Title: pull your little arrows out and let me live my life
Author: timorous-scribe
Length: 3.4k
Rating: M / Explicit
Pairing: Bramtana (Brittany\Sam\Santana)
Summary: Sam sees at the edge of his vision where Brittany tilts her head in question on one side of him, and Santana nods with a smirk on the other. They start this kind of rolling massage thing with their fingers and his mind goes blank—There's *no way* this is actually happening right now. Shameless smut.
Sam's not really surprised when Brittany curls around his right arm while they're watching the movie, clasping it to her chest and hiding her face in his shoulder. He's learned over the past couple months that it's just something she does when she starts to get sleepy, or when she feels cold, or when she just wants to touch.
He's not really scared—like he would get at the beginning of the summer—when Santana shifts in the space to his left a breath later, leaning in closer and pressing her intimidating presence around him. He's learned it's just her way of reminding him that she's watching, and aware, and that she can kick his ass at any given moment if he crosses any lines.
An almost silent sigh lifts and drops Sam's shoulders as he tries to ignore the pressure of gorgeous, soft breasts to both sides of him, squished against his ribs and his arms and swelling against him with every breath they take, all smooth warm skin and barely-there summer clothes. He chastises himself that he should be used to it by now because really, it's been all summer of this kind of torture at least a few nights a week.
He hasn't jerked off this much since he was dating Quinn.
Sam's not sure how it became the comfortable kind of thing it was now with the three of them, it had only really started a couple months earlier when Brittany had called him out of the blue one Thursday night near the end of the school year. He'd hesitantly shown up and—with only a trickle of fear—followed the pair of cheerleaders down into the blonde's basement. They spent the rest of the evening watching Terminator and Crank and comparing Arnold Schwarzenegger's action movies to Jason Statham's.
He came back over the next day (when Brittany texted him something about the President of California not having any representation without his presence) with a pile of DVDs in his backpack to make his argument for Arnold, only halfway surprised to find out Santana had supplied her own stack of Jason Statham flicks, along with a bottle of Smirnoff. He didn't make his way home that weekend until Sunday afternoon, the action star fight left at a stalemate.
The following Wednesday, he couldn't resist replying to Santana's shit-talking text about kicking his ass in Call of Duty. Already equipped with Cheetos, Red Monsters, and a couple red apples ("...to keep the doctor away, dude."), Sam showed up at Brittany's house within fifteen minutes of firing off his acceptance text to her challenge.
Then it was Friday again and Sam had somehow (he still wasn't sure) talked the girls into a comic movie marathon that started with a late showing of Dark Knight Rises and lasted—after the inclusion of X-Men and all the prior incarnations of Batman—into the next week. Brittany liked Catwoman best (Santana stating that Mystique was more her flavor), and could give a surprisingly detailed breakdown analysis of Anne Hatheway versus Michelle Pfeiffer in the role (Brittany was adamant that Pfeiffer had more 'meow').
It just kept up like that until it eventually turned into how it was now, where he felt strange to have an afternoon off that he didn't spend with Brittany and Santana.
The question kept circling in his head, though—why did they want him there when it was Santana's last summer home? Sam kept waiting for her to snap at him about being alone with her girlfriend; he could tell the times he interrupted things between them. Each walk-in would have him awkwardly trying to remove himself from the situation as quickly as possible, instant boner covered and his cheeks flaming bright.
Brittany kept calling and texting him to come over, though, and Santana hadn't treated him any differently than normal when he did; so he kept answering. They were both pretty alright chicks, he reasoned, and Brittany would be in Glee with him next year. Plus, having two hot cheerleaders—even if they were hot for each other—as your companions for the summer was pretty awesome.
Sam's thoughts dissolve as Brittany uncurls one hand from his bicep, trailing it almost absently down his arm to rest on his thigh. He feels Santana stiffen beside him before she leans into his chest a little further, tucking her head under his chin and staring at the pale hand on his thigh. He tries not to move, instead fixing his gaze unseeing to the tv where Obi-Wan and Luke are boarding the Millenium Falcon, Han and Chewwie already onboard.
