pacing around the bedroom, one hand cocked to her hip and the other on her forehead, fingers pinching her temples. Her facial muscles are aching from ages of frowning and worry, and she doesn't know what the hell she's doing, just walking around like this.
But shit, she's being so selfish for thinking like this. It almost makes her want to punch herself in the head because Brittany's alone, in the bathroom, peeing on a stick that in a few minutes will forever change both of their lives. Maybe even their relationship.
Pregnancy wasn't in there short term plan. They're only 25 for God's sake. Sure there are other couples in the world's with children, Santana was freaking staring at one mother who must have been younger than her a few months back but that doesn't mean they're ready.
Yeah, okay, that whole staring thing led to an argument with Brittany, but she explained everything. She explained why she was staring and it all turned out okay because they decided not to have that conversation there as it was too early, and decided it could be something pushed until a later date. Instead they traded cute little comments and ended up rolling back onto the bed, laughing into a kiss.
Little did they know though that later wasn't as far in the future as either of them had thought.
Her thoughts are so muddled and powerful that she doesn't hear the bathroom door open behind her, and doesn’t even notice Brittany's now come out until she hears her name being called. She spins round urgently, heart jumping and jolting and she rushes to her wife, stopping in front of her and letting her eyes roam around Brittany's face.
“Did you do it? Did you do the test?”
Brittany's bottom lip begins to wobble and her eyes begin to water, and Santana's heart almost stops as her wife begins to nod sheepishly, lifting something between them. It takes a few seconds for brown eyes to drop to Brittany's hands, but then she finds them, two sticks clutched inside a pale hand, the little screen revealing the result covered by slender fingers.
Her eyes grow wide and her body almost stops functioning altogether. She knows right there, not more than ten inches away is the answer that'll change her life. Their lives. She swallows heavily and looks up, stomach twisting nervously and the lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger.
“Did you...” she croaks out, unsure if Brittany knows the answer already. Her lips are so dry at this point and her heart is beating so fast that she can't focus on words or the ability to speak. So many scenarios are playing through her mind and she's looking at Brittany who couldn't look more terrified if she tried, and she doesn't know if she even wants to know the answer. “Do you know?”
Brittany's mouth drops open but no words come out. Tears begin to slowly trail from her cheek and Santana panics. Is that a yes? Do the tears mean Brittany's pregnant? And if so, do the tears mean Brittany's unhappy about being pregnant?
Oh, fuck. Santana's so not ready for this.
“Yeah,” Brittany whimpers, voice so small she almost doesn't hear it. “I know.”
In the corner of her eye, she watches a pale hand rise further between them and fingers begin to release the stick, ready to reveal the answer but Santana moves quickly, wrapping both hands around the sticks and the hand, and stops, eyes boring straight into blue ones. She needs to say something before Brittany does it, because no matter what the answer is, she needs to tell Brittany this.
“I love you, Britt,” she sputters. “I love you and I'll never stop, no matter what happens from now. Whatever you want to do, with this,” she squeezes Brittany's hand to emphasize the meaning. “I'm going to support you. I love you and I...” she swallows, not knowing what to say. “I just love you and I need you to know that.”
They gaze at each other for a long moment and Santana watches as Brittany nods, jaw clenching as she pulls her hand out from beneath tanned ones and brings it between their chests, uncurling her fingers until the screen is visible.
And Santana can't breath. Her eyes are still locked on Brittany's face and she knows she should look down―she wants to look down―but she's frozen. Her vision is blurring and she can feel the pressure coming down on her like a ton of bricks, and she sucks in her lips, holding a deep breath as blue eyes flicker down and back up to meet deep, brown orbs again.
Then Brittany just says it. Straight up. Without even a stutter or hesitation.
“I'm four weeks pregnant.”
The words hit Santana like a baseball bat to the gut and she chokes, mouth dropping open and eyes bulging out, finally peering down to look at the tests to find two blue lines on each and a little four in the corner before coming back to take in the expression on Brittany's face. Her blue eyes are frightened. They're frightened but happy and Santana sees none of the confusion or panic she sees before. This time as she stares into her wife's eyes she can see the happiness and joy at the announcement before Brittany even has time to say it and she exhales through a smile, it coming out as a grin.
Brittany's pregnant.
Brittany's fucking pregnant, and the best part, Brittany's fucking happy about this. She's fucking happy which means they're keeping it.
Shit. She's going to be a mother.
Santana chokes out a few more puffs of air, her lungs unable to function properly, before her stomach begins to move and shoulders begin to shake and then she's grinning. She's grinning because they're having a baby. They're having a baby and she never thought anything could feel like this because fuck, this is amazing.
Instantly her knees buckle and she crouches to the floor, her face burying into Brittany's stomach and arms wrapping around her legs to hug her closer. She presses as many kisses to her wife's clothed abs as possible and squeezes her eyes shut, feeling fingers rake through her hair and nails graze gently over her scalp, whilst Brittany's stomach move with her laughter.
“We're having a baby,” comes from above and Santana pulls back to look up at Brittany who looks so overjoyed that she can't possibly control her emotions and shoots up from the floor, throwing her arms around her wife's waist and picking her from the floor, spinning her around in a circle as they both laugh and smile.
Fuck, they're having a baby.
Hands clutch at her shoulders and she slows down the spinning when they slide up her neck, her own hands dropping to Brittany's ass to hold her up as long legs wrap around her waist, adjusting into a more comfortable position. Forearms press into her shoulder blades and clutch her closely and she buries her face into Brittany's neck, now standing in the middle of their room with Brittany in her arms and they're both so fucking happy she can't even begin to explain it.
She reels back to stare at her wife, and Brittany's grinning so widely that Santana's heart flips and flutters at the sight and she glances down between them to her wife's stomach just because. There's a baby growing in there. Their baby growing in there and holy shit, she's so fucking happy she could cry.
“I love you,” she chokes out, a second before Brittany comes towards her and kisses her softly. She presses harder into it, wetness beginning to trail down her cheeks and she pulls back with a sniffle, pale hands reaching for her cheeks to wipe away the tears of joy that she didn't know were there.
“I love you, too, baby,” Brittany replies, still smiling, her eyes brighter than ever and Santana just shakes her head and brings their mouths back together, kissing her wife.
Because Brittany's pregnant. And it's the most amazing thing ever.
//
“You're pregnant.”
It still feels so surreal to say that, even as they're lying in bed, Brittany on her back and Santana further down the bed, ear pressed to her wife's bare stomach where it has been for the past half an hour, after she'd insisted that she needed to introduce herself to their baby without the blockage of clothing. Her fingers trace mindless patterns across toned abs and Brittany giggles above, stroking through dark hair with a gentle touch.
“Are you ever going to stop saying that?” The other girl jokes, her body shaking with the chuckle that follows.
Santana twists her head, chin now resting on her wife's stomach. “Nope,” she pops the 'p' and grins. “I just can't believe it.”
“Neither can I,” Brittany breathes. ”It just doesn't feel real.”
She knows exactly what Brittany means and presses a kiss to soft skin. “We're actually going to start a family, Britt Britt,” she breathes, grinning at her own words. “We're going to have a little Lopez-Pierce running around.”
Brittany bites down on her lip but the smile can't be hidden. She chuckles and the grin spreads so wide across her face that Santana has to kiss it, so she shuffles up, nudging long legs apart and settles between them, supporting herself on her hands either side of blonde hair, her own dark locks curtaining around them, and drops her head to suck Brittany's bottom lip into her mouth.
Pale hands slide down her back and around her ribs, squeezing gently as Santana opens her mouth against Brittany's and lets Brittany's tongue stroke against herself, making a low moan come from deep inside her chest.
They kiss, long and slow, and so, so deep, and minutes pass just like that, their kisses only growing longer and deeper, until Brittany smiles against her mouth and the kiss is broken. She pulls back, eyebrows frowning a little but lowers herself, her entire body pressing down onto Brittany's and forearms digging into the mattress as their noses brush against each other, kissing because their grinning mouths can't.
And then they opens their eyes, smiling at each other and taking in the words and thoughts that flash behind each others expressions. Santana begins to think about the future where she and Brittany are going to be in a few years, sitting in their house outside the city, on a loveseat on their decking, watching their children run about in their back yard, chasing after their golden retriever.
And she can't help but smile.
Because she knows what the future holds for them, and as she shifts to the side and lowers one hand to press her palm against Brittany's stomach, she knows she can't wait the future to begin.
Her freaking wife.
She shakes her head at herself, chuckling beneath her breath and ducking her chin to her chest. She's never going to stop having butterflies at the thought.
She's here at Quinn and Rachel's engagement party, sitting on the armchair in the corner of their living room just watching her wife chat to several people, throwing her head back like a little kid when she laughs and scrunching up her nose when she finds something cute. She helps Rachel when the brunette breezes past looking a little more than stressed, and Brittany even brings a smile to Rachel's face as she takes the tray from the shorter girls hands, gliding into the kitchen to grab a few more champagne flutes.
It's incredible, it really is. To know that someone as perfect and wonderful as Brittany is Santana's.
She still has no idea how she got so lucky.
Bringing the bottle of beer in her left hand to her lips, she takes a long pull and rests her head back against the cushion, eyes closing.
It's been five months since Quinn released her album, and it's stayed in the charts for all that time, too. The seven weeks following its release it managed to stay at number one, which was so unlikely for such a new artist but it wasn't like she or Quinn were going to complain.
