A/N: Sequel to "Not With A Fizzle". This is girl!peen smut, guys. Not for everyone. Just a fair warning. But it's 75% fluff, so there's that. Enjoy.

She can't stop staring at the ring on her left hand. It weights there, heavy and familiar, as though she'd always had it but just now noticed its presence. Santana's pinky is entwined in hers, and she brunette notices her staring, if only because she keeps lifting their linked fingers so she can see it more clearly.

"It's not going anywhere, B," Santana murmurs, bumping her with her hips as they walk down the empty halls of McKinley. "At least I hope it's not. Second thoughts?"

Brittany shakes her head vigorously and brings back of Santana's hand to her lips, pressing a kiss there and then holding it to her chest possessively. "Never. I just like the way it looks. Like I belong to someone now."

Santana smiles and leans over to place an awkward, moving kiss on Brittany's cheek. "You've always belonged to me, Britt-Britt. And I belong to you. The ring is just a way of showing everyone else what that means to us."

Brittany frowns and once again looks down at the solitaire on her finger. "It doesn't mean anything? It's just for show?"

Santana is used to Brittany's inability to distinguish what she says and what she means. With anyone else, her patience would have long since expired. But Brittany is placating. Even in her flightiness, she has a calming effect on Santana. No one – not even she – can explain it. In the end, she finds, it doesn't matter why. What matters is that she needs Brittany as much as Brittany needs her. They're two sides of the same coin. Brittany knows that. She's all about the big picture. Small details, like rings, escape her. That's where Santana comes in.

"The ring is a symbol," she explains as they round a corner and come up to the gymnasium. "For people who are on the outside to see how much we love each other. But if you took it off, it wouldn't change how we feel. I'm going to marry you, ring or no ring. But I'd really like for you to keep it on. So everyone knows that you're mine."

They wander through the heavy double doors of the gym, the expanse carrying every sound they make and echoing it back at them. Santana leans against the bleachers and pulls Brittany close against her side. She pans from one end of the gym to the other, studying it, remembering.

"Fourteen feels like a long time ago," she notes. "We were hardly that old the first time we walked into this gym, to audition for Sue."

Brittany smiles, recalling the day fondly. "Everyone left crying except you, me and Quinn."

"Damn right," she smirks in reply. "It's tough being this talented."

The sarcasm is lost on Brittany, but Santana doesn't mind when the blonde nods seriously. "It's a lot of responsibility. But we did good, didn't we, San? We won nationals twice before we left Cheerios."

Santana sighs, a pang of regret creeping up her spine. Cheerios would have guaranteed Brittany a scholarship, and a ticket out of this town, if they'd stuck it out. Without it, she'd been waitlisted because of her grades. Talent alone doesn't get you into Juilliard or UCLA. Santana, on the other hand, had been accepted at NYU and Columbia, due in equal parts to her grades and her Hispanic heritage. Santana wasn't unaware of the fact, in a mere twelve weeks, everyone assumed she would be leaving Lima – and Brittany – behind. But the ring meant separation was no longer an option. Even the thought of it makes her stomach knot involuntarily. So, she supposes, the ring does matter more than that. It's commitment. A commitment she realized a long time ago she was ready to make.

"Yeah, B," she says, looking at Brittany instead of the empty gym. "We did good."

She doesn't want to linger long here, rehashing old wounds, so she takes the ringed hand in hers and they keep walking, touring the halls like visitors instead of two girls who had lived there for four long years. They pass Mr. Schue's Spanish classroom and giggle over the game they had invented to get through the boring hour, where they teased each other under the table until they were caught or one needed to be excused. Standing at the door now, Brittany behind her with her lithe arms wrapped around her waist, Santana feels warm fingers pushing up the hem of her shirt, running casually across taut abdominals and dusting just barely under the waistband of her khakis. Santana sucks in her breath the when tightness in her stomach extends down to her groin, and her pants become just a little tighter.

Brittany always won the teasing game.

"Come on," she pants, pulling at Brittany's wrist and reluctantly separating it from her body. "There's one more place I want to see before we go."

Santana leads her fiancé – god, she loves that word – down the hall and stops outside a door. She peers inside and tests the knob, finding it unlocked. She pulls Brittany behind her and closes the door, locking it.

"What are we doing in the choir room?" Brittany asks, her eyes adjusting to the low lighting. The tiny windows at the top of the back wall reveal the nearly-set sun, and limit the light entering the room further.

