It's my first Brittana! Aaaaaah.

Santana had been a teacher in Columbia University for about three years now, and she prided herself in being professional and at the same time, being loved by her students and her coworkers alike. Loved by her students, most likely by the course she's teaching and loved by her coworkers for her charisma. Santana couldn't blame them at all. She's one smooth operator, but you don't catch her boasting about something like that.

She grabbed her suitcase and buttoned up her black blazer. She smoothed out the crinkles as she pressed the button so that the elevator would take her to her next class. When she arrived, students were already scattered all over the classroom, reading their texts and conversing with each other. Santana strode in, and she instantaneously became Professor Lopez, expert in the Language of Love, Sex, and Gender.

"Is sex dirty?" Santana always started class with a quotation she pulled from some of her favourite philosophers and writers that talk about the course she teaches. "Woody Allen says, only when it's being done right." The class laughed and Santana smiled. "Do you agree with him?" Their heads bobbed, some didn't. "Care to tell me why?"

And the discussion started off, full swing. Santana loved teaching, especially about liberal arts such as her course. It was unnecessary for her students' majors, but it was relevant in nourishing their personal and emotional lives. It teaches them to be free of the restraints that the universe placed on sex, allowed them to enrich their lives with love and all of its emotional nuances, and finally, realize that gender and sexuality are two entirely different things.

Santana just really adores her job.

The clock struck four o'clock, and Santana dismissed her students with a reminder that the reading of the first quarter of Delta of Venus was due next class, and that they should be prepared to discuss the culture of sex and erotica during the 1940s. Santana shuffled her papers and tucked them in her briefcase, before realizing that one of her students, a tall, blue-eyed blonde, was waiting on her.

"Do you have any questions about today's discussion, Brittany?" It was Santana's thing to memorise the faces and the names of her students, but not only the attractive ones.

Her student shook her head. "No, Professor Lopez. No questions at all. Well, except a question for you."

Santana's brow arched, her smile never faltering. "Is that so?"

Brittany nodded and bounced on the tips of her toes. "If I say I want your body, would you hold it against me?"

She said it so casually, that the cliché was lost on Santana. She burst into laughter, and Brittany grinned. "I didn't know you were Britney Spears, Brittany S. Pierce." Santana grinned and shook her head. "Nice try though."

At this, Brittany jutted out her lip for a second but smiled immediately anyway. "I'll keep trying." She promised, her hand brushing against Santana's hip. "I'll see you around, Professor Lopez."

Santana gulped and nodded. "Yes." She stated. She was never one for fleeting touches and moon-eyed students, but Brittany was attractive and hot and—

She cut off the thought before it could even begin to be fleshed out with Santana's imagination. It was probably the one and only pitfall of knowing and being open about sex. Her mind was constantly in that cusp of sexual fantasies and its philosophy. Simply put, Santana is always thinking about sex, both professionally and personally.

'Don't think about sex with your students Never ever, do you hear yourself? Just. Don't you dare do it, Santana Marie Lopez. Don't. Do. It.'

It's one of her rules.

But as Santana was walking back to her office, all she had in her mind was a stark image of Brittany bent over her desk, essays scattered all over the floor, her fingers deep inside her—

"Stop that!" She hissed to herself, glad to be finally alone in her office. Santana collapsed on her leather office chair and burrowed herself in reading her favourite Anaïs Nin anthology.

And that was the end of that. Right?

Wrong.

For the next few weeks, Brittany had been relentless. The flirtatious smirks, the slow winks, the way the blonde's fingertips brushed against the cuff of Santana's blazer… It was a game of seduction, and Santana was ashamed to admit that she was losing quite terribly. Or winning, depending on one's point of view. But for Santana, it was a horrifying mix of both. Brittany's eyes, her stunningly clear definition of love and sex, her confidence. Her incisors that show when she smiled. Her slender fingers. Her favourite pen with the ever-changing fuzzy topper.

It drove Santana nuts to be so enamoured by a student. Her career was only starting, and to be careless now would mean the end of the only good thing in her life. But Santana was a professor of love. And sex and gender. But primarily, love.

This didn't mean she was in love with Brittany already. But Santana knew about chances and taking them as they come along, so she started devising a plan. A plan to reciprocate Brittany's flirtatious advances.