That lead to several celebratory parties of course, and then somehow that developed into many drunken conversations with Quinn about the future between her and Rachel. Being drunk, Santana just listened and offered a few kind words here and there―she's found herself actually liking Rachel Berry. Shit, that's even weird to think―and after one particular conversation, apparently her words had planted a seed in Quinn's mind that grew over the months and four and a half of them later, the blonde was getting down on one knee and asking Rachel to be hers forever in front of an entire restaurant, and Santana and Brittany.
It wasn't exactly surprising to Santana―Rachel for her part looked like someone had given her a million dollars―and when Rachel accepted and after they kissed in front of everyone for an uncomfortable amount of time, Quinn threw herself into Santana's arms and thanked her for how much she'd helped with the decision.
Santana didn't even know she had helped, but it was totally worth nodding along anyway and receiving that soft smile from her wife that always made her insides melt. And, you know, the kiss and sighed I love you into her mouth that followed the smile was pretty awesome, too.
Anyway, getting back to the point, these last few months have been incredible. She and Brittany got married, Rachel and Quinn are heading down that route too, and she and Quinn are already planning a second album which means work is just going amazingly.
Honestly? Things couldn't be better.
“Hey, good lookin'. Wanna drink?”
Santana opens her eyes to find her wife standing in front of her, staring down with clear, blue eyes, a grin and so much adoration that Santana actually sighs. Like, legitimately lets out a sigh because fuck, she's so in love with this girl it's ridiculous. She stares at her wife for a long moment, taking in the short, black dress covering her body in all the right places, but keeping enough of her covered up that Santana doesn't have to kick some ass, and then once her trail is done, her eyes land on the tray balanced on top of long, slender fingers, containing a few empty glasses.
She tilts her head to the side, a smirk playing at her lips. “Depends on what you're offering, beautiful.”
Brittany chuckles, light and soft, hand coming up to rest on her cocked hip. “You tryin' to sweet talk me, honey?” She asks in a drawn out Southern accent. “I know for a fact that you're married.”
“I am, aren't I?” Santana slides her beer onto table beside her and shifts towards the edge of her seat, her palms skimming up the side of Brittany's thighs, feeling goosebumps form where her fingertips slide over sun-kissed legs. Their honeymoon in Hawaii was pretty damn awesome. “But it's a shame 'cause you're just so damn gorgeous,” she purrs, slowly pushing to her feet, hands slipping round and over the curve of Brittany's ass until they stop at her hips, their faces now level. “So how about some sugar for the road instead?”
Blue eyes roll but Brittany leans in, and Santana's eyes flutter shut as soon as there's the soft pressure of lips against her own. It's gone barely a second later and she frowns, opening her eyes to see her wife's teasing grin and shakes her head before tugging Brittany back in with the hand she has on her hip, their mouths coming back together, a little harder this time. Instinctively her mouth opens against Brittany's and it's so soft and warm, and she sighs into it, her other hand coming up to linger along the hinge of her wife's jaw as Brittany's spare hand winds around her neck and tugs lightly, deepening the kiss.
They kiss like that, lazy and slow, for a few moments, grinning against each others mouths when it dies down to pecks and Brittany pulls back first, pressing one last kiss against Santana's swollen lips. Santana blinks up at her wife dazed as the blonde smiles down at her.
“My girl's got skills,” Santana chuckles, eying the tray still perfectly balanced in her wife's hand She knows for a fact if she was holding the tray that thing would be on the floor by now.
Brittany kisses her nose and smiles. “Your girl has gotta go hand out some drinks,” she says. “So stop distracting me.”
“You're the one that came over here,” Santana points out then wiggles her hips into her wife's. ”And I can't help it that I'm so irresistible you can't stay away from me.”
“Shut up you,” the blonde grins back, grabbing her chin and pressing one final sloppy kiss to her mouth. “And you just wait till we get home and then I'll show you just how irresistible you are to me,” she purrs and Santana's thighs squeeze together.
Getting a boner in the middle of someone elses engagement party probably wouldn't be the most appropriate thing ever but hell, how can she not when Brittany says something like that and then walks away with an extra sway in her step and pushing out her ass when she looks back to wink? Damn. She totally has the hottest and sexiest wife ever.
So to hide the growing bulge, she sits back down, picks her beer back up and takes a long pull. Her eyes stay trained on Brittany the entire time.
//
“Oh, fuck, San―”
Santana smirks against the skin of Brittany's neck, running her tongue up the length of it before grazing her teeth over her pulse point. The hands in her hair tug and then they're kissing, her hips pinning her wife to the door as a tongue delves into her mouth, stroking over her own and making her forget her own name.
It's pretty lucky they even made it inside their apartment, actually. The entire walk back here was full of brushing hands, bumping hips and small smirks and by the time they stumbled up their stoop, they were already all over each other, Santana with her hands on Brittany's ass and their mouths fused together whilst a pale hand reached between them to unbuckle her belt.
But they did make it, luckily―only luckily because one of their neighbors found them in the shared basement one time with Santana's pants round her ankles and Brittany's legs around her waist and they were almost kicked out the building―and so now they're here, panting into each others mouth, tearing off each others clothes and bumping into pretty much everything as they move further into the apartment.
Seriously, it's like they haven’t had sex in a week instead of a day.
Then again, she supposes a day without sex is like a week in their terms. They have a more than healthy sex life.
“Take it off,” Brittany groans when tanned fingers tease with the zip on her dress.
Arousal shoots through Santana and she's does as she's told, quickly ridding her wife of her dress and standing back when it drops to pool around her feet. Brown eyes rake down her body and take in the sight and it makes her press up painfully tight against the inside of her jeans. She doesn't have time to dwell on that though 'cause a hand is suddenly warm against her cheek and lips are covering her own, a tongue slipping into her mouth once more.
She leans forward, hands finding purchase on Brittany's hips and walks them back into the living room, tipping them over the side of the sofa until her wife's lying on her back and she's lying between long legs, kicking her jeans off her feet and rocking her hips in the right place, enjoying the low aroused hiss that comes from Brittany as her clothed bulge presses against her covered center.
“You're so fucking hot,” she moans, breaking the kiss and trailing them down the slope of a pale neck, sucking lightly whilst her hand traces down Brittany's ribs and fingers hook into her panties. She tugs them down at the same time she sucks in a nipple, flicking her tongue over the tip and enjoying the way Brittany's hips buck up, suddenly thankful for the lack of bra tonight.
Not wanting to waste any time, once Brittany's kicked off her panties, Santana lets her hand glide back up between their bodies and instantly begins to toy with the moisture between Brittany's legs, the pads of her fingertips rolling over her wife's clit expertly. Brittany groans and tugs her head back up, their lips coming back together in an almost bruising kiss that makes Santana's hips grind down impatiently.
“I need you,” Brittany mumbles against her mouth, teeth nipping gently at her lip.
Santana doesn't argue, just pushes her boxers down and releases her throbbing erection, replacing her fingers with the tip of her cock and pushing down until blue eyes roll into the back of Brittany's head. Heat spreads across her skin and she moves her lips back down to a pink nipple, sucking lightly as she grabs herself and rubs through Brittany's folds, earning a few groans that makes her smile against her wife's breast. Even after all this time, it still shocks her how quickly Brittany can get ready for her. How hot they can get for each other in such a short amount of time.
She hopes it'll always be like this.
But then it's down to the real business and she pulls her head back, leaning up on one elbow and glancing down between them enough to see as she lowers her hips down and nudges Brittany's entrance with her cock, before pushing the head inside and dropping her forehead to the other girls breast bone at the warmth that surrounds her. Brittany's always so fucking tight and she doesn't think she'll ever tire of being inside her.
“Santana...” Brittany grunts and Santana smirks, pressing a kiss to pale cleavage before lifting up to stare her wife in the eye as she slides in completely, mesmerized by how Brittany's mouth drops open, the crinkle forms between her brows and her neck muscles strain for a long moment before settling back and relaxing.
She keeps her hips still for a second, enjoying the wet heat and tightness covering the entire length of her shaft and leans down to kiss Brittany slowly as she moves at the same pace. Her tongue dips into Brittany's mouth and Santana shifts, realizing she still has her shirt on but not really caring now that she's inside Brittany. Her hips pull back until she's sliding out halfway, then she pushes back in gently, wanting to go slowly and give her wife as much pleasure as possible.
Except it seems Brittany has a different idea about the shirt thing because her hands come up to her back, clawing at the fabric and frowning, but not quite managing a full frown as her eyes are clouding with pleasure and arousal. Santana chuckles and buries herself in deep, earning a squeak from the other girl as she pauses to let the blonde take her shirt off, chucking it somewhere in the living room.
“Better?” She asks, but Brittany responds by rolling her hips and Santana buckles as Brittany clenches around her simultaneously. And fuck, she's not sure how long she can contain herself for.
She presses their lips back together and begins to grind her hips, one hand coming up to tangle in Brittany's hair as the other clutches to a slim waist to control her pelvis' movements. She tries to go slow, she really does, but it doesn't work and it just feels too good and so she pulls back and begins to rock faster and faster into her wife, picking up the pace so much she can't keep their lips together and instead settles for breathing into each other, foreheads pressed together.