"This is the first place in this entire godforsaken town where I felt safe," Santana murmurs, staring at the trophies the club had accumulated over three years together. "With you, with the glee club. I knew who I was here. Everything else… I was never comfortable in my own skin until we started glee. I learned how to accept this part of me that I couldn't change. The glee kids, even with their annoying ability to turn everything into a soap opera, let me love myself… all of myself."

Brittany creeps up to her in the darkness, the whites of her eyes glimmering as the street lamps flicker on outside. "I've always love all of you, San. Even the things you hated. Especially the things you hated." Soft hands find her waist and hips press gently into hips, and Santana doesn't need to ask what, specifically, she's referring to.

"This is also the place where I realized how much I loved you," she whispers, her lips tracing the hollows of Brittany's neck. "Do you remember that day sophomore year, when Kurt sang 'A House Is Not a Home'? I offered you my pinky and you took it, and I just knew, right then, that you were it for me. You're my home."

Brittany's hands travel to the small of her back and together they stand in silence, their bodies flush against one another's. Soft lips kiss down the side of her face from her temple to her jaw before they whisper, "C'mere."

And she feels herself being pulled further into the room, to the two chairs on the back risers, exactly where, two and half years before, she'd found her love. Brittany sits her down in one, and rather than taking her place beside her, Brittany straddles her hips and sits on her thighs. She presses their torsos together, their lips duskily caressing skin on cheek and neck. The skirt Brittany had worn for the ceremony rides up her thighs, and Santana helps the process, pushing the hem up until she feels the lace edges of barely-there panties. Brittany's pelvis grinds down on her, and Santana can't stop the rush of blood to her groin. From within her khakis, behind the tight boxer briefs meant to shield her anomaly from the rest of the world, she feels herself swelling.

Brittany notices as well, and she lets out a little giggle into Santana's throat. The weight of the blonde on her legs lifts for the briefest of moments, and Santana watches as Brittany slips a hand between them to lift her skirt and shift those panties aside, revealing a shining wet center that makes Santana's mouth go dry.

"I don't have a condom..." she whispers, her fingers going on instinct to Brittany's slit, running up and down the length of it while her thumb presses gently against her hooded clit.

Brittany's breath hitches and she arches into Santana's hand with tiny gasp. "I made a promise too, Santana," she murmurs as her hips roll against deft fingers. "Remember?"

It's still too cold to be outside, so Santana insists they have the picnic Brittany is demanding in her living room rather than the backyard. It's spring – just barely – but the weather hasn't quite caught the memo. Snow should not be happening in March in Ohio, and she's indignant that her yearly celebration of the changing seasons with Brittany has been forced indoors. But Brittany is happy with the arrangement, so who is she to argue?

She's gone all out this year, ordering in from the gourmet deli and picking up a cake from the bakery, because Brittany loves any excuse to blow out candles. She even had them write "Happy Birthday, Spring!" on it in purple icing, much to Brittany's delight. She's got a lot of making up to do, even after the nine months they've been officially together. Santana never forgets what she put Brittany through, and takes opportunities like these to make sure that Brittany knows how much she loves her.

"I think this might be the best spring ever," Brittany grins as wipes a smudge of icing from Santana's upper lip with her thumb. "Artie was absolutely no fun on Spring Birthday last year. He kept getting stuck in the mud at the park."

Santana winces at the mention of the boy she's internally dubbed He Who Shall Not Be Named. After they'd made up at prom the year before and Brittany had dumped Stubbles McCripple Pants, he'd made life a little harder for them than they'd expected. Moving on was hard for everyone, and Santana didn't like knowing that Brittany still thought about him, negatively or otherwise. It was her job to make sure that she never had to think about him again.

She lays back on the floor, stretching out and crossing her legs at her ankles and throwing one arm beneath her head. It's Saturday, and the picnic was never a formal affair, so she's lounging now in a pair of loose fitting basketball shorts and a wife beater. Quite a leap from the wardrobe she dons for school. But she's at home, and she's with Brittany, so being herself here is more a necessity than it might be for others. She doesn't like hiding who – what – she is, but she understands why she has to distinguish between her two worlds.

Brittany, equally casual in one of Santana's zip-ups and her own tennis shorts, crawls on her knees across the blanket to curl up next to Santana. It's obvious that mentioning Artie struck a nerve, and she's just as apologetic for the whole affair as Santana tries to be. Rather than dwell on the comment, she rests her head on Santana's shoulder and plays with the hem of her shirt, lifting up to reveal tan, taut stomach muscles. It's her favorite part of Santana's body, this small section of her torso just above the waist of her pants, because she knows just where to stroke to make Santana let out a hiss through her teeth. She does this now, and grins triumphantly as the sound reaches her ears and Santana's hand comes down on top of Brittany's, holding it still.

