Snow Snow Snow, a glee fanfic

The wheels of the plane touch down on the runway and you let out a sigh of relief. You're here, your long weekend can begin. You glance over and find her taking a deep breath, trying to center herself. She was a fidget. For almost the entire flight she was a fidget. She bounced her knee and flipped through her magazine so fast that she didn't read it.

She's nervous.

And beautiful.

And silly.

You knew you wanted to bring her home with you. You knew the second you met her that she was it, but you waited.

And you wooed.

And you courted.

And you dated.

And now you're here eight months in and you're home with your girl. The girl that you love. The girl that you want to spend the rest of your life with. She's here with you meeting your family for the first time. Meeting your friends for the first time. Experiencing winter for the first time.

You couldn't believe it when she told you that she'd never really seen snow. How can someone never really see snow ever in 28 years of life? But she was born and raised in Los Angeles and she traveled but never really went anywhere snowy.

The way her dark eyes look when she steps out of the airport and sees the snow falling, piled up on the ground… it is magical.

It is everything.

You feel your heart clang, clang, clang inside looking at her. Watching her look at the snow with wonder, awe. It is even better than you imagined when you thought about it.

She is full of a giddy excitement that immediately took over the nerves you could see during the plane ride. No, now, now she's like a kid at Christmas.

A silly little mouse.

Your silly little mouse.

You don't know if you've ever loved her more.

You don't know if you'll ever reach full capacity of love for her.

You never want to.

She does that thing you love on the ride to your parents' house.

That thing where she's so cute you don't know how everyone doesn't see it. You don't know what to do with her.

She opens the window and lets the cold air rush inside the car, just so she can hold her hand open and try to catch the snowflakes.

Her giggles set your soul alight.

And you'll blast the heat and bundle up for the next four days if it means she'll be this happy driving around your stupid little hometown.

It's not Los Angeles.

It's not even close.

But it's home.

It's the place that built you. Shaped you.

The place that holds so much of your heart, your past.

You want her to love it. To love it in the way she loves you, imperfections and all.

You run around and open the door for her after you park in the driveway of your childhood home. She grins and blushes, never fully expecting that you'll do these things for her.

But you'll keep doing them because you love her.

You want to give her the world.

You don't want her to get used to them because the look of adoration she gives you always makes your heart soar.

You just wish she wasn't always so surprised.

Your love isn't surprising. It's constant.

She steps out of the car and her wonder is renewed. She drags her hand along the snowy bush and gathers a fist full of snow. You watch her clench it in her naked hand, feeling the way her warm palm melts the cool snow. Her eyes are so big, so full.

She holds the snow until it melts all the way and grabs another fistful off the ground. You watch her roll it into a ball and you know what's coming but you don't try to stop her. You feel the thud of the snowball hit your chest and you just smile at her, laughing at her smirk.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Miss."

"Oh yeah, what are you gonna do?"

"I'll never tell. But remember, I'm used to the snow. I know its secrets." You step closer to her and grab her hand, pulling her into you. You kiss her before she can respond. Her cold hand cups your cheek and you nip her lip in response.

"Bring it." Her whispers land on your lips and she twirls away from you. You let her.

Her nerves reappear on your front porch. Her hand grips yours for dear life when you knock on the door. You squeeze back letting her know you're here.

Grounding her.

When your mother pulls her into a hug before she even greets you, you feel a rush of gratitude. You see her stiffen before she relaxes and smiles and warmly returns the greeting. Your father rushes out to grab the suitcase at your feet and pulls you into a hug.

You'll never get tired of your father's hugs.

When he sees Santana he smiles and winks at you, offering her his hand and shaking it firmly before pulling her in for a hug as well.

Pierces have always been huggers, it's written in your DNA.

You're inside and sitting at the kitchen table with hot chocolate and snacks before you know it. And she's clutching your left knee under the table for dear life. But you use your soft voice and you send her looks whenever you can to soothe her.

You don't know why she's still so nervous. Your parents are just as enchanted as you are. They let her guide the conversation. They don't pepper her with questions, but ask you instead. They tell embarrassing stories from your childhood and teenage years. They talk about how they met and fell in love.