It comes quicker than she thought and she knows she's only a few more rocks into coming and slides the hand on Brittany's waist between them, fingers finding Brittany's clit and moving over it in small circles. Brittany's hips buck into hers and pale hands slide down her back, nails biting into her skin as she quickens her thrusts and pushes deeply into her wife, eyes opening to find flushed cheeks, swollen lips, closed eyes and an open mouth and ears perking to the sound of appreciative guttural moans.
It's so hot and it always manages to get to Santana in such a way that with that image and one final thrust, she's pushed over the edge. She spills into Brittany, burying herself as far as she can go as her orgasm punches through her but then her wife grinds into her at the same time she thrusts out and in again, fingers rapidly moving, and then Brittany's clenching abruptly around her, coming and screaming her name, prolonging Santana's own orgasm.
“Fuck, Britt―”
“Santana!” Brittany half-yells, eyes clenching shut as her orgasm crashes over her and Santana can feel sparks setting off inside her body as pleasure rockets through her.
They ride their orgasms together until they're fading and parts of their bodies are twitching from the aftermath, and Santana just collapses against her wife, cheek pressing to the pale skin of Brittany's breastbone. Their breathes are heavy and irregular, and Santana licks her lips, eying the light sheen of sweat coating Brittany's skin and chuckles into it, finding the strength to pull back up, hands coming up to either side of splayed out blonde hair and kisses her softly.
“I love you,” she mumbles, wetting her lips as she backs out the kiss. “Like, a lot.”
Brittany's hand comes up to brush the hair stuck to her forehead away. She smiles softly and her blue eyes are slowly closing, and Santana can't help but laugh. Brittany always needs a nap after a powerful orgasm. It's one of the most adorable things about her.
“I love you too, baby,” the blonde mutters, yawning.
Santana nuzzles their noses together, grinning, before sitting back on her knees, slowly sliding out of Brittany―body sizzling at the sound of her wife whimpering at the loss―and she gazes at the juices covering her cock. Arousal spirals through her again but she's still worn out and her body needs some time to recover, and so she slowly shifts off the sofa, standing beside Brittany and picking her up, bridal style, to carry back to the bedroom.
Arms clutch tightly around her neck and she kisses Brittany's sweaty forehead softly as they move into their bedroom, Santana stopping at her wife's side of the bed and setting her down before rounding and sliding onto her side, wiggling forward to move into the position of the big spoon. Her left arm winds around Brittany's waist and her hips fit into the curve of the blonde's wife, nose squashing against a pale shoulder blade and inhaling coconut and almost body wash, sighing at the fluttering inside of her.
But then, as always, Brittany turns over and shuffles forward, burying her head into the crook of Santana's neck, one arm coming between their body to rest by the pillow as the other absently toys with the ends of dark locks as she falls asleep.
Santana settles for resting her chin on top of her wife's head and closes her eyes, slowly drifting off to the sound of Brittany breathing.
//
Santana wakes up the next morning to the shrill sound of her alarm clock, and she seriously wishes she didn’t have to get up when she blindly slaps her hand around to turn it off and glances down. Because Brittany’s lying against her side, nose pressed to the underside of her jaw with an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and she’s naked too and just ugh, Santana really doesn’t want to leave.
But she has to. She's got a recording session in the studio with Quinn for one of the blondes new songs and if they’re lucky, they might be able to get it over and done with within a few hours so she can leave early. Assuming there's no major problems or anything.
So reluctantly she untangles herself from her wife, kisses her on the forehead and climbs out of bed, scowling to herself as she heads towards the bathroom.
The next day off she and Brittany have together is so going to be spent in bed together.
//
Quinn’s equally as grumpy as she is when she arrives at the studio, two extra large coffees in her hand and the last bite of croissant hanging out the side of her mouth. Her friend scoffs at her as she walks in the door, kicks it open with her foot and slides in quickly to ensure it doesn’t catch her on the back swing, and in response she throws Quinn an angered look.
“Well that’s attractive,” Quinn says, sarcasm seeping into her tone. “I can see how you’re married.”
“Shut up, Fabray or I’ll pour these scalding hot coffees over your head and burn your pretty little face. Let’s see if you’re still getting married then.”
Quinn crinkles her face, leaning against the control panel. “Off point today, Lopez? That comeback was kind of crappy.”
Santana scowls. “Give me an hour.”
“Whatever,” her friend says, grabbing the coffee when she’s close enough and peeling off the lid to let the steam free. “So what we doing today?”
“Your stupid song,” Santana grunts, placing her coffee down and swallowing her mouthful. She shrugs off her jacket and throws it over the back of the chair in front of the MIDI, slumping down onto the seat a second later and seeing Quinn’s confusion. “The one about swimming or whatever.”
“Swim Good,” Quinn corrects, taking a sip of her coffee before setting it down and slipping through the door to take her on the stool and behind the microphone. Santana rolls her eyes and shuffles forward in her chair, adjusting the settings for a few moments then holding down the speaker button so her friend can hear her.
“Okay, you’re good to go in three, two,” she mouths one and the instruments begin to play and Quinn’s head bobs to the beat.
Santana leans back in her chair, grabs her coffee cup and brings it to her lips, mind lost in the music.
//
Thirty four tries later and Quinn’s not fucking happy with how she sounds.
“It’s just a bit… I don’t know, low?”
Santana lets her back bow forward, forehead pressing to the table top not covered by the MIDI. “Fuck, Q, just record the damn thing how you want to.” It’s muffled into the wood but she knows her friend heard her.
“You’re my manager,” the blonde replies, poking her in the ribs so she jolts up, shocked. That’s her weak spot and Quinn knows that it scares the crap out of her when people poke her there. Bitch. “Fucking act like one.”
“I’m just tired. I had a late night.”
“I did, too. Had a party, remember?”
Santana sits back in her chair but there’s a smirk playing at her lips as she stares at her friend. “Yeah, Q, except after cleaning up you went to sleep and I was a little busier,” she says suggestively, but Quinn squints, not quite getting it. “I was having sex, Quinn,” she elaborates.
“Oh.” Fair eyebrows raise, and Quinn nods, but suddenly her face contorts with disgust. “Okay, no, didn’t wanna know that.”
“Just ‘cause I’m getting more than you are,” Santana retorts, still smirking. “But getting back to the work,” she sits forward and switches into business mode. “Can we just pick this up tomorrow? I’m tired and you haven’t even made up your damn mind about the tempo or pitch yet.”
Quinn shakes her head. “You’re whining like a little bitch, Santana.” Santana’s eyes widen at the insult. “But fine. I could do with getting back to Rach early.”
“Swear to God if you say anything about getting down with the hobbit I will rip your shit in half.”
Her friend chuckles and reaches inside the microphone room to flick off the light. “Whatever, let’s bounce.”
Santana side eyes her friend. “Let’s bounce? Q, you ain’t black.”
“Neither are you yet you still act all ghetto and crap,” Quinn shrugs as they both head out the recording studio, switching off the lights and machines as they leave.
“I’m blacker and more ghetto than you.”
“Whatever, Santana. Whatever.”
//
She calls Brittany on the way home, telling her she’ll pick up some dinner on the way home and Brittany tells her she has a surprise waiting for her.
That brightens Santana’s mood immediately and she almost skips picking up some Chinese in favor of heading home and finding out what the hell the surprise is, but the grumble in her stomach makes that urge sink and she heads over to Mr Chow’s and orders the usual for her and Brittany.
But then when she gets home and opens the door, she finds Brittany sitting on the dining table, wearing a purple, silk robe and from what she can see, pretty much nothing else and there’s a smirk on the blondes face that widens the more she toys with the tie wrapped around her waist.
Santana’s mouth immediately drops and she shuts the door behind her, kicking off her shoes. “Uh, hey. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Brittany purrs, her voice dropping into that low, sexy tone that shoots straight to Santana’s groin. She picks up a remote by her thigh and points it over her shoulder, clicking it and putting it down as the sound of Marvin Gaye’s voice flow into the room. “I just missed you.”
Santana can already feel herself pressing up against the zip on her jeans but she just stares, stares as her wife slides down from the table and walks towards her, legs gliding in and out with a dancers grace whilst her hands slowly untie the knot at the front of the robe. The fabric drops open and Santana almost passes out then and there because her thoughts are confirmed and Brittany’s wearing absolutely nothing beneath the robe.
“Did you miss me, too?” Brittany whispers, biting on her bottom lip and glancing up through her eyelashes.
Santana gulps and doesn’t even hesitate in dropping the take out bag in her hand and pressing their lips together, walking them back towards the dining table to lift her wife onto it and step between her legs.
The food can fucking wait.
//
She’s at the studio bright and early the next morning, and Quinn comes stumbling in with her blonde hair all over the place and eyes half-shut and clouded with fatigue. Santana chuckles and throws Quinn the energy bar she was about to eat, laughing to herself.
Her friend shoots her a death glare as she catches the snack. “What’s this?”
“Looks like you need it more than I do. You look like shit,” Santana shrugs, twisting in her chair to adjust the settings on the MIDI. “Now come on, eat that, drink this,” she blindly grabs a cup of coffee she bought from the cart down the road and holds it out, Quinn snatching it roughly. “Apologize for snatching and then get in there. I don’t wanna be here for weeks.”
The blonde scowls but glugs down her coffee and then shuffles into the microphone room to begin.
//
Later that night when she gets home, Brittany’s already in bed and she slides in behind her after changing, pressing against her back and dusting a kiss across the bare skin of her shoulder.