"You're teasing," she states, kissing the top of Brittany's head. "Better be prepared to follow through."

Playing with the waistband of Santana's shorts, Brittany snuggles closer. "I wouldn't tease if I wasn't going to follow through. You know that." She slips her hand beneath the elastic and runs her hand over the flesh just above Santana's groin, another hot spot that makes the brunette squirm. "What happens next Spring Birthday, San?"

Santana is concentrating more on Brittany's hand than her words. She shakes herself lucid and takes her around her slender wrist, pulling the teasing hand away. "What do you mean, B?"

"We're graduating in a few months," she reminds softly, the hand now tracing circles around Santana's exposed belly button. "And then you'll go to college and… how can we celebrate Spring Birthday if you're off at school?"

She wraps her free arm around Brittany's back and rubs gently, biting her lower lip as she feels her shorts tighten. "I'm not going anywhere unless you're coming with me, Britt-Britt," she murmurs into blonde hair. "You and me, we're a pair. We'll figure it out."

Brittany shakes her head and sighs. "I'm never going to get in at those smart-people schools you applied to San. Without Cheerios, I don't have a chance. And I won't let you stay in Lima because of me."

Her arm tightens around Brittany's back and she sucks in her breath. The thought of leaving her behind hurts more than anything she can imagine. More than not having her, when she was with Artie, because she was still there, even if they were apart. But the idea that she might go to college and not have Brittany by her side… it's unacceptable.

"No," she says emphatically. "I don't care how, but we'll make something happen. I go where you go. Your life is my life. I want to be able to tell our kids that I fought for you and I never gave up. I won't start with this."

Brittany giggles and props herself up on her arm, smiling sheepishly. "Kids?"

Santana realizes her overstep and blushes furiously. "Well, I mean… yeah, I guess. I thought you'd want them. You're really good with kids. We can adopt and maybe get a house or something. It'll be cool or whatever."

"Adopt? Why would we do that?" Brittany's puzzlement spreads across her face slowly, mixing with a look of hurt. "You don't want to have a baby with me?"

Her flushed cheeks pale instantly, and she sits up, uncomfortable with the tightness in her shorts and puts her hands in her lap to hide it. It isn't something she'd ever thought about before.

Because her "condition", as her parents call it, gives her something that other girls don't have. This genetic abnormality that she'd once considered a burden. Until she met Brittany, that is, and realized that maybe being "Born with Both" (the pamphlets and the websites like to alliterate) wasn't so bad. Because Brittany loves her no matter what. Every part of her, including the extra appendage that they explored together, grew up with together, and grew together with… together.

She knows it's possible for her to give Brittany a baby, given the presence of testes in her gut right along with her ovaries and uterus, but the thought that she – an identified female – could impregnate another girl is frightening to her. It frightened her so much, once, that she had hid herself in skirts and created a word-of-mouth reputation with the boys at school, offering every part of herself to them except what they wanted most. It worked, in the end, and she was able to keep her image of the perfect girl in tact.

And then they'd joined glee, and her idea of what "perfect" meant was turned on its ear.

But she's still scared, because at the end of the day, she's still different. Being comfortable with herself doesn't change that fact. And she's scared of what people will say about her family – that future family she's obviously been thinking about – and her own children, one day, should she follow through. Maybe she was the tease now. Giving Brittany the hope for a family and snatching it away because of her own fear.

"I want to have everything with you, Brittany," she reassures her girlfriend. "Anything you could ever ask of me, I'd do it. But this… what if I pass it on? I don't want my daughter saddled with this… thing. It's too hard. It's not fair."

Brittany sits up next to her and rests her chin on Santana's shoulder. "If you don't want to, I won't make you," she says, lacing her fingers through Santana's. "But I think we'd make beautiful babies. And if you pass on your traits to our daughter, we know how to handle it. And we'll love her no matter what. Because I love you, Santana. Every last piece of you. Of course, I want to make a family that's half me and half you. But if you're scared, there are other ways to have a family. There are other definitions."

Santana smiles, trying not to cry. For someone who had once kept birds in her locker, Brittany is so damn smart sometimes. It shouldn't surprise her. Brittany might not know much about math, but she knows people. And she knows exactly what to say to make Santana fall in love with her all over again.

"If our kids are half as beautiful as you are," she begins, turning her head meet Brittany's gaze. "Then I think I could be okay with making them the old fashioned way."