And you can feel her relax with each minute.

And you can see her happiness grow with each story, each tidbit about your life before her.

And you can feel the love radiating from her, keeping you warm.

She examines your old bedroom the same way she examines everything.

Her brow furrowed and quizzical.

Her eyes wandering everywhere.

A smirk firmly implanted on her face.

She's pleased.

She giggles at old pictures of you on your dresser, faded posters of boy bands come and gone, your old cheerleading outfit still hanging in your closet.

Her eyes flash when she lands on a picture of you and your old boyfriend. She makes a comment about his guppy mouth, wondering how he didn't vacuum your head clean off your body. You laugh along with her, because he did have a giant mouth, but mostly because her little showing of jealousy is kind of cute.

And when you look at her you know she's not really jealous.

And you feel your heart fill, fill, fill.

And you know no one will ever come close to her ever.

And she knows it too.

When you get her to come quietly for you in your bed, the bed you dreamed about love in for so many nights, you think you might burst with all the things you feel pulsating through the room.

And when she hovers over you and ushers you over the edge, you see stars.

It's hushed and quiet.

It's soft and sweet.

It's reverent and so special.

And you wonder how you never knew what you were missing until she came into your life.

And if your soul knew that it was her all along, when it kept you up in this bed with hopes and wishes of a grand love.

And when she kisses you, you feel the entire universe all at once.

But you also just feel her, her, her.

You drive her around town the next day and she holds your hand over the console, stroking her thumb over your hand. She asks quiet questions and listens to your stories about each place you show her and why it was significant.

She sees the place where you fell off your bike and cut your chin, she's familiar with the small scar.

She sees the tree behind which you got your fist kiss.

She sees the schools that shaped you, taught you.

She hears the story about that time you threw up in front of everyone in the hallway because you were too sick to get to the nurse.

And she looks at you.

And she hears you.

And she squeezes your hand and absorbs all these little things about you.

And you would talk to her forever. Tell her everything there is to know and more. You just keep going, keep opening up for her in ways that surprise even you.

The way her brown eyes sparkle with love and something else makes your heart sing and your stomach swoop.

Your stomach has been on a permanent roller coaster since you met her.

Since you first touched her. That click.

Endless swoops and loops and highs.

You don't ever want to get off.

Your parents treat you both to dinner at your favorite restaurant. They're enamored and now that she's not so nervous anymore she opens up. Her wonderful, flirty, sparkly self is on full display for them and you're so incandescently happy. She even joins in when you start teasing your little sister, who followed you out to LA, not wanting to miss out on the fun or be far away from you.

When your father asks if you're nervous about your high school reunion the next night you shrug it off. You're not really nervous. You know she is, but you're not. You're looking forward to it, actually. Walking in with the hottest girl you've ever seen on your arm. The one that calls you baby, and honey, and every pet name you could ever think of.

You can't wait to see the jaws drop, really.

She's hot.

You're hot.

You're hot together.

She'll charm the pants off everyone and leave them wondering how she picked you. Like you wonder every day of your life.

Your parents force dessert on you even though you're going out for drinks tonight with one of your oldest and best friends. You can't wait for her to meet Santana. You've told her so much about her, gushed really, and you just want them to meet.

Hopefully without some of the embarrassing stories from your formative years. Well no more than she's gotten out of that brat of a sibling.

When you walk into the bar you see your friend standing there waiting for you. The hug you receive is big, strong, long. One of those hugs that fully communicates everything you're feeling, that reaffirms life and love. Santana receives a hug as well, something that she'll have to get used to with you around.

You see her eyes widen in surprise, and then relax. When she looks at you, you feel like your heart could fly.

And she laughs all night.

And she smiles at you so bright.

And she cocks her eyebrow when she hears your embarrassing stories.

Like she's hiding them away inside herself, to keep in her Brittany box.

When your friend pulls you aside as you're leaving and whispers her approval in your ear, you think your smile might break your face.

She pulls you into her again in bed that night.

Something about being intimate with her in the place where you grew up, the bed you grew up in, feels sacred.

It haunts you.

It awakens something inside of you that you didn't know was there.

It feels better than it ever has before.

And you know, you know, you know.