She’s about to nod off to sleep when her wife stirs and turns over, and begins to trail a line of wet kisses up her neck, hand drifting down her boxers to grab and stroke at her more than willing member.
“B,” she whispers, pushing up into the wandering hand with her hips. As much as she’d like to get it on right now she’s sure Brittany was asleep and she doesn’t want her wife falling asleep mid-sex. That’d just be embarrassing. “Aren’t you too tired?”
Brittany pulls back, eyes dark and hooded but hand never straying from its motions. “Are you?”
Santana shakes her head, groaning lowly as she gets to full length.
“Then me neither,” her wife says and presses their lips back together, tongue delving into Santana’s mouth as her thumb rubs over the tip of her cock.
Santana doesn't complain.
//
The second week comes and each day and night goes exactly the same way.
On one particular night after Santana comes home, they start snuggling on the couch and manage to last ten minutes before hands start wandering and lips start searching and soon enough Santana’s laying on her back and Brittany’s riding her, spilling the syllables of her name from her lips as Santana thrusts up and presses against that spot.
They make it to the bedroom at some point and after another round or two, Santana leans over Brittany and glances at the clock, collapsing back onto the bed and groaning when she finds the time. She really needs to get more sleep. She’s got to be up and out and in the studio in four hours and they didn’t even eat the damn dinner she bought because they got into the bedroom four hours ago and never left, which means she's got to leave enough time for breakfast, too.
Fuck.
Brittany giggles beside her and she rolls until she’s facing her wife, their noses, chins and foreheads pressing together.
“Maybe you should just get the day off tomorrow,” the blonde says, kissing her softly. “Just stay in bed with me.”
“I wish,” Santana mumbles against her mouth. “But Q’s already freaked about the song so I gotta keep supporting her.”
Brittany nods but runs her thumb over the tanned skin of a collarbone. “I know but, you’re gone for so long and I just miss you.”
“You have work, baby. You’re out most of the day.”
“I miss you at work, too, but I'm talking about nighttime," Brittany pouts. “I come home and you’re not here and it sucks.”
She presses her lips together in a tight line, sadness seeping through her chest. It’s only been two weeks but she didn’t realize Brittany missed her that much. She’s really got to find a balance between work and home. Too many times has she known people to get divorced because of an imbalance and that sure as hell isn’t going to happen to her and Brittany. Not if she can stop it.
“Okay, baby, how about this?” She gazes into blue eyes and runs her thumb over her wife's bottom lip, thinking of her idea. “Next day we both have off, we spend the entire day together. In bed or out or doing whatever we wanna do, okay?”
Brittany grins like it’s the best thing she’s heard in years and Santana sighs into the kiss she receives, rolling over and laughing against her wife’s mouth as she grows against the inside of Brittany’s thigh again.
//
Part 2 - Consequences
Quinn still can’t fucking decide on pretty much anything and by the third week it goes as far as the blonde freaking out about whether this song is actually worth recording, and whether it’s actually any good, and it takes Santana half a bottle of Jack and a good three hours of talking to calm her friend down.
See, she is a pretty kick ass manager.
By the fourth week, Quinn nails the song and they get through an entire session without any minor break downs or frets about the song, and by the end of the six hour session, the song’s finished. Sure, if they want to complete the album then they've got to do this like, ten or eleven times over, but the main single is done and dusted, and all Santana wants to do is celebrate.
"You, me, your hobbit and Britt for drinks down at Benji's tonight," Santana tells Quinn instead of asking her. "We're gonna celebrate by drinking way too much and dancing until we're sweaty."
The blonde rolls her eyes at the "your hobbit" comment but ignores it and nods at her. "I'm down for it. I'll call Rach now."
"And I'll call Britt."
They both pick up their phones and Quinn slips into the microphone room, shutting the door behind her whilst Santana stays behind the MIDI, flicking the speaker button of so she can't hear what her friend's saying on the phone. Thank God for that, Santana doesn't feel like puking over nauseating number one gushing to nauseating number two.
Anyway, she finds Brittany's name in her favorites―it's not exactly hard as it's the only one in the list―and clicks it, bringing the phone to her ear as she waits out the dial tone.
"Bonjour caliente... épouse."
Santana blinks and lets out a chuckle. "Really, B? French and Spanish in the same sentence?"
"Oh, crap. Are they different languages?"
"Yeah, baby. But hola hermosa esposa."
"You've got your lovey tone on so I'm going to assume you said something good," Brittany replies cheerily. "So, hey baby. What's up?"
Santana leans back in the chair. "You up for a night out? Quinn's four week long recording session has finally come to and end which not only means I get my day off with you tomorrow, but it also means we're going out tonight to celebrate."
"Oh, yeah! I haven't been dancing in ages." Brittany's voice is jolting a little and Santana can totally imagine her wife bouncing up and down in excitement. "Where are we going?"
“B, you can't say you haven't been dancing in ages. You dance for a living.”
“It's totally not the same thing.”
Santana rolls her eyes but chuckles, thumbing a crease in her jeans. “We're going to Benji's. That cool?”
“Awesome. When will you be home?”
After all this time, it still makes her smile when she thinks of 'home.' Where her wife is. Where her life is based. All with Brittany. “In a few hours, babe. I'll see you later.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
//
She gets home a few hours later and makes a beeline for the bedroom considering she's got two hours to get ready and she still needs to shower and wash her hair. The journey is quickly stopped when out the corner of her eye she finds Brittany lying on the couch, curled up with a hot water bottle pressed to her stomach.
“Britt?” She calls, making her way over there. “What's wrong, baby?”
As she rounds the sofa she sees that Brittany's eyes are squeezed shut, her entire face scrunched and Santana can tell she's in pain. She runs a hand over her forehead but doesn't feel any heat.
“Are you sick?”
Slowly, Brittany opens her eyes but winces and curls up into the fetal position. “Cramps,” she gets out. “They were real bad earlier but now I'm just waiting them out.”
“Aw, babe,” Santana pouts and kneels by the sofa, running one hand down to press on top of the hot water bottle gently. “Do you want me to get you some Midol?”
Brittany nods but whimpers half-way through and Santana leans forward to kiss her wife's temple before making her way to the kitchen. She returns five minutes later with a glass of water and two pills and sees Brittany sitting up, the hot water bottle still pressed low on her belly. She hands over the items and takes a seat beside her wife, one hand going to her thigh and her lips pressing to the bare skin of a pale shoulder as Brittany takes the pills and takes a long sip of the water.
“How long do they take to work?”
Santana lifts a shoulder. She didn't read the packet but usually all painkillers are the same right? “Like, half an hour, I think?”
Brittany nods and curls up beside Santana, legs folding beneath her and forehead pressed into the crook of a tanned neck. Santana leans back against the sofa, wrapping one arm around her wife and settles down, waiting out the cramps. “We don't have to go tonight if you're not feeling well, Britt.”
“I know,” the blonde says, kissing tanned skin. “But I want to and I know you won't go without me.” Santana smiles. “We haven't gone out with Rachel and Quinn in so long and I was looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, but if you're not feeling well then―”
“They're just cramps,” Brittany cuts in, pulling back to look into brown eyes. “They'll go. Seriously, honey. It's fine,” she smiles but Santana can tell she's still in a little bit of pain.
And Santana hates it, but knows there's nothing she can do and so kissing Brittany's nose, she leans back again and they wait half an hour before Brittany says the pains have gone and they start getting ready.
//
“You two are late,” Rachel shouts when Santana and Brittany climb out the cab and Santana hands the driver a twenty, telling him to keep the change. “And not fashionably so, either.”
Santana rolls her eyes and turns around, arm slipping around her wife's waist. “Shut your trap, short stuff. Britt wasn't feeling well.”
Rachel's face softens immediately and she turns to said blonde, ignoring the insult. “Oh, I apologize. Are you feeling alright now, Brittany?”
“Yes, thank you,” Brittany nods at her and shuffles closer to Santana.
And only Santana sees the way her wife's hand press gently against her stomach. The cramps haven't gone. They shouldn't have come out. But she doesn't have time to lean over and whisper that into Brittany's ear because Quinn's being let out of Benji's through the red rope near the bouncer and waving them over.
“Hey, guys,” she greets and kisses them both on the cheek. “I managed to get us a booth.”
Rachel grins at her fiancee and twists their arms together. “You are so amazing, Quinn.”
Bile rises in the back of Santana's throat and she almost makes a scathing remark about how nauseating they are but realizes that they're actually kind of cute in a weird way, and all the time Rachel's staring at Quinn, she isn't annoying the crap out of Santana so it's a win-win situation really.
“Awesome, so let's go in?” Brittany suggests and Santana looks at her, furrowing her brow for a second but then Brittany's kissing her quickly and the worry fades away as she's tugged into the bar.
//
As soon as they get in there, Brittany goes to pee with Rachel and leaves Quinn and Santana to get the drinks. They order the usual, some pink cocktail for Rachel, a Perfect Ten for Brittany―as always―and beers for them, and they head over to the booth where a guy in an all-black suit asks for their names and guides them to the correct one.
It's pretty cool; there's neon lights beneath the circular booth seats and at least nine people could fit in here, but that just means there's more room for Santana and Brittany to shuffle away from Quinn and Rachel when they get so drunk they lose all personal awareness and start dry humping inside the booth.
They slide into the seats, putting the drinks in front of them and lean back to relax, waiting for their better halves to come back from the toilet.
