Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Sucks, right?
Prompt: From the Gleekinkmeme. It's a pretty long prompt so here's the gist of it: Brittany loses a bet against Puck; Puck gets to watch them have sex.
Rating: NC-17
"No!"
"What do you mean no?" Puck asks.
Santana slams her locker shut, hard; hard enough that the whole row of lockers reverberates from the shock of it.
"I could say it in Spanish for you," she says. She glances at her girlfriend who is looking guiltily at the ground, "both of you" she emphasizes, "if you've suddenly forgotten English,"
"But San," Brittany shuffles her feet, following after her. "I lost!"
"Yeah, you lost,"
"And I gave my word,"
"Yeah, she gave her word, Lopez," Puck pipes in, looking at her all too hungrily for her liking.
Santana rolls her eyes.
She had seriously thought that after all of Puck's support during her coming out—of course, his support included drawn out spiels on the history of lesbian porn and long winded, Rachel Berry worthy, rants on why lesbianism is hot, but he meant well and he did get his jock friends off of her case—that he'd become her sort of lesbro or something, but no, he's just as annoying now as he was when she was adamantly clinging onto heterosexuality but that hasn't stopped him from becoming Brittany's lesbro—or bi-bro or whatever— and Santana just knew that nothing good could come out of the amount of time they've been spending together which they're seriously proving now.
"You should have thought about that before you went making bets with stipulations you couldn't keep, Britt," she draws her history book to her chest, taking off down the hall. "Now, if you'd excuse me, I have class to go to!"
"Damn, Lopez! When'd you become such a killjoy?"
That stops her and she whirls around, the pleats of her uniform skirt spinning with her until she's staring at the amused face of Noah Puckerman.
It's about to become the abused face if he doesn't stop smirking like that.
"It's not like I haven't watched you guys before,"
"Once, Puckerman!" so far back in freshman year that she can pretend it's nothing but a fragment of her imagination. "Once, to stop you from blabbing like a woman about what you walked in on!"
"Well, I've slept with you both! Doesn't that count for something?"
Santana rolls her eyes.
"Yeah! Look how well that turned out!"
"Come on, Santana. I'll be quiet! I won't even say a word," He's actually fucking pleading. "The memory of the first time is getting kinda hazy and the Puckersauras needs something to keep him warm at night,"
"Yeah San. You don't want him to freeze!"
Puck nods adamantly at Brittany's encouragement and Santana scoffs.
"Yeah, well, he'd better get a blanket," she points a finger at his chest. "Better yet, save your balls, fuck a cougar, because just the thought of you beating that dead horse of a cock to thoughts of me and Britts is incentive enough to make me wanna go all Lima Heights Adjacent on your ass," she threatens. "And you!" she turns to Brittany. "If you're so gung-ho about putting on this show, you'd better find another girl to do it with. And if you dare actually doing that, good luck finding another girlfriend as hot as me,"
"Whoa!" That threat seemed to have worked. "Fine!" Puck holds his hands up in mock surrender and Santana almost smirks at her victory until he speaks again. "I have a win-win-win for everyone," he smirks. "I get to watch you," he nudges Brittany with this sort of boyish enthusiasm which totally reminds Santana why he and Brittany seem to be such good friends lately. "think about her, if you get what I mean," he wiggles his eyebrows. "No harm, no foul, right? Everyone keeps their limbs, I get a good show, Britt fulfills the stips of the bet and you, Santana, can keep living in the prudish nun house that you've seemed to have gotten trapped in!"
Santana grits her teeth at the jibe and moreso at the prospect of Brittany actually agreeing to it. She knows Brittany really means no harm. Hell, she knows that even Puck means no harm. It's just stupid bet between friends—between Puck and Brittany, the two most sexualized people she knows with the exception of herself—but the thought of them being sexualized together irks her.
It's not even that she doesn't trust them—she trusts that to Brittany this is nothing but a stupid bet that she lost and she trusts that Puck, as much as he wouldn't be himself if he didn't try for a free show, would never ever try anything with her girl—yet she's wary.
