Title: Innocent: Incident Response Protocol
Pairing: Brittany Pierce/Santana Lopez (Glee)
Word Count: 3,098
Rating: MA for coarse language and sexual situations
Summary: "You push your joined hands higher until they're knotted against her lower stomach, grounding her in place even as you work to send her higher and higher. You have her, and you're not letting go." Companion piece to Innocent.
Disclaimer: Glee and all related characters are owned by Fox Networks. No profit has been made through the publishing of this work of fiction; it was created for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Because you little wankers liked the last one so much, and people keep pestering me about the Innocent 'verse, out of the goodness of my heart (and the dirtiness of my mind) I have consented to yet another one-shot. As with Incident Response Protocol, this is a companion (shameless smut) piece to Innocent, and once again, it's not strictly necessary that you read Innocent first, but it'd be cool if you did. Or even after, if you wanted. I'm not picky. Well, I am, but I also am willing to take what I can get, so it's contradictory, but whatever. Anyways. Just fair warning, this one is a tiny bit angsty at first, because I've been feeling all the feels about life, the universe, and everything (read: Brittana) and this how I cope. Not worry, however, 'cause this is still a wanky one-shot. I promise.
In honor of Swinging Cloud's SUMMER OF SMUT (always all caps), in which she has planned a series of Wanky Wednesday posts (she's so damned clever with the alliteration and shit), for your reading pleasure.
You're sitting on the couch, flipping through a catalogue when she first comes in. You know right away that today was a bad day, because you don't actually notice she's here until after she's closed the door. Usually, after a shift, Santana is all relieved exasperation, slamming doors and sighing exaggeratedly like she has to prove just how tired she really is. You think it's kind of cute, not that you'd ever say so out loud.
It's the days when her movements are minimal, when she's quiet, that you've learned to worry over her.
It's assumed now, that she come over to yours at the end of day shifts. She'd never admit it even if it was true, but you think secretly she just wants the excuse to cuddle at night. Not that you would ever actually need an excuse to do anything with Santana Lopez, never mind cuddling, but still. It's sweet, really.
"Hey, Britt-Britt."
Her voice is gentle as she passes you by on the couch on her way to the kitchen, and you're pretty sure it wobbles a little. Okay, now you're really starting to get concerned.
When she comes back to settle on the cushion next to you, her entire body just seems to sag into your side. Her fingers clutch tightly at the neck of her beer bottle, but you think maybe she's forgotten that she even has it, because it's still capped.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
Her shoulders tense for a moment, then relax again as she shakes her head. "Really bad day. Don't wanna think right now. Can we just sit for a while?"
You twist your neck to kiss her hair, smiling a little when she nuzzles further into you. You pry the unopened bottle from her and and set it on the coffee table. When you lean back into the couch, she reaches across you to cling to your waist. You're still worried, but you're glad she came here instead of going home alone like this. Santana doesn't really do touchy-feely unless she needs it, and it's pretty obvious to you that she does.
There's a loud bang that sounds like it came from right outside your door, and suddenly you're on your back, wedged between the couch and the coffee table, with Santana's hands on your shoulders and Santana's body weighing down your body and and Santana's hair filling your eyes, nose and mouth. You spit it out and and suck in a couple deep breaths, but otherwise lie completely still. The hands pressing you into the floor are vice-like in their grip, and the body covering yours is rippling with tiny little tremors all up and down its frame.
"Santana?"
"Don't fucking move, Brittany. Please." Her lips are right next to your ear and her voice is tight and high and angry, such a contrast from its usual loose, smokey tone. It's a little scary.
You keep yourself still as you try to figure out just what exactly is happening- when it clicks. The noise…
There's another loud bang, followed by cackling laughter. You try to sit up a little, the explanation already on the tip of your tongue. Strong hands shove you back to the floor, pinning your shoulder blades against the carpeting.
"What the fuck is that maniac- stay down, Brittany. I'm gonna call for backup." One hand leaves your shoulder, and you use the sudden freedom to twist your arm around and chase blindly after it.
"Wait, baby, hold on."
"Brittany, those were fucking gunshots. I'm not wai-"
"Santana, honey, it's okay. That was just Tommy next door."
She doesn't move, doesn't speak, maybe doesn't even breathe.
"He got a new video game last month, and anytime his mom isn't home he turns the volume up really loud. I should have warned you, I'm sorry, but it just slipped my mind."
"A video game." Her voice is flat and emotionless.
