#in other words this is the closest to a slow burn I'll ever get lmao

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 24/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter]

Chapter Summary: The Nutcracker has its last show; Santana and Brittany spend Christmas Eve together. 

Notes: We’re Almost there fam! Also the actual George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker doesn’t stop after Christmas and goes up to December 30th at least, but just for simplicity’s sake I’m taking artistic liberties and in this universe the ballet’s last show is today.

Chapter 24: watching old movies while the fireplace fades

///

The last show of the production’s run is at two, but Brittany still gets up early to help Mercedes finish up the last of her packing. She’s leaving with Sam as soon as the show is over tonight to head back home until New Year’s, her and Sam heading to her parents’ place first and then his; usually the company and crew will have a wrap-up party as soon as the last show is done, but with it being Christmas Eve and all, this production of The Nutcracker usually skips that tradition so everyone has more time with their families and has it sometime between Christmas and New Year’s.

Mercedes is just zipping up her suitcase when Brittany wanders into her room, yawning and absently pulling her messy hair up into an even messier bun. “Nee’ ‘elp?” she mumbles.

Mercedes giggles and rolls her eyes. “You’re only wearing one sock,” she comments mildly.

Brittany looks down, too tired to feel surprised, and shrugs. “Lefty was too hot,” she says nonchalantly, and Mercedes bursts into giggles. “I’ll help you take your stuff out to the living room.”

Mercedes hefts her suitcase off of the bed and motions to the pile of wrapped gifts in the corner of her room, all neatly packed into couple of reusable grocery bags. “You can grab those.”

“What time is Sam picking us up?” Brittany asks as she trails after Mercedes.

“Like, nine thirty-ish?”

“Cool,” Brittany says, “I’ll have time to tidy up then.”

“Why?”

Brittany feels a blush creep into her cheeks before she can even think to try and hide it, which probably would have proved useless anyways, since Mercedes has, like, hawk eyes when it comes to Brittany’s embarrassment.

Mercedes, sure enough, looks back and instantly spots Brittany’s blush, her grin taking on a wicked edge. “Oooh, is your girlfriend coming over?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Brittany mumbles automatically, but even as she says the words it kind of feels like she’s lying.

“In all but name maybe,” Mercedes says, and Brittany has to concede her point.

“The name part of that is kind of important,” Brittany argues as she drops the presents beside Mercedes’ suitcase.

“Maybe,” Mercedes concedes, “But the feelings part is pretty important too, and that’s definitely there.”

Brittany smiles a little, almost involuntarily, as the thought of being in love with Santana still fills her with bright warmth, and hums in acknowledgement. “I invited her to spend Christmas Eve here since neither of us had any plans.”

“I’m happy for you, Brittany,” Mercedes says softly, and Brittany grins bashfully down at her toes, too distracted by the warmth blooming in her chest realize that Mercedes has started smirking at her. “Just don’t christen any public places please.”

“Mercedes!” Brittany squeals, patting at her cheeks as the blush burning there flares up into an inferno.

“And make sure you kids stay hydrated and well-fed, you don’t want to run out of energy.”

“No no no!” Brittany shrieks, fleeing backwards towards the bathroom, her skin burning bright red from forehead to collarbone, “I take back anything I ever said when you and Sam got together!”

Mercedes smirks because, considering the teasing she got back then, there's no way she's going to give Brittany a break now that she's in love. "Make sure you're safe!" she calls.

“Oh shut up!” Brittany calls back before slamming the bathroom door shut.

///

Even though it’s Christmas Eve, the theatre is surprisingly—or not so surprisingly—packed, people already starting to filter into the lobby even as the company and crew take their last lunch break of the show’s run an hour before half hour. Brittany’s always antsy for last shows, both excited for it to be over so she can finally rest (and, this year, spend the evening with Santana) but dreading it because it means that there will never be another show like this, with this particular group of dancers and kids and crew, ever again.