Only… to come up short.

"God damn it." Santana groaned, chucking her pen against the door of her office in frustration. She took her phone out of her pocket and dials a number. "You better be free tonight, Fabray. Or else I'm going to have a conniption."

"Hello, Santana."

"Yeah, hi. Drinks. Tonight. I'm begging you." Santana slumped on her desk, picking up another pen to twirl it between her fingertips. "Hit up bars with me like the good ol' days. We'll get wasted and shit. And maybe if we're lucky we'll get laid. But y'know, separately."

"I have a girlfriend." Quinn deadpanned.

"Oh, Berrylicious. Right, right." Santana slammed her forehead against the desk. "That's not my point!"

"I think you're just tired, San." Quinn commented lightly, and Santana knew she was amused by this. "If it's about that student of yours again…"

"Shut up, no it's not."

"Okay, so it is about her." Quinn chuckled. "I don't know what the school policy is about teacher-student relations, but you're both legal, consenting adults. Just think about it. Think about the emotional resolution first, before everything else. Isn't that what you want to teach your students?"

Santana paused and mulled Quinn's words around her brain and in that cavity in her chest, a glass of scotch in her hand. "You're right." She mumbled into her phone. "For fuck's sakes, I don't want to be a hypocrite. Thanks, Quinn."

"Mmhmm." Her best friend of goodness knows how many years hummed into her ear. "Tell me how it goes, okay? Sans details."

"You bet." Santana hung up and stood, her hands poised on her hips. She needed to plan. Santana paced around her office, heels clacking in a comforting rhythm against the hardwood floor as she listed off possibilities. She didn't want to be too direct. What if Brittany was the kind of student who ratted off her conquests with teachers to her friends? She didn't want to be too subtle either. Santana wasn't that kind of person.

She thought and she thought, but her eye caught the stack of essays she had yet to mark. If Santana was being honest, she was relieved for the distraction.

Close-reading essays were Santana's favourite type of essays. It was a way for her to look into the thoughts of her students regarding their texts, and it almost never disappointed her. There were the rare occasions where the student had no idea what they're talking about, but more often than not, the essays ended up to par with her taste.

Santana breezed through half of the essays until she reached Brittany's. The title of her essay was The Geography of the Planet Love. A witty epithet, seeing as their reading was Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller.

The essay started off well. Brittany wrote in crisp, clear topic sentences, her thesis stared Santana right in the face, but somewhere in the middle of the first paragraph, Brittany lost her momentum, and instead, she started talking about Professor Lopez.

'Professor Lopez, without the restraint of being her student, is the most beautiful woman I have ever come across.' Brittany wrote right after her citation of one of Miller's lines. 'It is the little things about her that attract me. Little things, but the relevant ones. Her left-handedness may be a bit weird to like about her, but with her being left handed, I get to hold her hand and still manage to do things. She can hold my left and I can hold her right, and it will be like we're one person.'

Santana blinked at the paper and then up at the ceiling. She had three more pages to go, and she found herself anticipating Brittany's 'essay'. Santana grabbed a drink from her mini-fridge and set to reading.

'She's sexy too. Especially when she talks about anything. Even if she talks administration to us, I can see the way everyone squirms, even the straight girls and the gay guys. I heard Blaine say to Sam once that Santana's voice—' At this, Santana froze. Brittany was using her first name. While she didn't mind at all, everything became too intimate too quickly. '—is so hypnotic, and I agree.'

Santana laughed softly and turns the page. 'Santana has to be the most beautiful professor in the campus though.' Brittany continued. 'I just want to bend down on her desk and beg her to fuck me—'

"Whoa." Santana blurted out loud, in the silence of her office. She twirled her red pen in her hand and stared at the printed words. She bit her lip, and while thinking that this was going too far, Santana underlined the phrase, 'beg her to fuck me' and wrote beside it. 'I can get down with that. ;)'

The essay continued on with Brittany describing how gorgeous Santana was, especially when she's stripped naked, legs spread on top of the desks. How good Brittany's name would sound coming from Santana's mouth, breathless and pleading. Santana was stunned, the tips of her fingers and toes buzzing with energy she had no idea what to do with. She attached a rubric to Brittany's essay and wrote: 'Your essay is very… enlightening, and I totally won't mind hearing my name escaping that pretty mouth of yours. Thank you.'

