forever falling in love with fictional ladies. +
The first time she says it, they’re both breathless and sweaty, and well, she doesn’t really say it.
They’d been rehearsing for Rocky Horror all week, and after playing peeping Toms on Mr. Schue and Ms. P - a little weird, Santana admits, but she’d gotten to spend time with Brittany, so whatever - Brittany pulls her into an empty classroom and hops up onto a desk, sliding to the edge and invitingly tapping the space beside her. Santana pushes herself up to sit next to Brittany, shoulders bumping and thighs touching.
Brittany leans in, smiling. “That was fun,” she breathes out.
"It was creepy. They’re like, forty.”
Brittany presses her nose against Santana’s shoulder in protest. “Touch-a, touch-a, touch-a, touch me,” she sings softly, her legs swinging to the rhythm.
Santana picks up Brittany’s forearm and rests Brittany’s wrist on her lap. While Brittany continues to half-sing, half-hum the song, Santana brings her fingertip down against Brittany’s skin, gently marking her. She traces the letter ‘I’ near Brittany’s pulse, shakily outlines a heart, then finishes up with a curved ‘U’.
Brittany doesn’t seem to notice. Santana stares at Brittany’s arm, imagining the lines she’d pressed into Brittany’s skin. One day, she promises herself, she’d work up the courage to say them out loud. One day soon.