Santana brings her lunch from that sandwich shop she loves, the same place she bought lunch for them that very first time, kickstarting their almost daily lunch and supper dates. Santana doesn’t bother with any pretences, just sinks down to the floor right beside Brittany, taking her left arm and draping it over her shoulder so they can cuddle and eat. Mercedes, Sam, Tina, and Mike all show up about halfway through their break with an assortment of food between all of them, sprawling on the floor to complete the circle in an impromptu picnic and fondly teasing Brittany and Santana as soon as they all realize their spending Christmas together.

Every single time Mercedes catches Brittany’s eye she feels heat crawl up into her cheeks at the knowing glint there. Santana seems to notice something tense—not bad tense, just the knowing and teasing tension when you know your friend is laughing at you across the room—and quickly takes Brittany’s free hand, as soon as they’re both done eating, and pulls it into her lap to play with her fingers, tracing the webbing between each finger and pressing down on her knuckles like piano keys. It eases the blush from Brittany’s cheeks and softens the teasing glint in Mercedes eyes, and Brittany soaks in the feeling of being surrounded by so much love, from her friends and from Santana, before the chaos of the last show overtakes them.

///

The audience is electric during Brittany’s last performance, knowing it’s their last chance to see this show until next year, and Brittany dances better than she ever has before, knowing that Santana is hidden in the curtains watching. She dances for the audience and she dances for herself but, mostly, she dances for Santana, for the woman who brought laughter and love into her life, who brought her family to her, who brought her love of Christmas back.

Her bow goes on longer than normal as the audience cheers for her, and she’s breathing quickly as pride fills her limbs in place of heavy exhaustion. She exits the stage to continuing applause, waiting in the wings for Jake to go on and do the opening of the Coda before she joins him. She feels someone watching her, and a smile tugs at her lips before she even turns to catch Santana’s eye, and the smile on Santana’s face makes her stomach flutter with about a bajillion butterflies, her chest blooming with warmth and love.

Santana shakes her head a little, still smiling softly, as if she can’t quite believe that Brittany’s real, and Brittany gives a small wave, feeling her heartbeat everywhere, before she turns back to the stage and prepares to join Jake for the Coda, Santana’s gaze heavy and warm on her back as she steps back into the lights.

///

Mercedes helps her out of her costume and unpins her hair quickly so she can rush off to meet Sam and they can try and beat the rush out of the city back to her parents’ house tonight; since it’s the twenty-fourth already, nobody has to pack the show back up into storage until after Christmas.

Mercedes gives Brittany a tight hug before she leaves, still continuing her teasing and making Brittany blush all the way to the tips of her ears as she chases her best friend out the door and runs straight into Santana, who quickly gives Mercedes a brief hug goodbye before turning to Brittany with a wide smile.

“Hi!” Brittany greets brightly, pretending her skin isn’t splotched with pink despite Santana’s adoring gaze on the blush in her cheeks.

“Hey,” Santana says softly. She’s already dressed in her jacket and has a small bag of overnight stuff in one hand, wearing the scarf and hat that Brittany had lent her last week and tying Brittany’s stomach into knots at seeing her own clothes on Santana. “You ready to go?” she asks.

Brittany nods and they just smile at each other for long moments—Brittany taking in this moment, this feeling, this girl—before Brittany turns to shrug on her jacket and collect her things. Santana stands patiently by the door, waiting until Brittany’s locked her dressing room before she reaches out to take her hand, their fingers tangling together easily as they head down the hallway, Brittany quickly easing Santana’s bag from her other hand so she can carry it for her, not missing the smile Santana gives her or the way her stomach ties itself into warm knots at how couple-y it feels.

They wave goodbye and wish Merry Christmases to their friends as the pass them on their way out of the theatre, deciding to walk back to Brittany’s apartment since it’s still pretty nice out despite the snow that falls in gentle swirls of white as they step out onto the street, dusting Santana’s borrowed hat in a thin layer of white and sparkling in her dark lashes. Santana glances up at Brittany and smiles, bright and unabashed and dimples-deep, before looking forward again with that breathless, flustered look she gets when she blushes. Her cheeks are a little pinked, from the cold or her blush Brittany’s not sure, but it makes liquid warmth pool in her stomach, so happy and so in love that she doesn’t know how anything in the world could ever feel better than this.