"A video game," you repeat. "I promise, honey, it's okay. I'm okay. We're okay."
Suddenly the weight weighing down on you isn't so much deliberately holding you in place as it is just there, on top of you. You can feel shudders rippling along the length of your belly and it takes you a second to realize it's because she's sobbing into your shoulder.
As quickly as you can you claw her hair out of your face and sit up, cradling her to your chest as you move. The lifeless way her body just slumps against your support is scarier than anything you've ever felt in your life, so after you manage to wrestle yourself upright, you just hold her as tightly as you you can, trying to protect her from whatever is ripping her apart inside.
"Shh, baby, breathe. Just breathe. It's gonna be okay, just breathe."
"I'm s-sorry, I ca-can't- I can't-"
"I know, Santana, it's alright. I've got you. We're safe."
Your back is starting to scream in protest against the cramped position you're holding, so with as much care as you can manage, you shift your trembling girlfriend into the classic bridal pose, tight across your torso, and struggle to your feet. Once you've got your center of gravity back, you make straight for your bedroom.
When you get there, you drop her gently on the mattress and begin undressing her. You're not sure what exactly has set her off like this, but you know that holding you, skin-to-skin, always seems to calm her down, so that's what you plan to do.
You're just reaching for her shirt, having finally yanked her too-tight jeans off, when you find yourself on your back and her body on top of you for the second time today. She steals the breath right from your lungs with a bruisingly thorough kiss, and suddenly you've gone from worried and a little scared to worried, a little scared, and completely turned on.
You have to brace both palms against her chest and really shove to get her to budge even a little, and when you meet her eyes, the fire in them almost burns you. Your mouth gapes open for a minute before you remember what you wanted to say. Sort of.
"Santana, I wasn't trying to- I mean, we don't have to do any-"
"Please, Britt." She leans in again, but you hold steady. You want this, you want her, but only if it's what she wants too. She stares into your eyes, pleading silently, and it's so full of passion and need that you have to relent. But it's going to be on your terms, you decide.
Hooking one leg around her waist, you roll until you're on top of her, your feet barely clearing the edge of the bed. She starts to protest, to turn you back, but you silence her with a gentle kiss. You know if she has her way, it'll be good, but it will be rough and hard and fast, and you don't think that's what either of you need right now.
She tugs at your clothes, clearly desperate to have all of you against her, and you're quick to comply. Once you're both completely naked, she tries to top you again, but you pin her in place, rubbing soft, hot circles into her shoulders as you lean in for slow, hungry kiss. When she whimpers at your pulling back, you know you're doing this right.
Her fingers scrabble against your arms and back, trying to pull you in again, and even as turned on as you are, it still frightens you a little. It's almost as if she's not quite convinced that you're really there with her, like she's still lost in whatever happened today. You'll show her otherwise, you think firmly. You'll show her you're here.
You catch her wrists gently and pull them down, pressing them against the mattress until she finally understands what you want and clenches the sheets in her fists. You start with her face, kissing everywhere you can reach, licking at her earlobes, the tight, sharp line of her jaw, catching her lips with quick probes and tiny nips, before indulging in another long swirling kiss.
Once you're both panting from no air, you start to work your way down, sliding your lips across her neck to suck at her pulse until she moans. You finish it with a sharp bite, marking her, and the gasp it causes makes your lips to curl over your teeth in a smile from around her skin. Moving farther down, you paint sloppy wet kisses over her collarbone and chest, sucking and tonguing at her nipples until she's practically sobbing again, this time with need. Still, you don't break your pace, drawing designs across her tummy with your tongue, dragging your teeth across the sensitive skin of her belly button. You leave another mark on her hip, just above where the bone makes a smooth bump under her skin. She's yours, just like you're hers, and you want to make sure she knows it.
Without lifting your mouth from her body, you look up to see that her head is thrashing against the mattress, hair spilling out in a wild tangle of midnight underneath. You drop down even farther until you're hovering just above her center, her thighs spasming with the effort of staying open. Taking pity on the keening mess of a woman in your hands, you flatten your palms against her pelvis and dive in.
Like the rest of your attack, you keep the motions of your mouth slow, sweet, and lingering. Even now, when she's falling apart under your touch, you know that quick and dirty is not she needs. Somehow you know, she needs to feel all of you, against all of her, as intimately as possible.
So you tease.
