Santana couldn't sleep.
She had her eyes closed, her most comfortable pajamas on, and the covers pulled comfortably around her lithe body, but she couldn't sleep. She couldn't sleep because her best friend, a new girl that went by the name of Quinn, was lying next to her.
Quinn's leg was touching Santana's and the warmth of what she imagined was a very creamy thigh was not exactly conducive to slumber. She didn't quite understand what she was feeling from that touch, but there was definitely an identifiable tightness pulling in her abdomen. Santana gently shifted and tried to think of something else, but the bed was too small to avoid the touch of the blonde and, as she brushed against her, the tightness grew and traveled...lower.
Santana's head filled with thoughts of that soft skin and, before she could stop herself, was stroking her best friend's arm, raised above her head. Up and down, up and then even further down. Consequently, the back of her hand brushed against the side of Quinn's breast; all thought of arms fled in a moment, and without conscious thought, she found herself fondling a much better body part. Her palm cupped Quinn through a thin, purple shirt, the tips of her fingers finding a small nipple, flexible nipple.
The tightness was definitely lower now. It had grown so powerful that Santana feared she might have a serious illness. Was it normal to feel this way? What was worse, Santana realized, was that she actually liked the pull on her lower half; she wanted it; she wanted… what? What did she want?
The young girl raised herself out of the bed as slowly and quietly as possible and then gently removed the sheets from her friend's body, too. She listened closely to Quinn's breathing, vaguely aware that what was happening was wrong. Even so, Santana's dark-skinned hands slid the lavender shirt up over her paler counterpart's breasts, silently praying that her actions wouldn't rouse the fair girl.
The faint moonlight falling through the window allowed Santana to just barely see her best friend's form, but it was enough to affect her visibly. The sight of Quinn—laid bare, arms raised haphazardly around her head, and blond hair artfully mussed—was tantalizing, to say the least. Her face looks even more angelic when she's sleeping, Santana thought. She watched Quinn's chest slowly raise and lower with each slow breath. The night air hardened her friend's rosy pink nipples before her very eager eyes. Santana felt positively entranced.
She straddled the slumbering girl and explored the newly exposed breasts with renewed enthusiasm. As she kneaded the fleshy mounds, Santana involuntarily pressed her hips against Quinn's. A shock ran straight through her, and Santana was pleased to discover the new sensation and that this was certainly what she had wanted. She kissed the blonde's nipples softly and situated herself so that she could better trail her hands and mouth slowly down Quinn's tight stomach.
Santana hesitated at the top of her friend's striped pajama shorts; it seemed to her that if she yanked on the hem of those pants she would be irrevocably crossing a line. She sat there, one finger hooked, and listened closely to Quinn's breathing. She knew, absolutely knew, that she should stop now, pull the shirt back down, and go to sleep. Fighting with herself, Santana actually drew her hand back. But as her eyes traveled up to the half-naked body bathed in pale light, she felt another pang deep inside her.
It was the more devious side of the 14-year old that carefully removed her unconscious friend's pants and underwear. A strong smell immediately hit an intrigued Santana. It was definitely coming from between Quinn's legs. Realizing she needed a clearer view, Santa slipped the pieces of clothing completely off, trying desperately not to wake her friend in the process.
She took hold of thick thighs—exuding warmth and like heaven in her hands—and pushed them apart. With better access now, Santana at last lowered her head and breathed in Quinn. She, of course, knew that all girls had what she'd been told was a "vagina," but her parents had managed to shelter her well, and there didn't yet seem to be a word in her vocabulary that could be an accurate word for what she discovered in between her best friend's legs.
It was pink, full of glistening folds, and covered in a smattering of very light blonde curls. She drank in the sight. Was this what she looked like, too? Santana reached out an inquisitive finger and prodded it. The finger returned wet.
Why is it wet? She thought, and touched it again, this time running her finger purposely down the slit. Quinn stirred for the first time, a breathy moan escaping her lips. Santana licked her finger, which felt coated by something sticky. It was surprisingly good and not much like anything she'd tasted before.
Suddenly getting carried away, Santana situated her head so it was comfortably lodged between those thighs she had liked so much and extended a rough tongue across the length of her friend's—had she heard the phrase once at school?—cunt. Quinn's hips rose involuntarily, and her head shifted against her pillow. Santana froze, but the blonde seemed to still be asleep, so she repeated the action, relishing the taste of the sticky liquid.
"San-Santana?"
Startled and embarrassed, the girl started to remove herself but was immediately held there by a hand on the top of her head. Quinn's thighs clenched around her, and the heat down there seemed to reach its boiling level.
"Just… don't stop," Quinn breathed out heavily. "It feels so good."
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Santana again ran her tongue along Quinn.
"Yes," Quinn moaned. "Oh, God in Heaven. That's it. Please, Santana, more."
Santana obliged, this time not stopping after one stroke, but quickly swiping in a fluid motion, and even sucking at a small mound she'd discovered.
"Fuck." The mound was apparently dynamite; she repeated the motion, learning quickly what Quinn responded best to and adapting. "Yes. Oh my fucking Jesus Christ." Her hands reached desperately behind her in an attempt to find something—anything—to hold onto. Eventually, her manicured fingernails found a hold in her feather-down pillow. "If you stop, I'll fucking tear you apart, Santana. You hear me? Don't you dare stop."
Quinn pushed her hips up into Santana and started rolling them lasciviously, still speaking but not coherently. Santana grabbed the other girl to steady her as she slipped her adept tongue deep inside the hole she'd just discovered, feeling a bit like Christopher Columbus as Quinn let out a particularly dirty cuss word. She repeated the motion continuously as Quinn writhed underneath her touch.
I think this is what they call "fucking," Santana thought. Her own insides felt about to explode.
Quinn finally came, her walls clenching violently, one hand tangled in her own long, sandy hair and the other caught up in Santana's. To keep from shouting, she'd bitten her lip so hard that a bead of blood was bubbling up.
"Fuck," she breathed heavily.
I like it, Santana mused. I like it an awful lot.
Quinn sluggishly pulled Santana up by her dark hair. She wrapped her legs lazily around Santana's fully clothed body; the darker girl could feel her friend's sticky center against her stomach. Sloppily, Quinn kissed her, first chastely and then more passionately. Her tongue entered the other girl's mouth and tasted herself through Santana. The wet and dry parts of their mouths overlapped perfectly. Santana felt like she'd received Exploration Overload.
"Thank you, Santana," Quinn whispered, falling asleep again already. "We should do that every sleepover."
With that, the blonde fell back into Dreamland. Wrapped in blonde goddess and absolutely exhausted now, Santana closed her eyes contently and felt like she could maybe finally sleep now. She still ached, but it was a comfortable ache. Santana knew that Quinn would soon help her release the longing that had racked her body, and the promise was one she looked forward to.
As her thoughts slowed and her mind drifted off, she wondered briefly if she could manage to sleep over every night.