Things are heavy this week. A stack of boxes full of Santana's life are against the wall in her room, the walls are stripped of most of her pictures, and her plane ticket was purchased a long time ago. There is an air of sadness to the afternoon and they all just keep pretending like nothing is going to be any different next weekend.
Sam loves Santana, he really does, but he really feels like an intruder on these last moments his girls have together, and even tried to keep his distance. Much to his—and maybe her—surprise, Santana wouldn't let him stay home for her last weekend of the summer. She had texted him a vague and half-hearted threat that somehow reeked of affection and requested the Star Wars movies, all at once.
Now he forces himself to watch the scene on-screen that he's had memorized since he was eight years old, and not pay attention to the silent conversation taking place beneath his chin between the girls leaning into either side of him. He can feel the crackling energy in the quiet and holds his breath, finally looking down just as tan and pale hands slide over his hips to knot together in the middle of his lap.
Sam chokes on a gasp and his head jerks back up, that was surprising.
He sees at the edge of his vision where Brittany tilts her head in question on one side of him, and Santana nods with a smirk on the other. They start this kind of in-tandem rolling massage thing with their fingers and his mind goes blank—
There's no way this is actually happening right now.
Okay, so, maybe—maybe—when Brittany first called, when they first wanted him to hang out all that time ago, maybe some tiny part of him thought this might be what they could possibly be calling him for. Because, c'mon. The body roll... it worked and he knew it, okay?
But it hadn't been that, what he'd expected. It had been this friend thing that they had now, this thing that was actually—like, he enjoyed what he had with them, even if he couldn't really explain what it was. Brittany's observations were one of the few things that really always made sense to him, and Santana was just like his favorite kind of heroine—gruff and all bitchy, but totally loyal and fierce.
And yeah, the super hot thing they both had really didn't hurt, but it wasn't why he liked hanging out with them. He had been pretty sure up until this moment right now—with the girls inching closer to each other over him, their hands still tangled together and squeezing his rapidly growing bulge with unmistakable intent—that they weren't interested in that from him, either.
Brittany rubs harder against his groin while nuzzling up his neck and he feels himself pulse under her hand in response, unable to stop a grunt from escaping his throat. Santana chuckles low and sexy at his response and his eyes flutter closed at the feeling of Brittany biting into his jawline, before they pop open again when he feels the pressure of his jeans suddenly release.
What's the harm, though, really, of having their last weekend together of the summer be special, with these two girls he actually cares about? Sam rationalizes, when they reach each other directly over him and begin kissing hungrily, that it isn't like he hasn't been with Santana before, anyways.
"It's your lucky day, Sammy Evans." Santana whispers against Brittany's mouth, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulling until he is throbbing in her grip, the action not interrupting her kissing. His jaw drops open when she starts to pump rhythmically and he nods hazily without taking his eyes off them.
"We've been talking about this for so long..." Brittany murmurs into the kiss, one hand pushing Sam's shirt up his abdomen until he twists to take it off, the other dropping down to circle him at the base, squeezing in rhythm with Santana's tugs while she sucks on the brunette's tongue.
Sam can only sputter helplessly as he stares at his own lap, his cock throbbing in between the tan and pale fingers working together around it, the image almost too unbelievable to sink into his mind's eye properly.
Brittany has her other hand braced on his shoulder, digging her fingers into the muscle in a pulsing squeeze that matches the grip she has on his dick, and Sam's hips are following the same pattern in lifting against the friction. Santana drags her free hand up Brittany's neck and into her hair, tangling her fingers tightly at the nape of the blonde's neck and pulling until the kiss breaks.
"On your knees, Britts." She whispers, sucking the blonde's lower lip into her mouth and staring into blue eyes gone deep cobalt. Sam swallows on air as his tongue scratches against the dryness in his mouth. This is so much like one of his favorite fantasies it's fucking unbelievable.
Santana helps him shove his jeans down his legs so Brittany can shift his knees apart and settle between them on the floor, a deep groan ripping from his chest as she immediately engulfs the length of him in her mouth.
It's hot, so hot, and wet, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his hands curling into fists beside him and his teeth clenching as he breathes slow and deliberate through his nose, concentrating on not letting go straight down Brittany's delectably tight throat. He feels her tongue rub against the sensitive underside of the head, the strong suction she applies a second later bursting color across his vision.