“What was wrong with Britt?”
Santana reaches for her beer. “Just cramps.”
“Oh,” Quinn's face twitches a little like she's uncomfortable. It's not like Santana doesn't know about periods. “Did she have some Midol?”
“Yeah, but I think she's still a little off. She wanted to come out tonight though, so I couldn't stop her.”
Her friend takes a swig of beer and she does the same, bobbing her head to the music playing overhead. “She'll be fine in a few hours. And if not you guys can go home. It's not like this is a proper celebration.”
Santana shrugs. “It took four weeks to do this, Q. I think that's worth of a drink,” she holds up her beer and chuckles when Quinn clinks hers against it.
A few minutes later, Brittany and Rachel come sliding in and they take their seats beside their girls, Brittany squeezing Santana's thigh and kissing her cheek as she picks up her drink and takes a sip. They all chatter for a moment, talking about the next songs they need to record and how long they'll take, Santana taking the piss out of Quinn because it's likely to be next November by the time they finish another few songs, but then she catches the way Brittany's scrunching her nose up at her drink in disapproval.
She ignores it at first, carrying on talking to Quinn and Rachel because she's always paranoid that something's wrong with her wife, but then somehow the conversation slides to the nauseating duo and Santana takes this opportunity to lean into Brittany's ear.
“What's wrong?”
Brittany shakes her head and licks her lips, but she's still scrunching her nose. “Try this,” she says, offering out the drink. “Does it taste weird?”
Santana eyes the drink warily, quirking a brow before leaning forward and taking a sip. She's never liked the drink but from what she can tell it tastes like normal. “No, babe. Seems fine to me. You want me to go get you another?”
“No, it's fine, thank you. I'm gonna go dance though. Dance with me?”
She doesn't have to ask twice before Santana's grinning and she's being tugged out the booth and lead through the dance floor, Brittany turning and looping her arms around a tanned neck as their bodies come together, hips fitting together perfectly. They dance and dance, and Brittany begins to smile and grind back up against her so she can't feel that ill.
Still doesn't completely settle Santana's concern, though.
//
A little while later when they're considerably worked up and hot, Santana trying to think of the least sexiest things in the world to stop the pressure in her groin region, they head back to the booth and find Quinn with her tongue stuck down Rachel's throat, hand grabbing her thigh and sliding up dangerously high.
“Okay, guys, seriously,” Santana waves her hand towards them. “I wanted to celebrate not test my upchuck reflex.”
It doesn't deter them though. They're probably been caught making out millions of times by Santana and it's actually getting pretty hard to come up with an insult, hence the weakness of her last one, and so she just slides into the booth again as far away from the tongue twins in the corner as physically possible, pulling Brittany onto her lap and staring up at her in complete awe. She's had a few beers and there's a comfortable lightness in her head, and Brittany just looks really fucking gorgeous right now. And it's not even the beer goggles. Brittany's just gorgeous in general.
“I love you,” she tells Brittany, wrapping one arm around her lower back and draping the other across the bare skin of her thighs, right below where her dress is riding up.
Brittany giggles and kisses her temple. “I love you, too. Do you want a drink?”
Santana shakes her head. “I want you,” she replies, smirking and leaning up to kiss her wife. It's slow and lazy, their tongues dipping in and out at a leisurely pace, long fingers sliding into dark hair and tanned ones thumbing the hem of Brittany's dress, resisting the urge to slip beneath it and Santana moans into her wife's mouth when Brittany nips on her bottom lip and pulls away. Okay, that totally didn't help with the whole groin region thing.
“I gotta pee,” Brittany says abruptly, hopping off Santana's lap.
“You've been like six times, already.”
Brittany shrugs. “I drank a lot of water today,” she replies and disappears into the crowd.
Santana just sits back and chews on the inside of her cheek. What's wrong with Brittany?
//
After Brittany comes back from her ninth visit to the toilet, Santana's more than concerned, and Brittany's looking a little peaky to say the least. As soon as she had disappeared to the loo, Santana headed up to the bar to grab a bottle of water since Brittany refused to touch another alcoholic drink, saying she was feeling a little queasy. So when Brittany comes back, Santana unscrews it and hands it to her, rubbing her lower back gently and trying not to focus on the unnatural paleness tinting her wife's skin.
Except it doesn't work and it's only a minute of watching later that she says something.
“You're not well,” she states.
Brittany doesn't even argue and nods weakly. “I don't think so,” she admits. ”Can we go home now?”
Santana doesn't hesitate in turning around and snapping her fingers between Quinn and Rachel's faces, breaking them apart and finding dazed hazel eyes staring at her. “We're going home. Britt doesn't feel well.”
“Is she okay?” Quinn asks, but she doesn't look too invested in the conversation seeing as Rachel's now trailing a line of wet, opened mouthed kisses down her throat. “Do you want us to come with?”
“Definitely not,” Santana retorts, pulling a disgusted expression when she sees Rachel's tongue poke out and lick up the side of her friend's neck. Gross. “Britt already doesn't feel well and she doesn't need you two making her feel worse with your revolting display of affection.”
“Whatever.”
She shakes her head but urges Brittany out the booth as her wife taps on Rachel and Quinn's shoulders and says goodbye to them, not leaning in to give them a kiss for two obvious reasons. Then they get up, Santana sliding her fingers through Brittany's and leads them out of the club and into a cab waiting by the side walk.
//
When they get home, Santana fetches some painkillers and a few bottles of water and they both head straight to bed, changing and slipping beneath the covers after Santana sets down the items on her wife's bedside table. They snuggle together, and Santana lies on her back, tracing patterns up and down the length of Brittany's arm as she stares at the ceiling, listening to the steady breathing beating against her neck.
Somewhere along the line she drifts off to sleep, and it's a while later that she's woken up to the sound of retching and vomiting. She rubs the ache from her eyes and climbs out of bed, padding along the hardwood floor towards the bathroom where she finds Brittany hunched over the bowl, one hand clutching her hair back whilst the other clamps onto the toilet bowl. She instantly helps her, taking over the hold on blonde hair and rubbing her back soothingly as Brittany continues to throw up into the toilet.
She stays silent, knowing that when she's thrown up in the past if anyone tried to talk to her she'd kick them out the bathroom, and just lets Brittany know she's there. It's only when Brittany finishes and rests her temple against the toilet bowl to stare at Santana that she says anything.
“I'll go get you some water,” she whispers and Brittany groans before twisting back to throw up again.
Barely thirty seconds later and she's returned, setting the glass down and reaching for a towel to dab at Brittany's forehead. She sits down cross legged, and returns to rubbing her wife's back and pouts when a whimper comes from the blonde, at the same time she slumps down to the floor.
“I think you've got a bug, baby,” she murmurs and Brittany's bottom lip quivers. Ever since they were kids Brittany's hated being ill. She's usually the most energetic person in the entire world and when she's ill, all that energy just drains straight out of her. “Do you wanna go to the doctors tomorrow?”
Brittany can't respond because she's too busy retching and clapping a hand over her mouth as she rises back to her knees to vomit, and Santana just feels so helpless but stays by her side and does everything she can.
Even though it's not a lot.
//
It gets to 4am and Brittany's stopped throwing up, but she's so worn out that she refuses to move from the bathroom and so Santana kisses her forehead and tells her she'll be right back. She heads into the bedroom, grabs two pillows and a blanket and walks back to the bathroom, propping one pillow against the wall and sitting down, back resting against it and legs stretched out in front of her, and the other pillows lies across her lap.
Reaching for Brittany, she softly tugs her over until her blonde head of hair is splayed across the pillow and then throws the blanket over her wife, not caring that it's not big enough for both of them or that she'll get cold and starts to rake her fingers through Brittany's hair, gently.
This sucks. Seriously. Tomorrow is their day off as well and now they won't be able to go out or do anything because Brittany's sick. And it's not like that's the only thing bumming Santana out because it's not. She hates when Brittany's ill. If there was any way she could get the virus instead of Brittany she totally would. She hates seeing Brittany suffer.
Maybe she should book an emergency doctor's appointment for her wife.
“Santana?”
Santana snaps her head down to see sleepy, blue eyes blinking up at her. “Yeah, B?” She whispers, using her free hand to cup a too-pale cheek.
“Thank you,” Brittany croaks and Santana laughs, shaking her head. Sometimes her wife is so adorable.
“For better or for worse, babe,” she repeats, letting the memories of their wedding vows wash through her.
Brittany turns into her stomach and nuzzles gently, hands reaching for tanned ones and threading their fingers together when she finds one. “For better or for worse,” she mumbles, drifting off to sleep a second later.
Santana leans down to drop a kiss to her wife's forehead and then settles back for a few hours of uncomfortable sleep.
//
“This is so not how I planned spending our day off together,” Brittany grumbles against Santana's stomach.
Santana brushes back a piece of hair and sighs. “I know, honey, but you've got to get better.”
“I know,” she groans and twists further, pressing her cheek to Santana's covered stomach. Their eyes meet and Santana smiles softly, her head tilting to the side. “This sucks,” Brittany whines, pouting and Santana would do literally anything to wipe that look off her face.
So she thinks of the only thing she can do and shifts, hooking her hands beneath Brittany's arms and tugging her up so her head's on the pillow. Blue eyes roam gaze at her, filled with confusion and she just waits, reaching down the bed to pull the comforter up and over their heads, burying them in darkness.