Santana sat there, unable to comprehend that she just wrote that on a rubric stapled to her student's paper. Biting her lip, she placed it along with the stack of her finished marking and continued on with the rest of the essays.

The following class, Santana returned the essays, calling students up one by one to collect them. When it was Brittany's turn, her heart leapt in her chest, but she didn't let it show. "Great job." Santana commented with a half-smile. "Next time, less run-on sentences, okay?"

Brittany glanced at the rubric before her face split into the widest smile. "Got it. Thanks, Professor."

And that was the start of their essay trysts. Santana even went as far as to assign response papers after every reading. "You don't have to do them." She assured the frightened students with a smile. "They're more for participation and bonus marks. No pressure."

Just like that, Santana was sure to receive a paper from Brittany on her desk every week. It steadily became more and more erotic.

'Every time you unbutton your blazer when you're about to get into a serious discussion about the nuances of erotica, it makes me so hot. You're so sexy and I just really, really, really want to hear you moan. Please?'

'You were wearing a tight skirt today,' one of them read. 'The one where the zipper runs along your ass, and fuck, Santana. I want to take that skirt off with my teeth while you're bent over my bed so I can finally touch you.'

'Ugh, please, please, make out with me. Your lips look so soft.'

With every essay and response paper, Brittany's messages and Santana's replies evolved into an intensely sexual exchange. Santana wrote down her replies with the clarity of a practised writer of erotica.

'If you think you're the only one who wants to me screaming your name, you're so wrong. I want to feel your curves in my hands, Brittany. Your skin is wicked smooth, I bet.'

'Stop licking your mouth when you talk. You're driving me insane with that tongue parting your lips when it's my lips you should be sliding into. God, Britt. You have to let me fuck you.'

'Just make out? I can do more than that, Brittany. All you have to do is beg.'

Santana was driving herself to the brink with every passing note, with every fantasy masked as a grading rubric, Santana longed for Brittany. She was unable to get through a lonely night in her apartment without thinking of the blonde, stripped to the bare, legs draped around her waist, back arched into a taut bow as she launches off into an orgasm. And Santana wasn't a patient woman.

She grabbed Brittany's essay and wrote in vivid detail, instructions.

Instructions for what? Brittany only had to read through the 'rubric' once to understand what Santana wanted from her. She was so excited to get home that by the time she was climbing up the stairs to her home, her knees were weak and her hands were shaking so much that it took longer than usual for her to get into her apartment. Brittany greeted Lord Tubbington with a pass of her hand across his back, stripping herself naked as she went into her room.

Brittany grabbed the rubric from her backpack and leapt on the bed. 'When you get home, I want you to strip yourself naked. Lie on your bed and do as I tell you.' Brittany read the words in Santana's husky voice, velvety and sensual as her hands—hands that she longed to be Santana's—glided across her porcelain skin. 'You're so sexy, Brittany. Can you imagine me? My hands are roaming all over your body, my thumbs rubbing your nipples to make them hard.' Brittany did everything that Santana's words bade her to do with no inhibitions. Her porcelain blue eyes read without blinking. 'I suck your stiff buds in my mouth and your skin tastes so good. Kissing down your body, I find your navel. My tongue dips inside, and I can feel you trembling. I know where you want me, but you can't blame me for teasing. I've wanted to touch you so badly for so long but now, I want to take my time.'

'Spread your legs for me, baby. That's it. Rub your clit in between your middle and forefinger. You're so slick and hot, and when I enter you with a finger, your sex clenches around me. So tight…'

Brittany gasped as she entered herself with a lone finger. She's no virgin, especially not to fingers, but the thought of Santana ordering her to touch herself to thoughts of the professor made Brittany extra sensitive. She felt her clit twitch with every knuckle she slipped inside herself. 'Your insides are slippery and scalding, I love it. Twist your wrist, Brittany. Feel that finger rub your walls, and then add another.'

