A/N: PWP strap-on sex. I cannot believe I wrote this. There's no beta so all mistakes are mine. Let's not pretend you're here for quality though.
Quinn would be on the floor laughing if she could see her right now. Cursing, Santana jumps and makes a grab for the sheets but lands empty-handed. For the life of her, she can't imagine why Quinn thought they belonged on the very top shelf of the closet. She grunts and tries again, this time managing to catch a corner of the bed sheet. When she pulls, the sheets come down but she doesn't get a chance to be happy about it because something else falls with it, and whatever it is clips her right on the side of her head. She massages her scalp and glares at the nondescript plastic bag lying on the ground, wondering what the hell Quinn is even doing, hiding things like this.
She reaches down for the shopping bag, more curious now than annoyed. When she sees what's inside, she completely forgets the throbbing pain in her head.
"What are you doing in there? Sant—oh. Oh crap."
Santana turns around slowly to find Quinn standing at closet entryway with a look on her face like she's just been caught. She doesn't bother answering and just grins in response. Quinn shakes her head when she sees her expression and wags her finger at Santana like that'll make a bit of difference.
"No. Absolutely not. That is for your birthday, which is next week. So you can put it right back where you found it."
Santana's brow lifts slightly and she takes a couple of steps forward, advancing on her in an admittedly predatory manner. So Quinn wants to make rules now? That's fine, she can play this game.
Quinn mirrors her movements until she's backing out of the closet and her back hits the opposite wall. Santana follows until she's pressed right up against her and links her hands together around Quinn's neck, playing with the shorter hairs that meet her fingers.
"How was your day?"
Quinn looks taken aback, and Santana holds in a smile. That was obviously not the question she was expecting. Even as her hands come up to settle on the small of her back, Quinn narrows her eyes suspiciously at her.
"It was fine," she says slowly. Santana can see the wheels turning behind Quinn's as she tries to work out what Santana's up to. After fifteen years, she knows all her tells.
"Good," she whispers. And then she kisses her so thoroughly that she feels Quinn's knees buckle, causing her to slip down a couple of inches until they're eye to eye. Quinn is breathing hard and her pupils are dilated and fuck, Santana is so tempted. Instead, she nudges her nose against Quinn's and backs up, making her way out of the bedroom. (Quinn slips a little more before she gets her footing and Santana's really kind of proud of herself for not laughing.)
"I was going to get take-out for dinner. Anything you want in particular?"
She can practically feel her devil horns budding when she hears Quinn curse quietly to herself.
She smiles. This will be totally worth it.
ooo
She's wrong.
They're both too damn competitive for their own good because apparently, they're really going to ignore the fact that Quinn bought Santana a strap-on for her birthday. Seriously. It's been sitting on their dresser for the past week, right in front of their faces, just daring one of them to break and make a grab for it. And somehow, the No Strap-On rule got warped into a bet to see who could go the longest without begging for sex, and it sucks. It's like a perverted game of uncle or something.
As much as they each try to act like they aren't affected, their interactions lately have taken on a rather snippy, tense quality with undertones of desperation and it can't last much longer. Santana can tell that it's started to get to Quinn because she's been distracted as hell. She catches Quinn staring at her ass like it's got hypnotic powers more than once (of course, that's not totally impossible) but seriously, she's normally got more self-control than that. When Santana tells her she's starting to remind her of her early high school years with the leering, Quinn sticks her nose up in the air and literally flounces out of the room.
And she's not immune either. Like, yeah. Her girlfriend is super hot but imagining how she'd work a strap-on from the sway in Quinn's hips as she pushes a shopping cart is no excuse for walking into a display of ice cream toppings. (Speaking of which, holy shit. How have they never thought about using whipped cream? Once she gets her arm unstuck from the display case, she makes a mental note to integrate that into their repertoire on the off chance that this godforsaken stalemate ends and they ever have sex again.)