You tease the points of your teeth against her clit. You tease the round of your lips against her folds. You tease the tip of your tongue against her entrance. You tease until you're pretty sure neither of you can stand it any longer without someone or something exploding. And that's when you fill her.
You push three fingers directly in, shocked at how easily they slick through her heat.
"God, Santana, you're so wet." She moans in response, lifting her hips to urge you on. It's just about the sexiest thing you've ever seen or felt, and you think you might come from it, if you're not careful. You don't want that. Well, okay, obviously you want to come, but right now isn't about you. So you ignore the hot, slippery ache between your legs and focus instead on latching your mouth around her clit.
You set up a gentle rhythm between your lips and your fingers, thrust, suck, thrust, suck, only breaking stride when you notice one of her hands scrambling across her own thigh, searching. When she finds your other hand, still gripped tightly against the muscle of her hip, she forces it free, tangling your fingers with hers and squeezing them so tight it's almost painful.
You push your joined hands higher until they're knotted against her lower stomach, grounding her in place even as you work to send her higher and higher. You have her, and you're not letting go.
She's close, you can feel it, the way everything around you seems to be pulsing and tightening and straining, but you keep your pace steady. Finally, when you can feel her just there, just about to reach the edge, you squeeze her hand in yours, stilling until she lifts her head to meet your eyes, wide and black and almost mindless with pleasure, and then you strike. Your tongue laps against her jumping nerves relentlessly, pulling her further into your mouth as you push deeper into her body, until she clenches around you so hard you can actually hear your own knuckles popping.
She keeps your gaze for a long second, before finally giving in to the massive waves rolling through her body, her throat closing around a high, keening cry that tears straight into you and sends a gentle orgasm trembling through your own body.
Your head is spinning in the best kind of way, but you keep enough of your senses to continue sucking at her gently, bringing her down from her impossible high until she lifts her free hand to push weakly against your forehead. With one last nip that sends another ripple up her belly, you release her and start to move back up her body. Her thighs clap around your wrist, trapping your hand inside her, but you don't really want to move it just yet anyways so you simply smile and curl yourself against her as much as your awkward positioning allows.
You think you must drift off for a little bit, because the next thing you know, you wake to her hand stroking gently through your hair and her voice humming in your ear. Your fingers are still wrapped in her heat, and she whines in gentle protest when you finally pull them free. They're bruised and sore as all get out but, as you wipe them clean against your side, you decide with a smirk that it was totally worth it.
You sigh and twist yourself into a more comfortable position, resting almost completely on top of Santana, your still slightly damp hand coming to cup gently around her left boob. You figure it's gonna take it at least an hour to uncurl anyways, cramped as it is, so you might as well put the shape of your hand to use, right? Right.
A series of popping noises breaks through your daze, and even though it's muffled now by the distances and walls of two extra rooms, you still feel Santana tense underneath you. You stroke your thumb against the top of her nipple, smiling slightly when it does the job of both relaxing and distracting her.
She tucks her chin against her chest and presses her lips into your hair, and you're pretty sure you can feel them moving against your scalp. Lifting your head, you settle your chin against her chest too, and hum questioningly at her?
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and- "Youneedtostoplivinghereandmoveinwithme."
The words all come out of her in a breathless rush, and it takes you a few seconds to sort through them and figure out what she said. When you finally interpret her meaning, your eyes go wide with shock. She catches sight of your expression and seems to realize what she just said.
"I mean, uhm, I just...this neighborhood is not safe and I would feel better if you were somewhere safer, which is what my neighborhood is. Well, relatively, anyways. But I don't want you to think that's the only reason. I mean, we've been together for a year and a half now and I really love you and I think you really love me too, and I would love to be able to see you every night and wake up with you every morning and stuff, but if you don't want to that's totally okay. I'm not trying to control you or insinuate that you can't handle yourself like an adult, because you totally can and I respect that you're an independent woman who makes her own decisions and I would never-"
You block the stream of syllables with a loud, smacking kiss that has her chuckling in spite of her embarrassment. The chuckle turns into a gasp as you thumb her nipple again, grinning cheekily when she lifts a hand to still your teasing strokes.
"So...Is that a yes?"
You kiss her again, rolling your hips against her for emphasis, and you can't help the beaming smile that splits your cheeks when her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. You keep up a steady rhythm as you lean down to whisper in her ear, "That is definitely a yes."
You're not entirely sure she heard you, but that's okay. You can always just show her again if she didn't catch it the first time.