The idea that their procreation could be anything remotely like "old fashioned" makes her smile, but she kisses Brittany and pushes past it.

"If you're okay with it, then I promise to give them to you," Brittany murmurs into her mouth, slowly applying pressure to her shoulders that causes Santana to once again lay on her back on the floor. She straddles her hips, feeling the bulge beneath thin fabric that hasn't gone away.

"In the mean time, how about a little practice?"

Santana's eyes go wide when she realizes what Brittany is implying.

"Brittany, are you sure? What about school?"

"I've been waitlisted," she returns, peppering Santana's face with tiny kisses. "It'll be a year before a spot opens up anywhere. Enough time for us to grow a baby, right? You and I go to New York, you start your classes. I'll get a job. We'll have a home."

Brittany's hands are roaming across her torso and chest as she speaks, touching sensitive areas on her ribcage and pushing her shirt up over her head. But when she reaches the word 'home', her hand cups the front of Santana's pants, eliciting a moan that bounces from the walls of the sound-proofed room.

Brittany's mouth meets Santana's as she unzips the confining shorts, pulling the teeth apart torturously slow. She applies gentle pressure to the growing bulge beneath her hands and Santana whimpers in response, bucking her hips up just enough for Brittany to slide her pants down over her thighs, letting them fall around her ankles. Santana kicks them off and Brittany begins the task of removing the specialized boxer that holds Santana in place. The elastic clings to her narrow waist, and as she pulls it away from soft flesh, Brittany notes the indents in Santana's skin. She gets down on her knees between Santana's thighs and presses her lips tenderly to the reddened areas on her stomach, hating that this is what she has to go through to keep herself a secret. If Brittany had her way, Santana would never have to hide anything again.

"Wait." Santana wraps her fingers around Brittany's wrist as the blonde begins to pull the elastic down, trailing close behind with her lips. She looks up, big blue eyes meeting brown.

"Don't use your mouth," Santana murmurs, insistent. "I don't want to... fuck."

With the boxer down at her knees, Santana's cock springs free, revealing just how confined it had been. The head is swollen and purple, and the length - a respectable six and a half inches - bobs in its new freedom. Brittany, a little sad that Santana asked her not to use her mouth, instead takes it in her fist and pumps. The grunt she gets in response is worth it, and she smiles.

"Are you sure you don't want me to..."

Santana shakes her head furiously, biting hard on her lower lip as Brittany's hand continues to stroke up and down on her hard length.

"I don't think I'll make it if you do."

Brittany nods and stands, planting her feet on either side of the chair and lifting herself over Santana. She positions Santana's cock at her entrance, running the head across her folds and enjoying the little gasps Santana lets out in the process.

As she lowers herself she leans down and puts her lips to Santana's ear, hissing, "I need you inside me… please…"

Santana sees stars as she sheaths herself inside Brittany with a quick buck of her hips. The air in her lungs disappears and she fears for a moment that she won't last. The words in her ear, the tight muscles clenching her length, the beautiful woman looking down at her with such adoration and trust... It feels like too much. But she holds Brittany's hips in place and they both breathe together, feeling the rhythm before they even start moving. When Santana has calmed down she presses her fingers into strong dancer thighs, giving Brittany the signal to move. She raises and lowers herself slowly, and Santana matches the motions with her hips, thrusting up as Brittany comes down.

They don't have unprotected sex. Except that one time - the first time - and Santana went into a panic thinking she'd gotten Brittany pregnant when she took a home fertility test and realized that she was, in fact, capable of such a thing. Now though, after years of condoms, the sensation of Brittany's slick, tight walls gripping her bare cock makes her head spin. She can barely breathe, let alone keep up with Brittany's movements on top of her. She's panting, sweat glistening on her forehead, and Brittany settles gently in her lap, burying Santana to the hilt inside her while they both catch their breath.

"Don't move," she whispers into Santana's ear. "Let me."

Santana doesn't argue, nodding sharply and lifting her chin to press her lips to Brittany's as the blonde begins to rise and fall once more on her length. She rotates her hips in Santana's lap, whimpering at being so completely filled. She had been with a lot of people - boys, girls, anyone willing - but no one can make her feel like Santana does. From the inside out. From her core, where they merged, body and spirit, radiating outward in ripples that left her breathless.

No one else would ever make her feel like that. Like for a moment the earth stops spinning and time stops passing and she exists in a vacuum where Santana's pulse and panting are the only things that she hears.