She's downright adamant against it.
"No," she replies. "It's not happening,"
Puck groans.
"Really? What the hell, Lopez? I won the bet fair and square. I deserve something,"
"He did win, Santana," Brittany agrees. "I have to give him something,"
XxX
"San," Brittany whines. "I don't know how to work this,"
Santana rolls her eyes, glancing over the top of the magazine she's not even really reading.
"You use advanced editing software for Fondue For Two! You can turn a computer on, Britt," she says irritably because she is irritable, like, she can't believe Brittany is really doing this levels of irritable.
She can't believe she's letting Britt do this levels of irritable even.
"But it's not working, San!"
"Because you're not trying, Brittany!"
She knows exactly what Brittany is trying to do; she's trying to lure her over there where she's sitting all nude and lean and so fucking perfect on her computer chair, waiting to Skype Puck so he can see her, as per the negotiations of their bet stipulations, all nude and lean and so fucking perfect!
She's not falling for that one.
Except maybe she is because the next time she glances over to her girlfriend, she's on her knees thoroughly inspecting her PC tower and Santana can't help the sigh that escapes her lips.
She looks genuinely confused and Santana can't help but soften a bit.
"Just press the button, babe,"
"But there are so many buttons!"
She's starting to think they should have used the lap top.
Whatever.
"Look, I'm coming to help," she concedes. "But not because I want to," she adds quickly, plopping down onto the large leather computer chair. "Get up baby," she coaxes, pulling Brittany against her until she has a lap full of very naked Brittany.
Not really helpful to her thought pattern but whatevs.
"Here," she grabs her girlfriend's wrist, extending her arm until it's pressed against Brittany's. She leans forward and Brittany moves with her until she can coax Brittany's finger against the power button. "This one," she murmurs and Brittany presses it until the computer comes to life with a flurry of whirling noises.
She smiles so prettily at her success that Santana honestly can't help but smile too.
And then she's really not smiling at all anymore because as soon as the PC is properly powered on, they are greeted with the obnoxious tone signaling an incoming Skype call.
She answers before her brain can start rattling off the really fucking good reasons that this is an awful idea.
Then Puck's face pops up on the computer screen and she knows that he is the really fucking good reason that this is an awful idea.
"Lopez, you decided to join after all,"
"Don't get smug with me Puck! If anything happens here that I don't like, this call and your dick get cut off quicker than it takes for you to get a hard-on, got it?"
To her ultimate annoyance, he leans further back into his chair, simply smirking at her threat.
"Cut back on the anger, Santana. As I said before, win-win-win, right Britt?"
Fuck.
She's been played.
It's obvious immediately when Brittany's lips quirk into a mischievous smile that rivals Puck's.
"Really, Brittany?" she asks, annoyed. 'But there are so many buttons' her fucking ass. She should have known nothing good could ever come from a Puck & Brittany alliance. Hell, she did know nothing good could ever come from a Puck & Brittany alliance.
"Just relax, Lopez," Puck's self-assured voice floats through her computer speakers. "From where I'm sitting, seems like you got the sweetest deal,"
She has a haughty reply for that on the tip of her tongue but it dies before it touches her lips because Brittany turns her head, burying her nose sweetly into the side of her neck.
"Relax, San," she echoes Puck, though the rough whine of her voice contradicts her sweet, tender actions. "Don't you wanna touch me, baby?"
All. The. Fucking. Time.
It's pretty fucking unfair how wet that question makes her in a matter of seconds. It's even more unfair that Brittany's breath is just subtly ghosting across that spot on her neck that she knows gets Santana crazy turned on.
"Fine," she sighs, pressing her lips against Brittany's bare shoulder like she's been wanting to since Britt stripped out of her shirt. "You guys win. I'll play,"
It's not like she would have been able to resist Brittany anyway because when Brittany leans all the way back against her and spreads her legs wide on either side of the chair, Santana is a goner.