At any rate, they're home on Friday night and her birthday is in exactly twelve minutes. Quinn's pretending to read a book while Santana flips through the television aimlessly. She doesn't make any snide remarks about Quinn glancing at her watch every few minutes, mostly because she's discreetly doing the same on her phone.
When her phone signals that it's 12 am, her eyes fly up to meet Quinn's and they just stare at each other.
"I think we've proven our point, don't you?" Quinn's voice is low and rough the way it always gets when she's turned on, and it shoots a bolt of heat straight through the middle of her.
Santana nods immediately and then they're both scrambling to their feet, yanking off their clothes as they go.
Santana gets the last of her clothes off and climbs onto the bed with Quinn trailing behind her, peppering kisses feverishly up her stomach and between her breasts. Santana allows her to kiss her on the lips once before she wraps her hands around the back of Quinn's thighs and tugs upwards but Quinn doesn't budge. She holds steady despite Santana's insistence, hovering over her with her chest flushed and heaving. Santana tilts her head up and takes one of her nipples in her mouth to try to encourage her, swirling it around with her tongue. Quinn jerks at the sensation but she presses her hand against Santana's cheek, gently pulling away.
"Santana, no. This isn't about me right now."
There's something about the way that Quinn is so tender with her that sends a flood of heat between her legs because she knows that in a very short amount of time, Quinn is going to be fucking her senseless.
She brings her own hand up to touch Quinn's wrist and smiles a little.
"I know, baby. But it's been a while since I tasted you, and I really just need you to sit on my face, okay?" Santana watches as the soft expression on her face is overtaken by something headier. Quinn hesitates before shifting herself up until her thighs are framing Santana's face. When Santana stretches her neck out and licks a long line up the center of her, Quinn grips the headboard so hard her knuckles turn white and she gasps.
Santana moans at the taste of her and the vibration shoots through Quinn, causing her to buck down into her face. It's probably mean to do that when she knows how over-stimulated Quinn probably is but she couldn't help it and god, she wasn't lying when she said she missed this. She slides her hands up Quinn's thighs to hold her in place and teases her, curling out little licks and nips but nothing to give her any real relief. Quinn tolerates it for far longer than she would've expected so she decides to have mercy on her and licks her way up to take her clit in her mouth. Quinn starts to shudder almost immediately but Santana's not satisfied with that, rolling her clit around on her tongue, sucking and licking until she comes again and wetness coats her chin.
Quinn collapses next to her on the bed and stares up at the ceiling in a way that makes Santana particularly proud of her performance. Her hand is shaky when it comes up to push her hair out of her eyes. Santana wipes the back of her hand across her chin and rolls onto her side, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder and trailing her lips along Quinn's clavicle until she reaches her mouth. Their kiss is soft and their tongues slip against each other wetly. Quinn breaks away and runs her fingers along Santana's lips.
"You taste like me."
Her face is a little red when she says it, and it's adorable enough that Santana doesn't make fun of her for stating the obvious. Still, making Quinn flustered is one of her favorite activities so she grins and murmurs "Mhm. You like it?" before tilting her mouth down a fraction of an inch and sliding Quinn's index finger between her lips. When she sucks, Quinn's pupils dilate and her hips jerk up. She makes a helpless sort of noise and Santana pulls away with a little pop.
She reaches back for the shopping bag and pulls the harness out. It's black and lacy, and just stupidly sexy. It's a little ridiculous to feel herself get even more wet just from looking at the thing but she can already imagine what Quinn will look like wearing it, so.
She crawls back to Quinn, who is leaning up on her elbows to see what she's doing. Her legs are bent at the knees, and she kisses one before nudging her legs apart slightly to get the harness on. After she fastens it, she reaches for the strap-on and fixes that in place too. When she climbs on top of Quinn, she ignores the strap-on and settles down low on her belly instead. She rocks forward experimentally and feels the way the muscles of Quinn's abdomen tighten beneath her. Quinn reaches out her hands and slides them up her thighs, squeezing lightly.
