Santana loves how innocent Brittany is even after everything she's done—after everything they've done. So Brittany doesn't understand that it's incredibly cruel of her to walk around her empty house with only a tank top and a pair of men's boxer briefs on. Santana doesn't know why it turns her on so much to see her sort of not really girlfriend with the snug black undergarments on. Brittany owns shorts that are essentially the same as these, and maybe some that are tighter, maybe even shorter. Perhaps it's the way that there's a little bit of give in the front of them, because Brittany doesn't have a cock to fill up that space, but that's just weird, isn't it?
When asked, Brittany says that boys underwear is just more comfortable, and that she used wear Artie's around all the time. The reminder of him stings a little, but Santana understands by now that even if she mentions him, Brittany is still with her. Even though they can't seem to define what they are to each other, they are with each other. Right now, that's all Santana can handle.
"Santana?"
Brittany's soft, sweet voice startles her out of her thoughts.
"Yeah Britt?""
"Lord Tubbington wants to know why you're staring at me so much today."
Santana fights the urge to laugh. Never one to be shy, she admits to checking Brittany's ass out. "Something about you in those damn boxer briefs is really, really hot."
Brittany actually colors a little. "Oh, they're just-"
"Wicked hot," Santana interrupts. "That's what they are. Let me show you."
Much to Lord Tubbington's dismay, Santana crawls across the bed to Brittany and straddles her thighs, leaving no place for the cat. He hops off the bed stiffly and prances out of the room looking particularly pissed.
Well fuck you too, she thinks. She'd never tell Brittany, but Santana kind of hates that cat. She always feels like it's watching them, and if Brittany can be half believed, they probably fucking talk about her when she's not there. And that just creeps her out. Santana stops her gentle caresses to shut the door behind the cat. Clearing her mind, she hurries back to her…lover, and covers Brittany's torso with her own. Their breasts brush against one another through their clothes as Santana bends down to press her lips to Brittany's. Her lips taste like Lip Smackers. Maybe strawberry. The waxiness makes the kiss a little sloppy, a little slippery, but Santana doesn't mind at all.
She slides her body down, so that Brittany's breasts are at eye level.
"Help me take off your shirt," she commands, her fingers gripping the edges of that impossibly tiny tank top as she starts peeling it off Brittany's body. Obediently, Brittany lifts her body and raises her arms at the right times.
Santana loves the color of Brittany's skin. She's still lightly tanned from the days of outdoor Cheerios practices. Her breasts are spilling from the floral print bra in a way that makes Santana's mouth water.
"Sit up a little," Santana instructs. She deftly unhooks Brittany's bra and draws it forward until its sliding off her shoulders and onto the bed behind them. Santana shoves it out of the way, and maybe it falls on the floor. She's too busy staring at Brittany's tits to care. Her nipples are pink, so pink that Santana wants to lick and suck them forever. So she does.
Brittany gasps, the sound ripping through the air, and Santana's glad that Brittany's parents won't be home from work for hours. She takes her time exploring Brittany's body, worshipping it with her lips and teeth and tongue. When every inch of her torso is covered with a kiss or a nibble, Santana hooks her thumbs into the waistband of the stupid boxer briefs that started it all. Brittany lifts her hips, eager to be naked. Because she knows what's coming next. She bends her knees, spreading herself wide for Santana without even being asked.
"Please, Santana. You're so good at it. I've been thinking about it all day."
Santana fucking loves that Brittany has no shame. Instead of trying to say something snarky in return (the meaning would probably be lost on Brittany anyway), Santana licks teasingly along Brittany's tight, pink folds.
"Mmmm," Brittany hums in the back of her throat when Santana does it again.
Brittany tastes too fucking good to play that bullshit game of stopping and starting and teasing. Santana slips her hands under Brittany's ass and buries her face in the sweet freshness of her pussy.
Brittany doesn't say much. Apart from initial reactions or sounds of surprise, Brittany's actually kind of quiet during sex. So Santana makes it somewhat of a challenge to get Brittany to say anything at all during sex. She redoubles her efforts, latching her lips around Brittany's clit and sucking hard. She feels Brittany arch off the bed, her hands landing in the dark silk of Santana's hair, but the slight sharp intake of breath isn't enough for Santana.
She backs off a little and rubs two of her fingers in Brittany's juices, massaging teasingly around her entrance. Brittany shifts her hips, searching for more, but she doesn't say anything. Without warning, Santana thrusts both of her fingers inside of Brittany.
She presses her heads back into the pillow and a long, soft "Oh," escapes her lips.
That's more like it , Santana thinks as she fucks Brittany roughly with her fingers.
Brittany is all softness and sweetness, but Santana knows that she likes it rough sometimes.
Santana can feel Brittany's body tighten with pending orgasm, like a bending twig just waiting for enough pressure to finally splinter and break.
Santana's more than happy to provide it. She crooks the tips of her fingers inside of Brittany until she finds that one spot, spongy and a little firmer than the slick, sticky heat that surrounds it. She presses into it and Brittany's hips jerk off the bed as she moans.
"Santana," she breathes. "Please."
God, her name sounds so good when Brittany says it like that.
Santana wraps her lips around Brittany's clit and sucks hard again, but this time, she keeps massaging that spot inside of her over and over again.
Brittany can't resist the combination of the two sensations. She snaps, and her orgasm spills out of her as her hips stutter into Santana's mouth. Santana half doesn't care that Brittany is moaning louder than usual because Brittany's juices are too sweet and fresh and delicious to care about winning one sided competitions. Brittany's legs straighten and her thighs close around Santana's head as her whole body shakes with pleasure.
Santana looks up. Brittany's hair is a wild golden mess splayed across the pillow. Her lips are parted her eyes are closed. Her soft round breasts move up and down in time with her breathing. A light pink flush suffuses her skin. The freckles that usually aren't noticeable on Brittany's cheeks somehow stand out when Brittany's like this, sweet and pliable and sated.
Beautiful, is all Santana can think. What did I do to deserve this?
She doesn't realize that she's spoken aloud until Brittany answers.
"You don't have to deserve it. I just love you. "
Well FUCK. If she said what she just thought aloud…she might as well have said I love you. And she knows that she's supposed to say it back, but she can't. Sure, Santana sang "Songbird", and said "I love you" a million times. But saying it and singing it are different. She sits up quickly and turns her back to Brittany, wrapping her arms around herself, her legs hanging off the bed.
The soft touch of Santana's shoulder is so gentle it hurts. It's almost too much to be touched like that. With love.
"It's okay," Brittany assures her. "You don't have to say it back. I know."
Santana looks over her shoulder. Her mouth has gone dry, but she can still taste Brittany in it. "Okay."
"Okay," Brittany says. She slides down in front of Santana, on her knees at her feet. She presses gently on Santana's belly, urging her to lie back. When she complies, Brittany nudges her legs apart and pushes her dress up around her hips.
"I know you don't want to say it, but I do. I love you, Santana."
Santana closes her eyes and lets Brittany peel her thong off, down past her slim ankles.
"Let me show you how much." Brittany pushes Santana's thighs further apart and presses sweet, soft kisses between them.
And Santana feels it in every kiss, every touch. Love. From Brittany, for Brittany. Afterwards, as she's lying in Brittany's sleepy embrace, she can only think one thing.
Brittany may not be a genius, but she was right about one thing.
It is better with feelings.