Like dead and gone to the heaven kind of goner because Brittany manages to sink further into her and suddenly she has free reign to the most perfect body in the history of the universe.
Fuck Puck—or more appropriately, Puck can fuck himself—because his presence, or his cyber-presence or whatever, seriously doesn't even faze her when she's got her palms full of Brittany's tits.
"Yeah, fucking squeeze them tities, Lopez,"
Well maybe it fazes her a little bit.
Such a fucking perv!
She doesn't even feel bad when she leans forward to mute the volume on the computer. She can read lips well enough to know that he complains but she really doesn't give a fuck, not when he has his dick in his fist and she has her girlfriend's fucking magnificent tits in her hands.
She knows how much Britt loves to have her boobs played with so she lingers, squeezing the supple flesh roughly, and gently circling Britt's nipples until they pucker against her fingertips. Any other position and she'd probably have her mouth on them already, sucking and biting until Brittany is begging to be fucked. That can wait until later though, right now Brittany is arching into her hands, making tiny little breathy moans that let Santana know she can go harder.
She pinches Brittany's hard nipples between her thumbs and forefingers twisting lightly; Brittany gasps, fingernails sinking into the flesh of Santana's thigh where her uniform pleats have bunched.
"Feels so good, San,"
"Yeah?" Santana teases a little, pinching harder and soothing the jolt of pain with quick gentle caresses. She nuzzles into Brittany's skin, nose pressed against the smooth plane where her neck meets her shoulder. Brittany smells like that fruit body wash she uses but she tastes like pure Brittany when Santana presses her lips across the column of her shoulder and then traces the same path with her tongue.
Brittany whines Santana's name when Santana presses her lips to the skin behind her earlobe so Santana does it harder, smirking when Brittany's body shudders against hers.
"You getting nice and wet for me, Britt?"
Brittany nods emphatically, groaning when Santana wraps her lips around her earlobe and tugs.
"Santana please. Baby, I need— " she trails off into a sharp gasp, her voice hoarse and barely there amongst the wisp of breath it gets caught up in; Santana is actually kind of glad that she isn't the only one that turns into a complete fucking horny mess when Brittany's voice gets all grainy and harsh like it is now because a quick glance at the computer screen and she swears she can see Puck's cock swell even harder against his tight fist.
She smirks knowingly, suddenly very content with her position. She may not have wanted this but sweet, sweet revenge is in her very hands. She can tell that Brittany is already turned on to the point of desperation and she knows Puck well enough to know that he'll do anything not to cum before he gets his complete show which means that Santana has complete power to tease the shit out of both of them and that's exactly what she intends to do.
She drags her tongue across the nape of Brittany's neck again, making sure to let her breath blow warm across the stickiness once she reaches Brittany's ear.
"What do you need, Britt-Britt?" she husks, one hand still occupied with the massive swell of flesh she's fondling and the other skirting across the planes of tight abs. Brittany's answers comes in the form of a guttural whine and the very subtle thrust of her hips which Santana can't help but chuckle at, knowing full and well that she's going to make Brittany wait regardless. "Hmm, Britt-Britt?" she flicks her thumb against a hard nipple, rolling rippled flesh beneath the soft, ridged pad. "Do you need me to fuck you?"
"Santana," her name is a ragged plea, a threat, a warning even. She can feel the tension pulling taut in Brittany's muscles. She feels the urges to tense, to thrust, to clench before they even roll through her girlfriend and because she knows Brittany's body so well, her hands quickly splay across the tight muscles of Brittany's inner thighs, forcing her legs further apart before they can snap shut to relish the slight tingle of pleasure the movement would cause.
Brittany heaves a frustrated breath and Santana chuckles.
"No, no, Britt," she taunts, low and heady, her fingers tracing patterns into soft skin. "Your lost bet, your show. You gave your word, remember?" she says, referencing Brittany's earlier words. "And I'm sure Puck's expecting a really good show, right?" she's pretty sure Puck mouths 'damn right' his face all levels of lecherous as his hand dips out of frame of the camera, stroking low against his hard shaft. She almost laughs; she isn't even touching him but he's as much at her mercy as Brittany is right now.