Brittany giggles and Santana smiles at the sound, shifting closer and pulling their bodies together, legs tangling down by the end of the bed. Her arms come around her wife's waist and she snuggles deeper until there's no space between them, and even though they're covered in darkness, Santana leans forward and finds Brittany's lips with ease, brushing her own over them once, gently, before her wife reels back.
“Don't kiss me,” Brittany says and Santana frowns and pouts simultaneously. “I'm sick.”
“Baby, I don't care,” she drapes her hand across a slim waist and nuzzles their noses together.
“You might catch it.”
“Then I guess you'll just have to look after me, won't you?” She grins and there's a pause before Brittany's kissing her, cupping her jaw and exhaling through her nose as Santana puts a little more pressure into it.
They kiss softly for a few moments, Santana dipping in and tasting toothpaste and mouthwash but not caring because there's still that underlying sweetness that's all Brittany, and Brittany sighs as the kiss slows and leaves them pecking at each other playfully. The lips on hers are warm and soft and even though this isn't what they had planned for today it doesn't matter, as long as they're together.
She smiles into the next kiss, threading her fingers through blonde hair to keep Brittany there and just thinks about how she has this forever.
And what a wonderful future she has.
//
Four days later and Brittany's still ill. She's still vomiting―admittedly not as much―but she definitely still is, but the weirdest thing about that is that she hasn't eaten so neither of them know what the hell she's throwing up.
But she supposes stomach bugs just do that, and so when the fifth day comes, Santana tells Brittany that if she's still throwing up tomorrow she's calling the doctor. The only reason she hadn't so far was because her wife begged her not to, telling her that doctors always managed to find a reason to keep you there, and so Santana sighed a small 'fine' and kissed Brittany goodbye as she headed off to work.
She really had no intention of going, but Brittany told her again that it was pointless her being at home and not earning money purely because she was throwing up. And after a long not-really-an-argument argument, Santana agreed to it and headed off to work the third day that Brittany was ill.
It didn't matter though. The entire time she was supposed to be listening in the meeting that discussed Quinn's album cover, she was staring at her phone and thinking of how she'd make Brittany feel better when she got home and if Brittany would kill her for calling a doctor despite her previous objections.
Brittany being sick has really started pressing on Santana and even though Brittany says she's feeling better, Santana can't shake this weirdness that there's something more.
On the third day Brittany was sick, and Santana had come home from her first full day at work in a couple of days, she found her wife in the kitchen making a peanut butter and Oreo sandwich, claiming that she had a craving for it. The whole experience was strange, but Brittany's done weirder things and so Santana just shrugged and asked her if she could make her one too. Safe to say it was in her top five most disgusting things that she's ever eaten.
The fourth day Brittany was sick, Santana came home to find Brittany in the bedroom completely topless, pushing at the her boobs and nipples and wincing. Shamefully, it'd made a flush scorch across Santana's skin because they'd been having sex every single night for the past four weeks and it'd been days since she and Brittany had slept together, but then her wife started crying and all thought of arousal just shot straight from her mind and body.
It was so weird because only moments later when Santana came back with a few tissues, Brittany was no longer crying but throwing her pajama pants across the room and saying how itchy they were. And Santana just stood there, mouth open and confusion racing through her.
So now it's day five and Santana's in the kitchen, cooking up some breakfast for her after leaving a frowning and mostly naked Brittany in bed, staring down at her stomach and claiming she's bloated despite Santana not seeing a single thing wrong with her body. She's still as smoking hot as she was when she wasn't sick.
“Baby?” She calls from the kitchen. “Do you want to try and eat a pancake?”
A muffled “okay” comes from the bedroom and Santana flicks off the stove, grabbing another plate from the cupboard above her and poking one onto the spare plate, whilst three lay stacked on her own. She doesn't know whether Brittany wants any maple syrup or anything with it, so she just drowns hers in syrup so if her wife wants some, she can just steal some off her plate.
She walks back into the bedroom, carrying both plates and the correct cutlery and nudges open the door with her foot, sliding in and smiling softly as her eyes meet crystal blue ones. Brittany's hands are pressing against her flat stomach as she sits cross legged on the bed and Santana pinches her lips up at the side, knowing her wife's thoughts immediately. But there's no point in trying to tell Brittany that she really doesn't look bloated, because the hormones have been so all over the place recently Santana could either be yelled at or cried at and she's not quite sure how to react yet.
Plus she's already said it like, fifteen times and Brittany hasn't believed her, so.
“Here you go, B,” she whispers, climbing onto the bed carefully and handing a plate, knife and fork to her wife before sitting down opposite, mimicking her position.
“Hmmm,” Brittany hums and inhales the food. “These smell good.”
Santana grins and nods. “Yeah, now eat up, sweetie.”
They both begin to eat, their kneecaps touching and eyes flicking up with each bite to smile at each other, and Santana begins to feel a little more at ease. She knows Brittany hates being ill but Brittany has never been ill for this long before―she always sleeps it off and recovers really quickly―and it's kind of worried her.
But now Brittany's showing a little more brightness and Santana loves it. So much so that she waits until she catches blue eyes again and swallows her mouthful before lifting herself to kiss Brittany, feeling the lips curl into a grin against her mouth. It's quick but meaningful and she bites back a smile as she pulls back. Even now kissing Brittany still manages to give her butterflies.
They finish their pancakes in silence―Brittany leaning over to swipe some syrup up for a few bites―and remarkably, Brittany actually gets through hers and manages to keep it down. It's the first piece of normal food―meaning not peanut butter on melon― she's eaten in days and Santana almost makes a comment about how Brittany puking was probably because she's been eating the weirdest mixes of food that wouldn't settle well, but she doesn't and instead grabs their plates, shoving them back onto the side table and crawls up the bed to sit behind her wife, arms wrapping around her waist and lips dropping small kisses to her bare shoulder.
“You feeling any better?”
Brittany rests her head back, twisting her head to kiss the underside of Santana's jaw. “A little. I reckon I'll be fine by the end of the week,” she says, resting her hands over the tanned ones laying across her stomach. “Then we can have a proper day off together.”
Santana hums in acknowledgment and lets her chin rest on Brittany's shoulder, turning every now and then to press a kiss to her cheek just because. They sit like that for a while, thumbs stroking over skin and chests rising and falling together in sync, but then natural calls and Santana groans.
“Need to get up, Britt,” she says, a soft, reverent kiss placed on the base of a pale neck. “Gotta pee.”
She slips out from behind her wife and makes her way to the bathroom, pulling down her boxers when she stands over the toilet. Her eyes search around the bathroom, looking for random things when something catches her eye and she actually freezes, mid-pee and everything, to stare at it. Her vision wavers a little and her heart begins to beat so loud she can't even hear her own breathing over it pounding inside her ears as she shakes and puts herself away, reaching up towards the item and holding it between both hands as she brings it to her chest.
And that's when it pops into her mind. That's when things start making sense.
Holy shit.
Her legs begin to lead her out the bathroom before she makes the conscious decision, and she stops in the doorway, mind registering Brittany lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling but eyes staying firmly locked on this item.
“Uh,” she clears her throat and swallows thickly. “Britt?”
Brittany shifts and Santana hears her breath hitch as blue eyes slide her way, finding the small box between her hands.
“When...” she trails off, mouth becoming so dry she's sure she can't speak, but she coughs again and glances between her wife and the box, trying to think of the right way to put it. “Um, when was your―your, um, last per―period?”
And then it goes silent.
//
Part 3
Brittany's clearly freaking out.
Her eyes are wide and Santana lets her eyes drift to find two pale hands reaching to press either side of Brittany's stomach, both of them finally registering the words and situation that might have arisen without either of their knowledge. She can feel heat spreading across her skin and not in the way she's accustomed too. This is panic. She's panicking and she knows she really shouldn't be because if she feels this way then how the fuck does Brittany feel.
She drops the box of tampons and quickly moves to Brittany, sliding onto the bed and sitting close to her, her hands finding Brittany's on her stomach and covering them. Brittany's eyes are clouded and dazed, and Santana can't help but stare as her eyebrows knit together, unsure of how she feels.
Are they ready for this?
For a baby?
Her heart almost stops beating right then and she's not sure how she feels so panicked but strangely relieved at the same time. She knows they had a discussion about this a few months back after that fight... But she didn't think they'd be seriously considering it so soon.
Shit.
“Britt... I... What―” she stutters and tries to wet her lips but fails. Her mouth's so dry she's not sure a gallon of water would help her.
“But I'm...” Brittany's mouth parts as she whispers the word, her eyes finally coming back to look straight into Santana's. “I'm on... I mean―I'm on the pill.”
Santana's eyes widen and she nods, not entire sure why the hell she's nodding. Her face feels so hot right now, her cheeks spiking with heat but she's not sure how that's possible because the moment the thought, the possibility popped into her head, all the blood drained from her face.
They're both speechless and they stare at each other like one will come up with the answer, but then Santana thinks about it, like really thinks about it and without conscious thought, her gaze is dropping down to Brittany's stomach, to the tanned and pale hands still pressing either side and something inside of her flutters. A sound comes from her throat, halfway between an exhalation of air and halfway between a croak, and Brittany's eyes bore into her own when she looks up, trying to read her.
“You...” She pauses when crystal blue eyes begin to gloss over, fearing she's said the wrong thing. One hand comes up to cup Brittany's cheek and she stares into her eyes, trying to think of the right thing to say.