Her attention is drawn across the street where two men hold the hands of a little boy, helping him take a couple stumbling steps before swinging him into a high arc, his giggles bright with childlike innocence even across the lanes of slow moving traffic.

“He’s cute,” Santana says beside her, drawing Brittany’s eyes back to hers.

“You’re cute,” Brittany says automatically but sincerely. Santana rolls her eyes a little but doesn’t even bother to bite back her smile. “We should stop on the store on the way past. We can get something for supper and maybe, like, baking stuff or something?”

“Baking?” Santana teases, and Brittany shrugs a little.

“What? I may be a disaster in the kitchen when it comes to baking but I know you aren’t,” Brittany says with a smirk, “Tina told me.”

Santana gasps over-dramatically. “What a traitor!”

Brittany just giggles and tugs a little on Santana’s hand in hers, pulling them even closer together and soaking up this feeling of unbridled joy.

///

The grocery store is insane, but they’re in no rush so they just wander the aisles leisurely, dodging over-excited kids and frantic parents and slow old couples, giggling at everyone rushing around despite the fact that they both just feel comfortable and relaxed.

Santana carries their two bags of groceries and snacks since Brittany still has her bag, and they tangle their fingers together again as soon as they step back out into the weak winter sun. It’s already past five, but they’re still in no rush as they head back to Brittany’s apartment, discussing their plans on which Christmas movies they have to watch and which ones they’ll skip.

Brittany takes the groceries from Santana and drops them off in the kitchen, directing Santana to turn the tree on and set up the living room for their movie marathon, before heading down the hall to drop Santana’s bag off too. She stands in the hallway for a long moment, fighting an internal debate before she finally pushes her door open and drops Santana’s bag by the dresser; she’s honestly not being presumptuous, because Mercedes offered her room if needed, she’s just being hopeful.

By the time she gets the groceries put away and a couple hot chocolates made, Santana is already snugged up on the couch, one blanket over her lap and the other around her shoulders, the lights turned off except for the Christmas tree and the television screen; she’s already figured out the DVD player and the empty case to Home Alone sits on the shelf of her and Mercedes’ combined collection.

Santana brightens as soon as Brittany comes into her view, shifting around until she can lift both blankets up for Brittany. It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but eventually they get settled against each other, curled under the blankets, without spilling a drop of hot chocolate. Santana quickly hits play on the DVD remote before tossing it onto the coffee table and taking her mug from Brittany.

“I used to watch Home Alone every single year,” Santana says quietly, a nostalgic smile on her face, “And I kind of want to restart that tradition.”

“But you’re not home alone,” Brittany teases.

Santana tries to give her a smug smirk but her eyes are as soft as her voice, “Maybe I want to make some new traditions.”

And, really, what can she say to that without shouting her love from the rooftops? So instead she just cuddles further into Santana and sips her hot chocolate.

Even though they start out sitting under the blankets, as soon as they finish their hot chocolate they end up laying out on the couch, Brittany flat on her back with Santana sprawled on top of her, repurposing Brittany’s breasts into her own personal pillow, and the blankets wrapped around them. Brittany ends up spending more time watching Santana and playing with her hair than she does watching Santana’s favourite Christmas movie, but watching Santana is her favourite thing so it’s a pretty fair tradeoff.

Her mom calls about three-quarters of the way through Home Alone and Santana lifts herself off of Brittany just enough to reach the remote and pause the movie before cuddling back into her while Brittany talks to her mom and curls a strand of Santana’s hair around her finger, and it feels so domestic that she can’t imagine doing anything else for the rest of her life.

After Home Alone they take a break to make supper, giggling the entire time as they weave around each other in the kitchen and end up spending more time laughing than they do eating.

Brittany runs to the bathroom while Brittany sets up another movie, laying back on the couch and waiting for Santana to see her choice.

