If you all want to have my head on a silver platter I'll help you find a proper blunt weapon of choice to do the job. I broke this off about two hours ago because I'm excited for the season to start tomorrow. I've also dealt with some personal issues this summer that I'm not going to get into here. This veryshort piece stands alone. Also, I created a new tumblr. It's incredibly bare right now though.
howcanyoustopthesun (dot) tumblr (dot) com
If I'm to be honest with you, my stance on Brittana at the moment is quite shaky. But, we'll see. Again, a million, trillion apologies on my part. I'll take any hate mail you feel the need to throw at my inbox as well. Also, I'm getting around to answering every one individually. So, if I haven't replied to you, I will.
Rachel never has good ideas. This is a solid fact. Any good ideas that ever enter Rachel Berry's brain are always ruined once she begins to talk about them.
So, when Santana got the invite for an impromptu "End of Summer" blow out, she rolled her eyes and threw her phone back onto her bed.
She was exhausted. Cheer camp had been more strenuous than she remembered. She was out of shape at the beginning of the summer. She'd spent the better part of her junior year singing show tunes and the occasional Amy Winehouse number. Granted, she had perfected her pitch, but her never ending vocal runs did absolutely nothing for her abs.
Coach Sylvester had been unrelenting. She was happy to have them back, but she made sure to beat them down as soon as possible. She was back in charge. They were subservient again.
It didn't take long for Brittany to show up at her front door wielding a gallon of chocolate ice cream and a toothy grin. She held the bag out to Santana who eyed the treat inside with contempt. "We can't. Sylvester would kill us."
She pushed past Santana and entered into the living room, kicking off her shoes as she settled onto the couch. "It's our parting gift to summer, Santana. Coach will never know."
Santana crossed her arms, her eyebrow raising, "We have to do sprints tomorrow, Britt. I find them to be a lot less difficult when I'm not dry heaving."
Brittany stared her down, blue eyes dancing with humor. Santana felt her heart quiver as she subconsciously licked her lips.
Summer with Brittany had been nothing short of a carnival. There were roller coasters of emotions. Santana went up and down. Brittany kissed up her neck, then slide down her body. There were head games galore and most of the time Santana had no idea if she was winning.
They were the main event. Side show freaks in high ponytails and too short shorts.
"More for me then," Brittany shrugged opening the lid and sticking a finger into the softened cream.
Santana stood rigidly at the door as she watch Brittany bring her finger up to her mouth. She slid her tongue over the tip, her eyes hooded and never leaving Santana's.
Santana gulped loudly, her heart beat increasing every time Brittany dipped her finger back into the ice cream and pulled it back inside of her mouth, moaning slightly.
"Chocolate's your favorite right, Santana?"
She forced a nod in affirmation. Finally closing the door, Santana covered the space to the couch. Brittany shifted her position so her legs were wrapped around Santana and the melting ice cream was nestled in between their bodies.
"Are you sure you don't won't any?"
Santana nodded again and Brittany shrugged repeating, "More for me. I need a spoon though."
As she raised herself to move toward the kitchen, Santana's hands held her still at her hips. Brittany grinned. She watched as fear and lust and uncertainty played across Santana's tanned face. "Is there something you need?"
Santana licked her lips as her eyes darted down to Brittany's mouth, "My parents aren't home."
She pushed Brittany back into the couch and grabbed the ice cream setting it down onto the coffee table with a squishy plop. Brittany leaned back into the cushions her eyes fluttering closed as Santana raked blunt nails across her thighs and up to the hem of her shorts, repeating the motion, varying the pressure.
On her last stroke her palms ran flatly against Brittany's thighs and across tensed muscles, up under the hem of her shorts, grabbing at any flesh should could as she moved her body closer. As her lips inched closer to Brittany's, the blond turned her face and Santana's lips connected with her cheek instead.
"Britt..." Santana's voice was a demanding groan. Brittany laughed, "No desert before dinner, San. Now eat your ice cream."