Rachel and Jesse return to the table from the karaoke stage after their cheesy rendition of “As Long As You’re Mine” from Wicked.
Brittany and Santana had exchanged glares and rolled their eyes at the almost caricaturesque - and quite frankly, excessive - display of mushy romanticism of the pair’s performance the whole duration of it.
Sometimes Brittany still wonders why after all these years they continue to reunite with these people for Valentine’s Day Karaoke.
“They’re our friends Britt-Britt; we’ve shared so many things with them, we have an inevitable bond. It’s like having a horrible birthmark you always wanted to get rid of as it looks terrible on you but just can’t find the will to eliminate it from your life cause it’s part of you whether you like it or not.”
Santana’s justification was convincing enough for Brittany to finally give in and reluctantly agree to go to the annual reunion. It’s not that she didn’t enjoy the company of her friends, singing and dancing and remembering the good old times; it’s just that she’d much prefer to stay at home with Santana and do the “dirty dance” on every surface available… all day. Yet here she is, willing to delay her own plans for at least a few hours more in favor of having a good time, and resolute to behave herself and be nice to everybody… well maybe not everybody.
“That was amazing Rachel!” Brittany remarks among the clapping and congratulations Rachel and Jesse receive at the table.
“Thank you Brittany.” Rachel replies over excitedly, never one to reject a compliment.
And Rachel’s egotistical need for validation is exactly what Brittany had been waiting for before pointing out, “perhaps you shouldn’t have gone overboard with the witch’s nose?”
Rachel gasps, immediately grabbing at her nose self-consciously.
“But if it was an artistic choice I get it, and I totally support it,” Brittany finalizes with a broad smile as she bats her eyelashes innocently.
Everybody at the table pretends to be busy doing something else, acting as if they hadn’t heard anything; except Santana of course who, in a lame attempt to be polite, covers her mouth to muffle her laughter.
Not sure if she should be offended or not Rachel opens and closes her mouth but nothing comes out.
“Thank you, Brittany.” Jesse intervenes taking Rachel by the arm and helping her to get a seat. “It’s your turn,” he politely reminds Brittany.
“Oh goodie!” Brittany claps and jumps up and down childishly. Then in a complete change of mood she turns to Santana seductively and whispers “wish me luck.” She winks before walking to the stage.
“Good luck babe!” Santana calls, following with eyes of hunger the retreating figure of her woman.
The rest of the table make small talk and guess what song Brittany would be singing to Santana; they laugh and make jokes but when the tune of a famous song starts permeating throughout the place, it’s nothing what they were expecting.
“Wooohooo!” Santana jumps up from her seat at the sound of the first notes and starts moving to the rhythm.
“Is she really…” Tina asks confused.
“Yup.” Sam offers taking a sip of his drink.
“Oh gurl,” Mercedes voices with mild amusement.
“I don’t know why I’m even surprised,” Kurt mumbles shaking his head.
Quinn only throws her head back in laughter, already used to her friend’s ways.
They remain like that in their different stages of awe and building up of the tension until the song reaches its chorus.
Damn who's a sexy bitch
A sexy bitch
Damn who's a sexy bitch
Santana sings along with the lyrics, utterly enjoying the serenade her wife is providing; that is until she notices the dumbstruck faces of her friends. “What!” She cries with indignation. “I’m her bitch, OK?” When they all fail to reply to her comment she rolls her eyes. “Gosh people, do you even fuck?” With that accusation she excuses herself from the table and walks to the stage to join Brittany in a sensual dance exhibition that, for many, will be very hard to forget.