You can see it in her eyes, everything that she's feeling for you. You can feel it in her touch, the reverence she takes with your body. You can taste it in her kisses, the loving way her lips dance with yours.

She takes your breath away.

You want to give it all to her anyway.

You would if she asked.

And she doesn't need to whisper I love you before she drifts off in your arms because you can feel it. It's tangible, real, thick in the air, but she does.

She always does.

When you find her the next morning, she's sitting at the table in your shirt with a steaming cup of coffee and an open photo album.

You groan.

Her smile is soft, bright, her eyes teasing.

Your mom is chattering away in the corner about something or other while she gets breakfast ready, but you're focused on the girl in front of you.

The one who makes your heart beat, beat, beat.

And the way she's looking at you… you just have to kiss her.

And you do.

And it's short and sweet.

But you still feel the sparks.

You still feel everything you felt last night only magnified.

You can feel your mother smiling at you as you sit down and narrate the photos before you, a warm familiar hand on your thigh gently squeezing, thanking you. That spark still there.

Her face is bright and red when she pulls you outside.

The backyard of your parent's home is a blanket of white. Untouched by anything. Soft and pure.

"I want to make a snow angel." She whispers in your ear.

Her breath hot on your face, sending shivers down your spine.

"Ok. Anything you want, S."

And she giggles when she sits down in the snow.

And her eyes are so wide and wonderful.

And you feel warm all over, the cold an afterthought.

And when she shoves a handful of snow down the back of your coat before running away you don't even care, because her squeal of delight makes your insides sing.

You can't take your eyes off her legs in that dress.

She's walking in front of you into the hotel and you're entranced.

Her skirt is just the right length. Her shoes are just the right height. And you can't stop looking.

Her ass doesn't look too bad either.

Fantastic, even.

And you swoon, swoon, swoon, because how is this perfect creature yours?

When she looks over her shoulder to find you, her eyebrow raised, her lips pouty and parted, you almost die right there.

Butterflies. Butterflies everywhere.

And then she holds her hand out for you, waiting for you to take it, and you didn't think it could get any better, but it just did.

And when you walk in and see the football star you had a crush on who would never give you the time of day drool over the two of you, it's icing on the cake.

Because it's not just about her looks.

Or her legs.

Or her physical appearance at all.

It's just about her.

And how she's become your thing.

Your favorite thing.

And it's not about showing her off to everyone else. It's about showing her who you are, and how she fits into your world now.

How she's slowly become your world now.

You're staying in the hotel tonight. You surprised her with reservations because she deserves something special after putting up with your parents all weekend. You want to be able to hear her moan freely, order room service, lounge around naked.

Plus, this hotel is swanky and you've always wanted to stay here.

You don't get to go on many fancy dates in LA due to your schedules and it depresses both of you.

Even though you love your non-fancy dates.

And ordering take out and staying on the couch dates.

And the so tired but need kisses first dates.

And really just any time you spend together at all.

Fancy is fun. And hot. And leads to really great sex.

And the way she looks at you in the elevator going back up to the room, you know you made the right call.

That look, that look of hunger, lust, pure desire, you've seen that look before. But every time you do it makes your stomach drop to your knees and your palms buzz with energy.

You hope you never get used to it.

Because it sets your whole being on fire every time.

She follows you into the hotel room and walks over to the desk, dropping her purse and sliding out of her shoes, never taking her eyes off you.

And you're rooted to the spot.

And when she moves over to you and turns around, pulling her dark hair over one shoulder and asks you to undo the zipper on her dress, your hands have to remember how to work.

And then it's just skin, skin, skin.

And you want to kiss her, lick her neck, nibble her ear.

But you can't move.

And she turns around and smirks that smirk at you. The cocky one you love, love, love, and she pushes you towards the bed with her eyebrow cocked and her eyes dark, dark, dark, and you let her take the lead.

You will follow her wherever she wants to take you.

And she takes you so high you think you might float away if it weren't for her grounding you to the earth. To her.

And her kisses are wild.

And her hands are sure.

And her heart is crazy.

She is relentless.

She ravishes you.

She adores you.

She worships you.

And you let her.

And you feel everything for her.