Santana’s gasp is as satisfying as Brittany thought it would be as she grins up at the ceiling, waiting until Santana rounds the couch to stand in front of her, blocking out the dim lights from the Christmas tree and the title screen for Gremlins on the television.

“Brittany!” Santana whines.

“Santana!” Brittany teases.

“I swear to god, Brittany, if I get nightmares from this,” Santana threatens toothlessly.

Brittany just giggles and tugs Santana down to the couch with ease. She falls onto Brittany and instantly softens and sighs in contentment as Brittany wraps both her arms tightly around Santana and draws her further into her embrace, nuzzling into Santana’s hair until she can kiss her forehead.  “I’ll chase the nightmares away,” she promises. Santana’s breath hitches and she presses a kiss to Brittany’s collarbone, making Brittany’s skin burst into burning goosebumps at the feel of Santana’s soft lips on her skin.

“You better,” Santana mumbles into Brittany’s neck, waiting until Brittany reaches for the remote to play the movie before she nuzzles herself as close to Brittany as she can and still see the television.

Brittany thinks her heart might just burst from loving Santana so much.

///

They fall asleep sometime in the middle of Gremlins, waking up hours later to the twinkling Christmas lights against the night sky Brittany can see through the window, the television having automatically turned itself off after so long.

Brittany trails her fingers along Santana’s back and sides, drawing swirling patterns into the warm body above her with just enough pressure to gently wake Santana, who just cuddles further into Brittany instead of waking fully.

“We’re real party animals,” Brittany teases.

Santana grunts and nuzzles her nose into Brittany’s neck. “Saving it for New Year’s,” she grumbles.

Brittany laughs and feels a smile curl against her neck in response. They lay there for a couple more minutes until Santana finally emerges from Brittany’s neck, propping herself up on one elbow, the blanket falling from her shoulders, and glancing across the living room before gazing down at Brittany with the softest look on her face.

“Hi,” Brittany murmurs.

Santana’s eyes are liquid and dark and basically hold the secrets to the entire universe. “Hi,” she whispers, nodding her jaw towards the television with a small smile but not dropping her gaze from Brittany’s, “It’s eleven-eleven. Make a wish.”

Brittany glances to the side and sees the bright red time glowing on the television box thing that she never remembers the name of. She smiles and closes her eyes, wishing for the one thing she wants more than anything, the only thing she’s wanted all month.

“Did you make your wish?” Brittany asks after long moments of silence, her eyes still closed and her body feeling Santana along it even better with her lack of sight. Santana hums in acknowledgement and Brittany smiles blindly. “Good,” she whispers, “I hope it comes true.”

“Oh, I have a feeling it definitely will,” Santana murmurs, and the feeling of her thumb brushing along her cheek finally draws Brittany’s eyes open, fluttering at the sensation.

“Mine too,” Brittany whispers.

“Oh yeah?”

Brittany nods slowly, one hand stilling against the small of Santana’s back and the other one sliding along her shoulders under waves of dark hair, her fingers almost brushing the nape of Santana’s neck as Santana sighs and tilts her head down a little.

Santana’s face hovers a scant few inches above her own, the lights from the Christmas tree painting her skin in splotches of faint blue and red and green. One of Santana’s hands curls against the fabric of Brittany’s t-shirt, plucking and worrying the fabric between her fingers, her eyes caught on the peak of Brittany’s cheek but not actually meeting blue eyes.

“You’re nervous to kiss me,” Brittany realizes.

“I mean— Kinda?” Santana says sheepishly, “Not like nervous nervous but like— I mean we’ve literally been trying for forever and every time we do we get interrupted and now I’m worried that we’ll keep getting interrupted or it won’t be—”

And then—

Then Brittany slides her hand a little further up and guides Santana’s lips to her own, her rambling cut off by the gentle pressure of Brittany’s mouth moving slowly against hers. Santana’s lips part under Brittany’s and she lets out this breathy sigh into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s soul trembles with the weight of Santana’s lips against hers. Santana tastes faintly of chocolate, but something sweeter and deeper, and she tastes of summer nights on the west coast, bright and warm.

She tastes like home.