She drags her fingertips in smaller circles, pressing harder against the place where Britt's bone curves and her inner thigh muscles dip hollow; Brittany's breath hitches.
"And you were so desperate to give him his show, remember?" Her voice is that perilous, racy kind of low that she knows makes Brittany's whole body quake in anticipation. "Is this what you wanted him to see, huh Britt?" She strokes through the neat patch of soft blonde hair that tickles her fingertips, running her fingers down, then up, down, then up, down and up again before Brittany can thrust her hips to nudge Santana's fingers exactly where she wants them.
"Santana!" she whines, head lulling back against Santana's shoulder, and neck craning slightly so her breath and words catch against Santana's neck, and when she moves just a tad, then against her jaw and cheek too.
"What?" Santana asks, feigning complete innocence. "I'm just helping you keep your word, baby," she trails her fingers lower, just barely breaching flesh already blazing warm with arousal. "Just," she leans down a bit, brushing her lips across Britt's cheek, "you know," she grazes the corner of Brittany's lips with her own, smiling when she manages to dart just out of reach when Brittany tries to close the distance completely. "Putting on a good show,"
Santana could kiss her if she wanted; she could angle her head downward and take those shiny, red-tinted lips between hers and lick into that soft candy-sweet mouth until they're both breathless, but she doesn't. That would weaken her resolve and she's really having far too much fun teasing her.
She cups Brittany gently with her fingers, squeezing her outer lips together and then apart again until Brittany clenches hard, her legs trembling quietly.
"Keep 'em wide," Santana warns, free hand splayed against one of Britt's thighs to keep her spread for her. "You want to give a show then let Puck see how fucking wet you are for me," she catches Britt's clit between her middle and forefingers, sliding them down her slit and parting her outer lips so flushed, glistening flesh is easily exposed.
She's so slick that Santana's fingers slip and slide smoothly against her, fingertips rubbing tight circles into sensitive skin.
"Yes, baby, please," Brittany's words are staccato, punctuated by deep intakes of breath and whines of pleasure. "San, please, harder,"
Santana concedes, tracing tighter, deeper circles into slick flesh, brushing Britt's clit hard with soft saturated fingertips. Brittany's body quakes under the pleasure, raw moans tearing from her lips and rolling into Santana like the clatter from a thunderstorm
"San," Brittany's fingernails dig into Santana's thigh, her hips rising off of Santana's lap to push harder into her hand. "Yes, yes, yes," she hisses, burying her face into Santana's neck to muffle her sound with skin. "Baby, I'msoclosealready, I—" her hips jerk wildly, desperation palpable in the way her veins raise against the clenched tendons and muscles in her hands and in the way her shoulders tense harshly. "Santana, please. Inside. I need you inside,"
Santana slides her fingers lower in acknowledgement, her middle and forefingers just barely breaching soft, wet heat. She wiggles her fingers teasingly, collecting slickness on her fingertips without pressing into her; Brittany groans, both whiny and frustrated, and it's enough to soften Santana a bit so she slides her fingers home, instantly greeted by the needy, cushioned clench of Britt's inner walls.
It's carpal tunnel angle and a killer forearm workout but Santana pushes her fingers as far as she can get them, pressing hard inside her until she finds that spot that makes Britt cry out and arch her back so that Santana's fingers slide out just enough that when she slips back in, she hits that same spot immediately.
She adds an upward flick with the very tips of her fingers that has her arched palm rubbing into Britt's swollen nub on every thrust; it creates a ragged rhythm between them with Brittany rising to meet the thrusts of her fingers and twitching stiltedly seconds later when Santana's palm brushes her clit.