Everything you ever thought you could feel and then more.

And when you finally have your way, her eyes are deep, dark, vast.

Melty.

And the noise she makes when she breaks shatters you.

And only she can pick up the pieces.

And she'll put you back together better than anyone ever could. Ever will.

And you know, you know, you know.

You're meeting a few of your friends again for brunch at the hotel the next morning.

You are both reluctant to get out of bed, to leave your cocoon, to pull on clothes and be part of society.

You spend too much time in the shower, not willing to leave your new bubble, not wanting to stop kissing her lips, stop thrusting into her.

Her lips are so full, so luscious, so soft.

Her moans of pleasure so hungry, so satisfying.

You see the way she looks at you as you pull your shirt on, you know exactly what she wants.

You wish you had time to give it to her. Again. Your fingers twitch with the desire, remembering how wet she was, how tightly she clenched around them not minutes ago.

Your best friend laughs at you when you walk into the restaurant late and holding hands. You know you have a love-sick look on your face and you don't even care. You also can feel the hickey on your neck, it'll be spotted soon enough you're sure.

You'll take the teasing.

You'll take the teasing forever because it's her, her, her who has you floating.

And she is so worth it.

You stop back at the house to get the rest of your things. Your mother sad to see you go, starts guilting you about not coming home more often, your dad tells her to stop.

He pulls you aside, while your mother hogs your girlfriend. He pulls you aside and hugs you in that way that makes you feel like you're five again.

And he whispers in your ear, "Your grandmother's ring is yours… when you're ready. Just say the word."

And your heart stops.

And your voice catches in your throat.

And you meet her eyes across the room and you feel that burn again.

And you wonder if it's written that plainly on your face.

And if she can see it too.

Because you want to ask her, you know now more than ever.

You take the long way back through town to the airport.

You want to bask in this small town reverie for a little while longer.

You want her to see the snow as much as she can.

"Britt! Look! Look at that field!"

You giggle, "I know about the field, San. I used to go sledding there."

"Can we stop? Look it's so big and pretty…I just want to step in it."

"We can stop."

She gives you that smile, that one that makes you feel like a billion dollars. And she kisses your cheek.

"Thanks, baby."

"Don't you dare, Britt. We have to get on a plane soon."

You see the glint of fire in her eyes, the challenge. It's her challenge that spurs you on. You know she's baiting you but at the same time you know she's warning you. You make a quick calculation in your head and decide to throw caution to the wind, running at her and wrapping your hands around her waist as you tackle her into the snow.

Her squeal makes your heart sing.

And she's underneath you struggling, and squealing, and voicing her displeasure but you know it's for show. You know that she's delighted. You know that she wanted to play in the snow so much, but she couldn't bring herself to ask you. She is the absolute silliest.

Her arms try to shove you off, but you just laugh.

"Fiend!"

"Fiend?"

"You heard me! You are a fiend, Brittany Pierce."

"Hmm…I like that."

"I don't want you to like it, I want you to get off of me!"

Your head tilts and you look at her with that look, "Are you sure that's what you want?"

And when she meets your gaze you see her thoughts change. You lean down to kiss her before she can say another word, and the warmth of her lips and the cold tip of her nose send you into overdrive.

You've never loved anyone as much as you love her.

Her arms stop trying to fight you off and wrap around your neck, pulling you into her, into your little snow pile. Part of you can't believe you're really doing this, making out with your girlfriend in the snow like a couple of teenagers. The other part, the other part knows, knows, knows.

When you break away you can see the effect you have on her. Her flushed cheeks could melt the snow around you.

"Hi."

"You look really pretty right now."

Another blush. Another small smile. Another kiss.

She starts giggling and you have to stop your kisses, "I can't believe you tackled me in the snow, you ass."

"Meeee?"

"Yeah, you. You're an ass."

"Never."

"Always."

And you smile and she pulls you to her lips again.

And you don't care if your clothes are wet.

And you don't care if you have to suffer through another long boring plane ride.

Because she's here.

And she makes you feel like anything is possible.

And she loves the snow.

And she loves you.

A/N: it started snowing like crazy and this is what happened. Thank you everyone for your support on all my crazy ideas!