Usually she can read her wife like a book. It's somethings she's always been able to do but right now, she can't seem to pick up on a single thing. Not an emotion or a flicker or fucking anything, and Santana has this desperate need to know what's going on inside Brittany's head.
“We need―We need to get you a preg―” the word makes her breath catch but she clears her throat, pushing through it. “We need to―to make sure.”
Brittany's staring at her but it doesn't feel like she's really looking, and Santana can feel her own perplexed expression on her face as she processes the events that have just arisen.
Brittany might be pregnant. It makes sense. All the symptoms of Brittany's illness points towards it; cravings, throwing up, cramps, hormones. It makes perfect sense and Santana gets into this weird daze as she thinks about it more and more, wondering what this means. What's going to happen from now? Their one and only conversation didn't really lead them anywhere. It didn't have a final decision about the future, it was just left open and now she knows they've got to discuss this. They have to now.
But first, they've got to make sure of something.
“Shall I...” she can't seem to finish a full sentence without interrupting with some bodily function and blinks, shaking away the overwhelming amount of thoughts in her mind. “Shall I go and buy you one?”
It takes her running the pad of her thumb over Brittany's cheek to grab the blonde's attention and Brittany just ends up nodding weakly, like she's not sure what's going on. Santana doesn't think she's seen her wife like this, even when they were 'just best friends,' and honestly, it's scaring the crap out of her.
Standing on shaky legs, she mindlessly picks up a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and begins to change, sliding her belt through her buckle and tightening it when she's finished. Her neck twists and eyes search without choosing to and she glances back at Brittany, who's still sat still on the bed, frozen and void of any emotion and she just has to do something. She has to because she's not sure what's going on.
Is Brittany distraught? Disappointed? Angry? Upset? Santana doesn't know and it's killing her.
But now isn't the time to ask. Now isn't the time to act on what she wants and so she walks back to the bed, whispering to Brittany to get back beneath the covers and that she's going to be back within ten minutes and Brittany just slides into bed, her eyes still clouded and body tense.
And with a kiss to her forehead, Santana leaves the apartment and heads for the market.
//
With two pregnancy tests bought and in a paper bag in her left hand, she walks back to the apartment, suddenly feeling very conscious that everyone has suddenly gained x-ray vision and can see inside the bag. It's stupid because they can't, and it's not like she should worry anyway because she doesn't know what's going to happen from now. But that makes her worry more: not knowing.
Does Brittany want a baby? For that matter, does Santana want a baby?
She knows she was staring at that woman in the supermarket a few months back, wishing that Brittany was carrying a piece of both of them inside her, but was that just a temporary craving?
And now that it's actually here, does it mean something complete different to back then? This is way more serious now.
Shit.
How are they be able to cope with it if Brittany is pregnant? When will they have the discussion about it? They've only been married for a few months and sure, it feels like forever already but is it too soon? Will Brittany even want to keep the baby?
Her thoughts are so muddled and overwhelming that she ends up walking the wrong way home and it takes an extra five minutes to get home, but she gets there and then it hits her. It hits her so hard she reaches that freezing stage Brittany was at when she left and stills on the stoop, staring blankly at the door whilst her hand grasping the key hovers by the lock.
This is actually happening.
She's actually just bought two pregnancy tests because Brittany might actually be pregnant.
Holy crap.
Her son or daughter might be growing inside Brittany at this very moment.
(She tries not to smile.)
//
It takes her another ten minutes of standing there, riffling through her thoughts and trying to go through every possible path that might occur when she goes inside, whether it's an abortion, or keeping the baby, or even putting it up for adoption, for her to get moving once more.
Her heart clenches at two of those paths, but it smiles at one of them.
Cautiously, she slides the key into the lock and twists it open, pushing the door open and stepping over the threshold, inhaling Brittany and warmth and home. Her heart flutters and she throws her keys into the bowl to her right as she kicks the door closed behind her.
She's pretty much shaking as she walks through the apartment, discarding her jacket and throwing it somewhere before entering the bedroom. She pushes the door open cautiously and finds Brittany lying down in bed, curled up above the covers now, one hand pressed to her stomach and the other wiping tears from her eyes.
Panic immediately shoots through Santana and she drops the paper bag onto the dresser before bolting over to her wife, sliding in behind her and hugging her close to her body. Kisses, small and soft press to pale skin as Santana slips her palm down over Brittany's, fingers sliding between long, slender ones and pushing gently into the fabric covering toned abs.
“I'm here,” she whispers, feeling her wife's body wrack with sobs. “I'm here, baby. We'll be fine. We'll be okay.”
Brittany turns over and presses her face into a tanned neck, nose nuzzling the skin there as Santana adjusts and shuffles further into the other girl, dropping kisses into blonde hair. She lets Brittany cry for a little while, just calming her down with small murmurs of “I love you” and “I'll be here no matter what” just to let her know. She doesn't know how her wife feels. She doesn't know how she's reacting and it's making her freak out but she won't show that. Not whilst Brittany's like this.
//
A few moments later, Brittany's body begins to slow down, her shoulders no longer jolting as she cries against Santana's neck. They lay there together, curled up into each other and Santana swallows against a thick layer covering her throat, nervous for what's to come. The paper bag is still on the dresser, staring at her mockingly and she doesn't know how to feel.
She wants to have babies with Brittany. There's no question about that. She wants the sleepless nights and the erratic hormones. She wants to look after Brittany when she cries and be there when she just wants to shout. She wants the panicked run to the hospital and the hours of labor because she knows at the end, she's going to get some perfect out of it. Something that's hers and Brittany's, and something that's come from Brittany.
And nothing can be more perfect than that, in her opinion.
(Apart from Brittany of course.)
But she doesn't know if she wants that now. She doesn't know if Brittany wants that now. It might be too soon.
Rubbing her hand up and down her wife's ribs, Santana rolls onto her back, pulling Brittany with her until the blonde's draped over her body. She just listens to her wife's breathing calming down, and how she sniffles and uses the hand by her face to wipe the drying tears away. She lies there and listens, and stares at the ceiling, wondering how to approach this.
Except she doesn't know what to say.
“Santana?”
Her eyes widen at the sudden voice and she tilts her head down to look into blue eyes. “Yeah?”
“Did...” Brittany takes in a shaky breath. “Did you get one?”
Santana bites her lip and nods slowly. “I got two. Just―you know, to make sure.”
Brittany stares at her with red eyes and keeps the hold for a long moment before bobbing her head, swallowing and rolling off. Santana's following her not a second later, a step behind as the blonde walks towards the dresser and reaches out with a quivering hand to grab the paper bag, her breath stilling as she peels it open and takes a peek inside.
Silence is all that is around them as Santana waits. She knows she needs to be patient even though everything inside of her just burns with the need to know. But she won't give into that. This isn't about her and what she wants. She isn't the one that might be pregnant. She isn't the one that might be carrying a baby for the next nine months or the one that might be taking a trip to Planned Parenthood and coming back with something less than she got there with. She'll be the one standing by the side watching and trying to help but failing since there's nothing she can do.
Oh, God. This is actually happening.
Santana sucks in a deep, shaky breath at the thought.
“I'm gonna―I'm gonna go and...” Brittany trails off, eyes dropping to the bag to finish the sentence she can't.
Santana steps forward and cups her cheek. She doesn't know what to do. Should she go in with Brittany whilst she takes the test? Or should she give her some space and privacy and just wait in the bedroom, instead? She doesn't know. So she asks, instead.
“Shall I wait out here?”
Blue eyes gaze into hers, whilst Brittany chews on the corner of her lower lip and thinks about the answer. She's clearly deep in thought and Santana still doesn't know what to do. And frankly it's sort of pissing her off. Why doesn't she know? She thought if the time came she'd know exactly what to do, to say, to make Brittany feel better, or to take some of the pressure off but she doesn't.
And she doesn't know whether that's a good or a bad thing.
Fuck.
“Yeah,” Brittany finally answers, the uneasiness in her voice evident as her eyes dart between brown ones. “I have to do this on my own,” she whispers afterward, mostly to herself, Santana thinks. “Is that―Is that okay?”
Shocked that she's being asked that, Santana sort of just stares blankly for a moment, trying to think whether that's okay. She knows that this is definitely to do with her so she should have some input into the matter at some point, but at this stage? The not knowing part? She doesn't know whether she's allowed to say anything.
So she just makes this weird, throaty sound that sounds like a confirmation, but she knows it might not come across like that to Brittany and begins to move her head up and down in a strange, awkward half-nod. Her hand drops from her wife's face and squeezes at her hand grabbing the bag as she takes a step back, letting Brittany step past her and she just observes as Brittany heads towards the bathroom, head dropped and eyes most probably focused on the bag she's carrying.
And when the door closes, Santana does all that she can not to collapse onto the floor and manages to get to the bed, dropping down onto the edge and burying her face into her hands.
The next few minutes are about to change everything.
//
Even though it's only several minutes of wanting, it feels like hours.
Santana sits on the bed, feeling her stomach twist with nerves and hands shake, too and just thinks about her wife on the other side of the bathroom door. With a deep breath she picks her head up and flops back to the bed, legs still dangling off the edge as her elbows stick up in the air and hands come back to cover her face.