It seems Puck's rhythm is just as unbridled; Santana glances up to see a flurry of movement on her computer screen, his fist working his hard cock so fast the camera blurs. She wants to be amused by his enthusiasm but she can't blame him really; Brittany is seriously hot, especially when she's close to orgasm which is she is now, Santana can tell by the way she's squeezing her fingers, prolonging her thrusts so she drives in deeper and stays in for longer, pressing deep into soft flesh while Brittany rides out the rhythm.
Santana dips her head to press kisses alongside Brittany's clenched jaw, smiling when Brittany, even though she's overcome by her budding pleasure, relaxes beneath her butterfly kisses.
"You feel so good, baby," She murmurs quietly into a mass of blonde hair; these tones are for Brittany, not for Puck. "God, I wish I could taste you right now," her mouth practically waters with her words, thinking about her tongue being lavished with the wet heat currently clinging to her fingers.
"San, God, yes," Brittany groans desperately, bucking into Santana's thrusts so hard the wet plunging sound of Santana's thrusts resonate. "San, I'm gonna—"
Brittany's body stiffens just as Santana glances at her screen to see Puck, with a lazy smile, shooting streams against his chest.
"Whoa," Brittany murmurs dazedly, falling back down against Santana, her limbs suddenly heavy yet shuddering, feeling boneless like a mountain of jello. "Whoa," she repeats, contracting around Santana's slow thrusts, drawing her climax out as her body continues to draw Santana in.
Santana kisses along a sweaty shoulder blade, slowing her fingers until the contractions eventually slow to a stop and Brittany goes still again.
Santana finally frees her fingers, pulling a last shuddering convulsion from Britt's spent body. She flexes her wrist (it'll be sore in the morning) and brings her glistening fingers to her lips, sucking the tempting tangy flavor from her digits.
"Sexy," Brittany husks, blue eyes sparkling as she gazes amusedly at her girlfriend.
Santana chuckles.
It almost feels like a completely normal post-sex session until she glances up and finds Puck grinning lewdly at her from her computer screen.
She rolls her eyes.
"Say bye to Puck, Britts," she nips at the stretch of skin closest to her, moaning exaggeratedly against warn skin. "Since he's gotten what he asked for, I think it's time to end this call so I can go down on my really hot girlfriend now," she winks suggestively, leaning forward to end the call as Brittany rushes out a quick, careless bye.
The computer screen glows a pinkish red as the desktop collage of her and Britt refills the screen.
"San?" Brittany asks as Santana settles back against the chair.
"Mmhmm?"
"As great as that you going down on me thing sounds," she trails her fingertips beneath the pleats of Santana's Cheerios skirt and that throb that Santana's been ignoring ever since Brittany got naked intensifies into a full ache. "I'm super sensitive right now," she trails her fingers across the seam of Santana's spankies. "So, how about I go down on you instead?"
Santana almost moans at just the thought of how good that sounds, but there's something kind of plaguing her mind and she knows that if she lets Britt go down on her then she'll definitely forget to ask it.
"On one condition," she murmurs instead of the 'God, yes, now please,' that threatens to slip from her lips.
"And what's that?"
"Tell me what this bet was about,"
Brittany giggles, slipping off of her lap with an energy that she really shouldn't possess right now, but because she's Brittany, she does anyway.
"Puck says you're whipped," she admits, moving onto her knees in front of Santana.
"I'm not whipped," Santana says, ever petulant even though her words come out shuddered from the way Brittany presses her lips against her knee.
"S'what I said," Brittany answers, kissing stretches of smooth leg. "In fact, I even bet on it," she drags tight red Spankies down Santana's legs, lips following their descent and forging a new path on her ascent.
Santana heaves a shaky breath as Brittany fits her legs over strong pale shoulders.
It's not until Santana's trembling beneath Brittany's beautifully talented mouth that something important occurs to Santana.
"But Britt," she sighs.
"Yes, honey?" she murmurs, the words tingling against Santana's sensitive flesh.
"Didn't you lose the bet?"
Brittany only chuckles, responding with a quick peck against Santana's lips.
The End.
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