When she whispers Santana's name, it's tense and hoarse. Quinn's looking at the wet spot below her bellybutton where Santana rubbed herself against her. Then she takes Santana's hand and runs her index finger through it before bringing it to her mouth. Quinn's mouth is hot and wet and when Santana feels herself clench down on nothing, she decides she's had enough of this.
She lifts up on her knees and opens herself up a little more until the strap-on is positioned right at her entrance. Quinn reaches her hands up to tangle their fingers together and gives her a little smile that she returns. She keeps holding Santana's hands as she lowers herself slowly onto the strap-on, and if she wasn't focused on more important things she would laugh at how chivalrous it is of her. Her eyes close as it fills her up and Quinn keeps still to let her get used to the feel of it inside her.
She opens her eyes a moment later and looks down to find Quinn's focus on her. It's always a little overwhelming when she looks at her like this, as if she's something precious to be cared for.
"What?"
Quinn just shrugs a little. "I love you. That's all."
Santana smiles and brings one of their clasped hands to her lips to kiss Quinn's knuckles. "I love you too." She tightens her legs around Quinn's hips. "Now fuck me, please."
Quinn doesn't waste time answering. She just jerks her pelvis up, making Santana groan and grind down to meet her hips. Santana finds a good rhythm and rocks back, taking in more of the strap-on. Every muscle inside her is coiling up tighter and tighter as warmth starts to spread throughout her body, beginning at the place where her body meets Quinn's and fanning outward until it washes over her skin and even her fingers and toes are tingling. She feels like she's on fire.
She's trembling too much now to keep herself upright so she leans forward until she can press her palms down into the mattress, pinning Quinn's hands beneath her own in the process. It has the added advantage of bringing their faces closer together. They don't kiss but Santana does hover her mouth over Quinn's, and their lips bump together as their breath mingles.
Quinn disentangles her hands, flipping them over without any warning, and she almost comes right there. She'll never admit it but it makes her insane when Quinn takes control. Quinn pulls out almost completely and Santana curses as she pulses and throbs around nothing. She squirms, trying to get some relief, but Quinn just smirks knowingly and Santana gets the feeling that she doesn't need to admit anything. Quinn brushes the tip of the strap-on against her opening, making sure to hit her clit every once in a while, and it is sheer fucking torture. Santana moans and it sounds exactly as wanton and desperate as she is. When Quinn spreads her legs even farther apart and finally—finally—pushes into her, driving the strap-on deeper with every thrust, Santana can do nothing but wraps her legs around her and clutch at her back. When her orgasm hits, it takes her completely by surprise and her back snaps up from the force of it. She chokes out Quinn's name as she clenches around the strap-on and her arms and legs tighten around Quinn's body.
Some indeterminable amount of time later, she hears Quinn say something to her as she floats back down to the bed. Quinn starts to pull out and Santana grabs her arm, stopping her.
"Not yet, 'm too sensitive," she mumbles with her eyes closed.
Quinn laughs a little breathlessly and falls on top of her. Her weight is an anchor, familiar and comfortable. Santana's hands start to wander aimlessly, tracing her shoulder blades with her fingers.
When her body doesn't feel quite so keyed up, she unfastens the harness and lets Quinn pull it out of her. She drops it to the side and lies back down next to Santana, swinging a leg over her hip.
"Happy birthday."
Santana snorts. Now she tells her?
"Hey, Q?"
"Hm?"
"Can you make me some pancakes?" She pauses. "Naked?"
"Wha-Santana," she whines.
Santana curls into her, rubbing her nose into Quinn's hair. "It's my birthday. Please?" Quinn just moans into her sternum.
"I'll go down on you in the kitchen."
Quinn tenses ever so slightly and then sighs in the most beleaguered manner possible. Santana just barely resists rolling her eyes.
"Fine. But if I end up with a skillet-sized burn on my ass, this will be the last birthday you ever get to celebrate."
Santana grins as Quinn pulls herself out of bed.