Santana catches that look in Brittany's eye. The look she gets when she locks on, when she loses herself. Santana grins wide, a second wind developing in her gut when the blue eyes she loves more than air fall to narrow slits and Brittany begins to mutter under her breath while she rides Santana's cock. Santana, for her part, slides her hands up and down Brittany's torso, giving her that tactile experience she knows Brittany loves when she's locked on. She loves every inch of available skin caressed, because it sends her synapses into overdrive, like she's on drugs and her senses are enhanced and everything just feels more. Santana pushes Brittany's shirt up over her head and tosses it aside, marveling at perfect breasts unhindered by a bra. She worships them like gods, her hands so tender they could have been made of spun sugar. The taste of a pert nipple on her tongue confirms this. It's so sweet that she moans, and Brittany returns the sound when Santana bucks, her hips connecting roughly with a shaky pelvis. Her cock bottoms out inside Brittany and she draws in a sharp breath, desperate to hold on to that sensation of filling and spreading. Brittany whimpers and pauses, hovering inches off Santana's legs while her cock remains buried inside. She gets the hint and takes over, sliding her arms beneath creamy thighs and using all her strength to hold Brittany up while Brittany wraps her arms around Santana's neck and clings. Then Santana begins to thrust. Or as much as she can thrust while sitting in a chair and holding her girl up over her. She braces her shoulder blades against the back of the chair and plants her feet on the ground and she pumps her hips, watching Brittany more than concentrating on herself.

Brittany's eyes are barely open, but are locked with Santana's. She's panting hard, little mewls of pleasure escaping her throat each time Santana presses up into her. The thrusts up are quick, aiming to penetrate that heated center as deeply as possible, while each time she pulls back she's slow and controlled. Again and again she repeats the pattern, her legs and arms weak from supporting Brittany but her mind unwilling to allow the ecstasy to end so soon.

"Santana..." Brittany keens, and bends her neck to press her lips to Santana's. "Don't stop."

She shakes her head, hard, biting Brittany's lower lip in the process. "You feel so good, baby," she hisses into the open mouth attached to hers. "I'll never stop. I love you..."

Brittany bites back, sucking Santana's tongue past her teeth and lowering her body once more and relieving some of the pressure on Santana's arms. Together they lift and thrust, grinding skin against skin and listening to the sharp slap of wet cores meeting and parting in the darkness.

"I love you so much," Brittany whines, her voice begging Santana to go harder, faster. "Give me a baby, San. Please..."

Santana has said no to Brittany just once in their entire lives. She won't make that mistake again.

She nods, so beyond ready for the sweet release she knows is coming for both of them. "Anything for you, baby," she pants, palming Brittany's breasts roughly. "Come for me, Brittany. I'm so close…" She begins to move faster, sweat dripping from her hairline and down her back as she pushes harder, deeper, the tension building in her gut and threatening to explode too soon. She has to wait. She has to make sure Brittany erupts, so she can see that exquisite face thrown back and-

"Oh god…"

Brittany's pelvis slams down on Santana's with such force that she yelps and digs her fingers deep into Brittany's sides, gripping and desperately clinging to control as tight hot muscles clamp down on her length and rhythmic dancer hips roll like waves. She pulls Brittany against her body, feeling the girl's orgasm radiating out from her core to the tips of her fingers. Santana pumps once, twice, three more times into those vice-like muscles before she lets out a rumbling groan and empties herself inside Brittany. She lifts her head and pulls Brittany's chin down so she can stare into those deep baby blues as she thrusts, pumping the last of her load deeper into the waiting womb. Brittany is smiling so widely, beads of sweat accumulating on her upper lip. Santana kisses them away, her lungs expanding and contracting in rapid succession as they both come down from their orgasms.

"My god…" Santana whimpers, feeling her length begin to soften inside her lover, and she bucks up a few more times for good measure.

Brittany nods, resting her forehead against Santana's and letting her muscles slacken. "Yeah. I'm sure he had something to do with that."

Santana snorts and squeezes Brittany around the waist, desperately wishing that they didn't have to move from this position. But it's getting late, and her parents are expecting them for a celebratory dinner. She just can't bring herself to pull out, and let this perfect moment be over.

"D'you think it worked?" Brittany asks in the darkness. She sounds so hopeful that Santana presses her lips to her cheek and sighs the sigh of a contented woman.

"If it didn't, we'll keep trying until it does," she murmurs into the curve of her jaw.

But, she thinks as she lifts Brittany carefully off her lap, she has a really good feeling that it did. And for that, she can't stop smiling.