This is so hard, just waiting and thinking. She doesn't know what's going to happen, and her thoughts are too wild to even consider what might happen. She breathes out steadily, trying to keep her heart rate down but failing as she listens to the intense thumping. She can't even imagine how Brittany's feeling because Santana herself is a nervous wreck.
Never once has she imagined this situation. She thought many times about having a baby with Brittany and their future with children, but all those thoughts were filled with what comes after the birth. She never thought about the finding out, the conception or the actual birth itself. And fuck, she's seen childbirth. She remembers sitting in the back row with Brittany in high school watching some gruesome video that was way too graphic for a bunch of thirteen year old's, and quivering at the detailed scenes on TV, selfishly glad she'd never have to go through it herself.
She's heard how painful the birth is and she doesn't want Brittany to go through that, not if she doesn't want it. She can't imagine Brittany being in that much pain and Santana having absolutely no method of making her feel better.
It's awful. It really is. Santana feels so helpless and she wants to be there for Brittany, but she doesn't know how.
Swallowing hard, she scrunches up her face and lets out an angry growl, pushing up from the bed and pacing around the bedroom, one hand cocked to her hip and the other on her forehead, fingers pinching her temples. Her facial muscles are aching from ages of frowning and worry, and she doesn't know what the hell she's doing, just walking around like this.
But shit, she's being so selfish for thinking like this. It almost makes her want to punch herself in the head because Brittany's alone, in the bathroom, peeing on a stick that in a few minutes will forever change both of their lives. Maybe even their relationship.
Pregnancy wasn't in there short term plan. They're only 25 for God's sake. Sure there are other couples in the world's with children, Santana was freaking staring at one mother who must have been younger than her a few months back but that doesn't mean they're ready.
Yeah, okay, that whole staring thing led to an argument with Brittany, but she explained everything. She explained why she was staring and it all turned out okay because they decided not to have that conversation there as it was too early, and decided it could be something pushed until a later date. Instead they traded cute little comments and ended up rolling back onto the bed, laughing into a kiss.
Little did they know though that later wasn't as far in the future as either of them had thought.
Her thoughts are so muddled and powerful that she doesn't hear the bathroom door open behind her, and doesn’t even notice Brittany's now come out until she hears her name being called. She spins round urgently, heart jumping and jolting and she rushes to her wife, stopping in front of her and letting her eyes roam around Brittany's face.
“Did you do it? Did you do the test?”
Brittany's bottom lip begins to wobble and her eyes begin to water, and Santana's heart almost stops as her wife begins to nod sheepishly, lifting something between them. It takes a few seconds for brown eyes to drop to Brittany's hands, but then she finds them, two sticks clutched inside a pale hand, the little screen revealing the result covered by slender fingers.
Her eyes grow wide and her body almost stops functioning altogether. She knows right there, not more than ten inches away is the answer that'll change her life. Their lives. She swallows heavily and looks up, stomach twisting nervously and the lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger.
“Did you...” she croaks out, unsure if Brittany knows the answer already. Her lips are so dry at this point and her heart is beating so fast that she can't focus on words or the ability to speak. So many scenarios are playing through her mind and she's looking at Brittany who couldn't look more terrified if she tried, and she doesn't know if she even wants to know the answer. “Do you know?”
Brittany's mouth drops open but no words come out. Tears begin to slowly trail from her cheek and Santana panics. Is that a yes? Do the tears mean Brittany's pregnant? And if so, do the tears mean Brittany's unhappy about being pregnant?
Oh, fuck. Santana's so not ready for this.
“Yeah,” Brittany whimpers, voice so small she almost doesn't hear it. “I know.”
In the corner of her eye, she watches a pale hand rise further between them and fingers begin to release the stick, ready to reveal the answer but Santana moves quickly, wrapping both hands around the sticks and the hand, and stops, eyes boring straight into blue ones. She needs to say something before Brittany does it, because no matter what the answer is, she needs to tell Brittany this.
“I love you, Britt,” she sputters. “I love you and I'll never stop, no matter what happens from now. Whatever you want to do, with this,” she squeezes Brittany's hand to emphasize the meaning. “I'm going to support you. I love you and I...” she swallows, not knowing what to say. “I just love you and I need you to know that.”
They gaze at each other for a long moment and Santana watches as Brittany nods, jaw clenching as she pulls her hand out from beneath tanned ones and brings it between their chests, uncurling her fingers until the screen is visible.
And Santana can't breath. Her eyes are still locked on Brittany's face and she knows she should look down―she wants to look down―but she's frozen. Her vision is blurring and she can feel the pressure coming down on her like a ton of bricks, and she sucks in her lips, holding a deep breath as blue eyes flicker down and back up to meet deep, brown orbs again.
Then Brittany just says it. Straight up. Without even a stutter or hesitation.
“I'm four weeks pregnant.”
The words hit Santana like a baseball bat to the gut and she chokes, mouth dropping open and eyes bulging out, finally peering down to look at the tests to find two blue lines on each and a little four in the corner before coming back to take in the expression on Brittany's face. Her blue eyes are frightened. They're frightened but happy and Santana sees none of the confusion or panic she sees before. This time as she stares into her wife's eyes she can see the happiness and joy at the announcement before Brittany even has time to say it and she exhales through a smile, it coming out as a grin.
Brittany's pregnant.
Brittany's fucking pregnant, and the best part, Brittany's fucking happy about this. She's fucking happy which means they're keeping it.
Shit. She's going to be a mother.
Santana chokes out a few more puffs of air, her lungs unable to function properly, before her stomach begins to move and shoulders begin to shake and then she's grinning. She's grinning because they're having a baby. They're having a baby and she never thought anything could feel like this because fuck, this is amazing.
Instantly her knees buckle and she crouches to the floor, her face burying into Brittany's stomach and arms wrapping around her legs to hug her closer. She presses as many kisses to her wife's clothed abs as possible and squeezes her eyes shut, feeling fingers rake through her hair and nails graze gently over her scalp, whilst Brittany's stomach move with her laughter.
“We're having a baby,” comes from above and Santana pulls back to look up at Brittany who looks so overjoyed that she can't possibly control her emotions and shoots up from the floor, throwing her arms around her wife's waist and picking her from the floor, spinning her around in a circle as they both laugh and smile.
Fuck, they're having a baby.
Hands clutch at her shoulders and she slows down the spinning when they slide up her neck, her own hands dropping to Brittany's ass to hold her up as long legs wrap around her waist, adjusting into a more comfortable position. Forearms press into her shoulder blades and clutch her closely and she buries her face into Brittany's neck, now standing in the middle of their room with Brittany in her arms and they're both so fucking happy she can't even begin to explain it.
She reels back to stare at her wife, and Brittany's grinning so widely that Santana's heart flips and flutters at the sight and she glances down between them to her wife's stomach just because. There's a baby growing in there. Their baby growing in there and holy shit, she's so fucking happy she could cry.
“I love you,” she chokes out, a second before Brittany comes towards her and kisses her softly. She presses harder into it, wetness beginning to trail down her cheeks and she pulls back with a sniffle, pale hands reaching for her cheeks to wipe away the tears of joy that she didn't know were there.
“I love you, too, baby,” Brittany replies, still smiling, her eyes brighter than ever and Santana just shakes her head and brings their mouths back together, kissing her wife.
Because Brittany's pregnant. And it's the most amazing thing ever.
//
“You're pregnant.”
It still feels so surreal to say that, even as they're lying in bed, Brittany on her back and Santana further down the bed, ear pressed to her wife's bare stomach where it has been for the past half an hour, after she'd insisted that she needed to introduce herself to their baby without the blockage of clothing. Her fingers trace mindless patterns across toned abs and Brittany giggles above, stroking through dark hair with a gentle touch.
“Are you ever going to stop saying that?” The other girl jokes, her body shaking with the chuckle that follows.
Santana twists her head, chin now resting on her wife's stomach. “Nope,” she pops the 'p' and grins. “I just can't believe it.”
“Neither can I,” Brittany breathes. ”It just doesn't feel real.”
She knows exactly what Brittany means and presses a kiss to soft skin. “We're actually going to start a family, Britt Britt,” she breathes, grinning at her own words. “We're going to have a little Lopez-Pierce running around.”
Brittany bites down on her lip but the smile can't be hidden. She chuckles and the grin spreads so wide across her face that Santana has to kiss it, so she shuffles up, nudging long legs apart and settles between them, supporting herself on her hands either side of blonde hair, her own dark locks curtaining around them, and drops her head to suck Brittany's bottom lip into her mouth.
Pale hands slide down her back and around her ribs, squeezing gently as Santana opens her mouth against Brittany's and lets Brittany's tongue stroke against herself, making a low moan come from deep inside her chest.
They kiss, long and slow, and so, so deep, and minutes pass just like that, their kisses only growing longer and deeper, until Brittany smiles against her mouth and the kiss is broken. She pulls back, eyebrows frowning a little but lowers herself, her entire body pressing down onto Brittany's and forearms digging into the mattress as their noses brush against each other, kissing because their grinning mouths can't.
And then they opens their eyes, smiling at each other and taking in the words and thoughts that flash behind each others expressions. Santana begins to think about the future where she and Brittany are going to be in a few years, sitting in their house outside the city, on a loveseat on their decking, watching their children run about in their back yard, chasing after their golden retriever.
And she can't help but smile.
Because she knows what the future holds for them, and as she shifts to the side and lowers one hand to press her palm against Brittany's stomach, she knows she can't wait the future to begin.