She came off the final incline in a blaze, her feet kicked off foot pegs and extended back behind her and the bike as they both flew through the air. The crowd, small but rowdy, hollered wildly as the only female contender in the Central Ohio Motocross Championship landed gracefully, her feet restored to the pegs and the bike bouncing and kicking up dirt around her as she crossed the finish line. She squeezed the hand brake and skidded out with the back wheel, shooting rocks into the crowd gathered at the wall separating the public from the track. They screamed and threw up their hands, but continued to applaud her set. She'd likely win her heat, but she wasn't concerned about that.
Straddling her Yamaha, holding it upright with her muscular thighs, she looked through the dark visor on her purple helmet and into the crowd around the walls. The announcer had already called for the next rider, and she needed to get off the track, but first she needed to find…
Her.
Twenty feet away, leaning her torso over the wall plastered with local and national sponsors, was a lean, olive-skinned girl with bright, proud eyes. She waved frantically at her rider, who flipped open her visor and grinned, though it was only visible in the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
"Brittany!" the girl at the wall called, bouncing up and down in excitement as she tried to get her attention.
Brittany, trapped on the track and with only one way of getting her bike out of the way before the next rider came barreling through, waved back and pointed to the bullpen outside the snaking dirt trails where all the riders gathered before and after their events. The girl nodded, her long brown hair waving over her bare shoulders in the hot summer afternoon, then disappeared into the throng of people behind her.
Brittany coasted the bike through the gated entrance, feeling a few hands of passers-by clapping her hard on her padded shoulders as she moved toward the bullpen, her eye out for that girl. She found her station with her entry number on it and parked her bike, kicking the heavy metal stand down and leaning over to balance by itself.
A sharp rapping on the back of her helmet surprised her and she nearly jumped, but stayed put with her back to her assailant, grinning.
"Knock, knock," came a sultry voice from behind, followed by another rap to the back of her helmet.
"Who's there?" she asked, her voice muffled by the guard around her chin.
Without giving an answer, a set of hands clamped down on her helmet and yanked it unceremoniously off her head, leaving her long blonde hair in a rat's nest of tangles that shot off in every direction. The same hands took her shoulder and spun her, shoving her against her bike and then a set of crimson lips met hers.
Santana kissed her deeply, one hand holding the helmet while the other snaked around the back of Brittany's neck, holding their faces tightly together. Brittany, for her part, smiled into the kiss and slid her gloved hands around Santana's waist and pulled their hips nearer.
"'Really hot and somewhat inappropriate kiss in public' who?" she said with a smirk when they separated a moment later.
Santana punched her lightly in the arm, but shook her hand in pain when she hid the plastic guards inside Brittany's riding jacket. "Ow. God, I always forget."
Britt took the offending hand in hers and brought it to her lips, dusting them across the knuckles to make it better. "I think your memory might be worse than mine, sometimes, San," Brittany replied. "But then again, I think you like getting hurt just as much as I do."
Dark brown eyes narrowed in mock anger. "I don't like getting hurt, nor do I like you getting hurt. You're lucky you hit that Can Can on the second incline. I thought for sure you were dead."
She had indeed nearly missed the landing on the second incline, after a failed attempt to bring her leg back over the bike during one of her mid-air tricks. She thought she'd covered up her mistake with a balanced landing, but if Santana had noticed it, the judges surely would have as well. She pressed her lips together and humphed, disappointed in her performance.
"Don't pout," Santana chided, wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek. "Although it is one of your more adorable expressions."
The bullpen was beginning to fill up with riders for the next heat, and Brittany wasn't particularly fond of sharing space with that many people. She took Santana's hand in hers, still inside her thick mesh gloves, and pulled her around the outside of the track to a secluded section of grass surrounded on one side by trees, leading into a dense forested area, and the outbuildings for the track, which were used only for maintenance. It was their spot, found after Brittany's first race at the age of twelve. Now, as they sat down into the grass together, it felt a little like coming home.
Brittany laid down on her back, listening to the bikes roaring in the distance. They were far enough away that no one bothered them, and they could have a conversation in private without fear of being overheard.
"You did well today," San commented, snuggling up against Brittany's side. She unzipped her jacket and forced Brittany in several different directions to yank it off, leaving her in her jersey with her sponsor's logo emblazoned on the back.
"It was alright, I guess," Brittany returned, falling back into the grass and staring at the sky. "You're right about the Can Can. I was hoping no one had noticed."
"You're really going to pout about that?" the smaller girl crawled up onto Brittany's hips and pushed blonde bangs from her girlfriend's face. "You had perfect execution on your Whip and the Superman at the end was worthy of Carey Hart. Come on, babe, relax. You were amazing."
Santana, to further prove that she meant what she was saying, placed a trail of kisses down Brittany's jaw to her neck, her lips stopping at the hollow near her collarbone that was half-covered by the purple v-necked racing jersey.
Brittany let out a tiny moan, her hands running up and down Santana's back, pushing her white tank top up as she went. "San, wait. I'm all sweaty and dirty. Let's go home and-"
She was silenced with an abrupt, hard kiss, soft lips pressing to hers and a greedy tongue searching her mouth.