"Fu—FUCK!"
It's actually not him that yells, but Brittany, the sound muffled around his flesh. Sam's eyes pop open and roll at the feeling before blinking rapidly to try and comprehend the sight before him.
Brittany was the picture of sex on her knees between his legs, her lips and hand wrapped tightly around his cock, silky soft blonde hair strewn across his thighs and lower belly. He grips the fabric of the sofa cushion to stop his fingers from burying in her hair.
Below her undulating hips, he can see Santana's laid out on the floor on her back, the brunette's head presumably buried between Brittany's thighs if the cries vibrating around him so deliciously were any indicator.
Sam really didn't know how he had managed to not come.
Almost as if she had heard his thoughts, Brittany squeezes the base of his dick tightly, sucking hard before letting the head pop out of her mouth as she drops her forehead against his hipbone. She pumps her hand quickly up and down, panting with her eyes closed, while her own lower body rocks hard back and forth over Santana's mouth and her cries fall in time with each grind.
Back arching and fingernails digging into his thigh, Brittany moans Santana's name in her release a moment later, her rhythm with her other hand waning off until her fingers only loosely circle Sam's earnest erection.
The wet suckling noises he can hear filtering up from Santana cleaning up after herself do nothing to suppress the throbbing, and a giggle sounds from a sated post-orgasmic Brittany when she feels the twitches beneath her fingers.
She releases him and stands up over Santana, grinning lazily and holding a hand out to help the brunette to her feet. She is pushed down to the sofa beside Sam before she can stop it, then Brittany points at him.
"Condom?" He blinks at her stupidly for a moment, the idea of what condoms are for—and how they would possibly use them for this situation—stopping all other thought processes, before he nods jerkily and pushes himself to his feet.
It might be that the jeans are still wrapped around his ankles, or maybe the visual of Brittany dropping eagerly between her girlfriend's thighs, or even watching Santana's lean body arch back while her fingers tangle into blonde strands, the girl visibly working her mouth against Santana's wet sex; but whatever the cause, Sam stumbles reaching into the back pocket of his jeans.
Wallet. Wallet has a condom. Condom means he might get to fuck one of these perfect—
"Sam." Brittany hasn't lifted her head and he realizes it is Santana's voice beckoning him. Her already dark eyes are nearly black and he feels his dick twitch when her gaze zeroes in on the condom in his hand and she swallows. "You wanna fuck her, Sam?"
Oh, fuck.
If Santana's rasped question weren't enough, Brittany's whimpering 'mm-hmm!' nodded and breathed into Santana's heat would've crumbled any leftover resistance Sam might've been hiding. He nods frantically, the wrapper ripped open and the latex rolled down within seconds, leaving him standing there prepared but frozen.
Um. Is—is he allowed to put it where he thinks she said he could?
He wraps his hand around the base of his hard-on and squeezes softly, stroking upwards with a lightly twisting motion while he watches Santana's beautiful face contort in pleasure at whatever Brittany is doing with her mouth. It's almost too much, the eroticism of the image before him, and he slows the motion of his hand before it can overwhelm his restraint.
Brittany's back arches, her rounded ass elevating as she presses her face deeper into Santana, her arms wrapping around the brunette's thighs from underneath. Those black eyes open just slightly and fix on him again, the flesh in his hand immediately swelling even more under her gaze.
"C'mere, Trouty..." Her voice is rough and she tilts her jaw up at him once, the hand she had been kneading over her own breast pausing long enough for her to crook her finger at him.
He drops to his knees behind Brittany on the floor at the sofa's edge, his hands coming to rest lightly against her hips while he watches their silent exchange. Santana's tugging at the blonde hair wrapped around her fist until stormy blue eyes open and stare back, her lover's wild sucking and licking slowing to a tender nuzzle and gentle lap.
Her dark gaze flickers to him over Brittany's head momentarily, then immediately back, a single brow arching just slightly as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. Brittany's lashes flutter as she angles her hips back in answer, rocking against air at the same time as she delves her tongue inside Santana.