Santana’s fingers trail across her face as she presses closer, and Brittany feels both steady and like she’s about to float away, like everything over the past week, over the past mouth—probably over her entire life—has built towards this moment, like this is exactly what she was made to do. Santana’s lips move against hers with all the time in the world, like they’re stuck in a traffic jam with nowhere else to go, her lips soft and pliant against Brittany’s, eyelashes fluttering against the peak of her cheek, noses nudging together, and Brittany smiles into the kiss because this—

This is everything that Brittany’s been looking for her entire life.

She pulls back just far enough to press their foreheads together so she can try and breathe properly, but with Santana’s nose still nuzzling against hers that proves impossible. “Are you still nervous?” she whispers.

Santana doesn’t answer, she just uses the hand on Brittany’s jaw to guide their lips back together, and then they’re both smiling into the kiss, too wide for it to be anything more than all teeth and no finesse. Brittany lets her hand drift from the small of Santana’s back and start to wander her body under the blanket, the other playing with the baby fine hairs at the back of Santana’s neck.

Santana lets out a fluttery little sigh into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany can’t help but press up to kiss her harder again, and again, and again, and again—

///

When Brittany wakes up hours later in her bed, it’s to Santana drawing hearts on her bare stomach. Her fingers are light and soft against her skin and Brittany’s breath hitches; there’s no intent behind Santana’s touch, she doesn’t skate her fingers suggestively lower or higher, she just trails her fingers across Brittany’s skin with quiet marvel, and it jolts something in Brittany. No one’s ever touched her just for the sake of touching her and mapping her body before, just to connect the freckles and moles sprinkled across her torso into constellations, just to map each scar and imperfection that puckers her skin.

No one’s ever touched her just to learn every inch of her skin against their fingertips.

Santana realizes that Brittany is awake when the hand Brittany has curled over her waist starts lazily scratching at the soft skin there. She turns her head up towards Brittany and, even in the dim of the middle of the night, she can see the softness to Santana’s smile, the shadow of a dimple in her cheek, the love shining in her eyes, and something buzzing and warm tugs low in Brittany’s stomach as she falls in love with Santana all over again.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Santana’s smile widens a little. “Hi.”

“Merry Christmas,” Brittany says, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of dark hair back behind Santana’s ear. She’s not sure exactly what time it is, but by the time they managed to untangle and stop kissing long enough to pull themselves up off the couch and stumble down the hall, the bright red time glowing on the television box thing had read 12:34.

Santana smiles and nuzzles into the hand that cups her jaw. “Merry Christmas,” she returns quietly.

Brittany leans up to press a soft, probing kiss to Santana’s lips, chaste and intimate all at once. “So did your wish come true?” she asks as she falls back to the pillow.

Santana nods and her smile loses its softness and takes on that playfully teasing look Brittany so adores. “Well, I wished that we would finally actually get to kiss without being interrupted, and, well,” she drags her hand down the bare skin of Brittany’s ribs to make her point and they both burst into laughter, Santana’s head dropping down to Brittany’s shoulder as they giggle. She presses a lingering kiss to the soft skin there and Brittany’s breath hitches as Santana props herself back up on her elbow, her other hand trailing circles on Brittany’s hip, and smiles softly at her. “What about you?” Santana whispers, “Did your wish come true?”

Brittany softens until she feels like she might melt right through her bed at the sweetness to Santana’s expression. She takes a moment to trace a heart on Santana’s hip before she smiles up at Santana. “Yeah, it did.”

Santana trails her hand up Brittany’s torso, skating her fingers against her breastbone and dipping into the hollow of her collarbone before she reaches Brittany’s face and cups her jaw, leaving a trail of buzzing heat in her wake. She leans down to press the softest of kisses to the corner of Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s pretty sure her soul trembles at the contact. Santana draws back just barely enough to speak, her half-lidded eyes softening and the very tips of her lips brushing against Brittany’s chin as she speaks. “What was it?” she whispers.

Brittany just tilts her head up to press their lips together, both of them sighing at the contact.

“You,” she breathes, “Just you.”