"But I like you sweaty and dirty," Santana murmured when she broke away. "And if you dare take off those boots I'll cut you off." She smirked triumphantly as Brittany lifted her head to look down at her large black riding boots. They were butch, to say the least, but Santana had always liked her when she was a little more rugged. Sex was better when she was fresh off the track, or after a particularly hard workout. Something about exercise and endorphins, she supposed. Not that she was complaining.
"Can I at least take my gloves off?" Brittany asked, feeling Santana's hand traveling between them suggestively.
The other girl thought for a moment, studying Brittany's glove-clad hands before smiling and shaking her head. "Nope. Leave those on, too."
"But how am I supposed to- Oh…"
Brittany stopped short as Santana's hand pressed past the waistline of her riding pants, the thick, protective mesh making scratching sounds as it gave to the additional appendage. Her palm cupped Brittany's mound over her underwear, and Santana raised an eyebrow.
"Boxer-briefs, Britt?" she asked. "For me?"
Brittany blushed, but from the hand between her legs or the knowledge that Santana had discovered her little secret, she didn't know. "They're more comfortable when I ride, okay?"
"Oh no, don't explain anything to me," Santana countered. "I'm just imagining you without all this padding now…"
Nimble fingers slipped through the opening that was meant to be the release for a man, but now she used as an easy-access portal to her girlfriend's core. She felt how wet Brittany was with her index finger, running the tip up and down her slit to tease mercilessly.
Brittany spread her legs a little wider to allow Santana to settle between them. On top of her, the brunette smirked and slid her middle finger in as well, pressing the two on either side of Brittany's swollen clit and pinching slightly.
She threw her head back, one hand gripping Santana's upper arm just above her elbow and the other weaving through long, dark hair. She grunted and arched her hips up into Santana's palm, feeling the two fingers ghosting over her clit and torturing her with their presence.
"Fuck," she moaned, her eyes squeezed shut while Santana looked down at her, grinning. "San, please…"
"Well, as long as you've asked nicely…"
Two fingers dove expertly into Brittany's heated center and she gasped, feeling Santana curl them inside of her and pull out, applying pressure in all the right places. Brittany moaned, riding out the feeling of emptiness only to be filled once more as the brunette pressed her hand upward, this time a little harder.
Brittany ground her hips down as Santana came up, and their rhythm was flawless. Together they moved, Santana using her own pelvis to push her fingers deeper into Brittany, while the girl on the ground held Santana against her, forcing their bodies closer. She desperately wanted to be free of the confines of her gear, but they were too far gone to do anything about it now. So she lay there, her purple suit riding up in awkward places, but she was too enraptured to care.
"Harder," she whispered with a groan, arching her back and wishing Santana would just take off their clothes already. "Don't stop…"
Santana's thumb maneuvered its way into the boxers and suddenly applied pressure to the clit at the same time as she pressed a third finger into Brittany. The blonde saw stars, the whimper she emitted an octave or two above her usual alto pitch.
Santana had been watching her the whole time, studying the way her face contorted when she pressed here, stroked there. It was completely engrossing, trying to learn the faces Brittany made with one finger versus two, thumb versus index. It changed every time, but they all told her one thing: Brittany loved everything she did to her.
She stroked the pad of her thumb roughly over Brittany's clit as she bent to trail her tongue down the groove of her throat, tasting a heady combination of sweat and dust from the track. It was her second favorite flavor, if she was going to be perfectly honest. Her first favorite… well, let's just say her fingers were currently in the way of that.
"Santana…" Brittany moaned loudly and Santana braced herself. When Brittany came her entire body shifted, morphing into an extrahuman with the strength to lift and throw her if she wasn't prepared to hold her ground. So, as she felt the muscles deep inside her girlfriend clench around her fingers, she planted her knees and ground her toes into the grass, preparing for Brittany's weight to be thrown against hers.
Brittany arched, biting down on her hand hard as she felt the first wave of her orgasm. Her body spasmed, the muscles contracting and she pushed both of them into a sitting (kneeling, in Santana's case) position with Santana's hand still buried inside her pants, holding steady to her.
"Oh, fuck," she groaned, replacing her hand with Santana's shoulder and biting, knowing it would probably leave a mark. "Jesus, Santana…"
The waves dissipated, and her back unclenched, giving her a freer range of motion. Brittany pulled them both back down with Santana laying flat atop her body with her arm still pressed between them. She slid it out gently, bringing her hand to her lips and sucking her three fingers clean. Then she bent over, kissing Brittany and allowing her to taste herself on Santana's lips.
"Mmmm," she moaned into the other girl's mouth. "God, you are so fucking good."
"You have your extracurricular activities," Santana smirked, gesturing to the track in the distance. "I have mine."
"If I'm half as good on the track as you are with those fingers…" Brittany contemplated how many trophies she would win if that were the case.
"Hey," Santana shrugged, looking pleased with herself. "I do what I can."