The action forces a raw moan out of the brunette reclined on the couch, and Sam's eyes roll back at the sound. She snaps her fingers and he snaps his gaze to hers, her decadent smile and slow nod drawing him forward.
"C'mon, Sam," she growls. "Do it." He steadies with one hand on Brittany's hip, the other still loosely wrapped around himself, and lines up to her glistening lips. Brittany has one hand braced against Santana's thigh, the other with two fingers pressing just so against the brunette's entrance, not quite slipping inside but not relieving the pressure, either.
Sam rocks forward the tiniest bit, watching Brittany's slick flesh envelope the head of his dick, the heat and lubed friction causing his eyes to fall closed and his fingers to dig into her soft skin for a moment, concentrating so he doesn't lose his shit so soon and end this incredible milestone of his young life.
Brittany groans and pushes back into him, taking the next inch or so and prompting him to draw a sharp breath. They pause for several heartbeats, Santana's ragged 'please' tearing through the thick air and catalyzing both blondes to motion, their bodies sinking together completely with a mutual exhalation.
Fuck, Brittany's tight.
He isn't sure, but he thinks he says so out loud, his forehead pressing to her shoulder-blade, one hand still gripped to her hip while the other was now somehow roughly grasping Santana's thigh. He plants one foot beside Santana's leg, situating his other knee between Brittany's to hold her legs apart as he slowly withdraws from her body, watching her withdraw slender fingers from her girlfriend in perfect sync with his movement.
"Is this okay?" His whisper is breathed directly into her ear and she nods frantically without lifting from her task between the brunette's thighs. He buries inside her again before she's finished nodding and she releases a sharp cry that is muffled into wet folds, then echoed by Santana as Brittany buries her fingers in turn.
The room is heavy with the humid scent of sweat and sex, slick dull noises of bodies impacting and panting whimpers filling any space left over until he's sure he's going delirious with pleasure.
"Oh, oh, ohohoh!" Santana's moans escalate in both frequency and pitch and Brittany matches her, wet sucking sounds mixed with her chirped 'mm-hmm, mm-hmm!'s.
Sam tightens his lower abs and pounds into her faster, first watching the sweat run down the perfect groove of Brittany's spine before his attention crawls up to Santana. He can feel his control slipping while he watches her brow furrow and her hand cup around the curve of her own breast, biting down on his lower lip when she pinches her nipple between her fingertips.
"So fucking sexy..." he breathes, gasping tightly when her eyes fly open just as her jaw drops. She's staring into his eyes just long enough for his orgasm to slam into him, only a fraction of a second really, before her gaze is locked onto the turbulent blue of the blonde he can feel clamping around his cock and riding spasming jerky thrusts into bliss.
Santana's cries make his ears ring as he pumps erratically, panting into the back of Brittany's neck with tremors rolling down his spine. The occasional flutter of her walls around him keeps his heart pounding until Brittany lifts her head lazily, throwing a saucy grin at him over her shoulder.
"Think you could get outta me? I kinda have to go to the bathroom." There is no meanness or teasing in Brittany's tone and Santana's loud laughter in reply is infectious, Sam finding himself chuckling as he pulls out, trying to be discreet about knotting and disposing of the soggy condom he peels off himself.
Brittany gets to her feet and walks off to the stairs to go use the restroom, and Sam sits down on the sofa beside Santana. It's silent for a few moments, then Sam reaches out to cover her hand with his own and inhales a slow, deep breath.
"Don't think for even a second that this means you can fuck her while I'm gone, Aerosmith." Santana's voice is quiet and the nickname is half-assed by her standards, and Sam just squeezes her hand.
"Nahhh... Britt's your girl, San. You—you're not," he takes a deep breath and scratches at a freckle on his stomach, not meeting her eyes. "I love you guys."
Santana smiles softly and pokes at the freckle so fiercely holding his attention.
"Good. Just making sure you get how this is gonna go down."
If he reads the 'I love you, too' in her tone (he does), he wisely doesn't say so, instead wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his chest just as Brittany returns to curl into the other side.
Things may be totally different next weekend, but for now he figures he'll just enjoy this one.