The blonde groaned and did as Santana told her to. Her pussy walls stretched and then gripped around her fingers. She wanted to go faster, to pound herself with her fingers until she screamed out her professor's name, but it wasn't in the instructions. Brittany writhed on top of her cool bed sheets impatiently, as if Santana was really there to instruct and watch her fall apart. 'You're going crazy, aren't you, baby girl?' Brittany whimpered at this. 'Beg me. Say my name and beg me to go faster.'

"Fuck, Santana… Please." Brittany's fingers curled around the sheet of paper that was responsible for her body churning with fire and desire. "I c-can't… I need to come… Fuck me."

'Since you asked so nicely, I'm pounding into you now. Two fingers stretching out your pussy, my thumb rubbing your clit. Will you scream my name, Brittany? Loud and clear, so the neighbours will hear. Scream my name and—'

Brittany dropped the sheet of paper and focused on humping her fingers, her now free hand rubbing her clit in rapid circles. She could feel her orgasm, stemming from the pit of her stomach, surging down to her sweltering sex. "O-oh… Oh fuck, oh fuck…" Brittany's stomach twitched, her breath came up short, her fingers slammed in and out of her. Wet noises filled her ears, and fuck, she just wanted to come by the hands of Santana that when she pressed hard on her clit, Brittany choked out a broken cry of "oh my fucking god, yes, yes, yes, Santana!" before collapsing, breathless and sweating, on her bed.

She picked up the crumpled paper beside her and held it up in front of her. 'You came so hard, didn't you? Pull your fingers out of your wetness and taste yourself. Sweet and succulent, like a peach. I can't wait to sink my own tongue inside of you, Brittany. When it happens, you better be ready.'

Brittany lapped at her wetness as instructed, moaning at the taste of herself. She dropped her arms on either side of her, bones limp and useless as she recovered from her orgasm that was still thrumming, albeit weakly, throughout her body.

"Holy shit…" Brittany whispered to the ceiling. If Professor Lopez was that good in theoretical sex, Brittany could only imagine how amazing she would be in hand-to-hand combat. So to speak.

She couldn't wait to write to Santana about what just occurred to her and her body. During class the next day, Brittany came up first to Santana and handed her the assignment. Without a word, Brittany spun around and went back to her seat.

Santana stared at the paper in her hand. She was so tempted to read it, but class had yet to start, and it was a three-hour lecture. She didn't want to, yet at the same time, she wanted to be so terribly aroused that she would be unable to walk from the podium to the door.

In the end, Santana's responsible side won out. She rushed home, excitement vibrating through her veins. She changed into a pair of loose sweats and a Columbia University sweater, popped open a bottle of wine, before finally, finally, finally, taking out Brittany's response paper. Santana swirled the dark fluid in her wineglass and read.

'Thank you for one of the best orgasms yet, Professor.' Brittany wrote. 'Of course I say 'yet' because I have yet to come all over your fingers, your tongue, and by your touch. I want you so badly, Santana… I spend nights thinking about you fucking me, and me fucking you because I know it's just going to be so awesome and hot. But for now, touch yourself for me.

Santana smirked to herself and finished her wine. She lay down on the bed with a soft sigh, the paper held up above her as she continued reading Brittany's words in the blonde's voice. 'Your tits are the greatest tits I've ever seen. They look so full and nice and I want you to cup them through your shirt, squeeze your nipples until they're hard and begging to be sucked. But they can't be sucked, can they? Not unless I'm there.' Santana grabbed her breasts and gasped, imagining Brittany on top of her, looking at her with those bright blue eyes, shimmering with desire. She pinched the stiffening buds and shivered. "Fuck…" Santana gasped. 'That's it, Santana. Take off your shirt and feel your soft skin. Dip your hands in the garter of your pants, but don't stick your hand in your panties.' Santana groaned and swore. 'Patience. I want you to appreciate how smoking and beautiful your body is.'

Santana swallowed hard and squirmed on top of her unmade bed. She needed to touch herself, or better yet, to be touched by Brittany. She arched slightly and read on. 'Trace the outline of your abs with your fingertips, and then take off your pants and your panties. But no touching.'

Growling low in her throat, Santana stripped herself naked. It was autumn, but the temperature in her room was warm. She could feel the heat radiating off her skin. 'Spread your legs. Are you wet and dripping all over your bed?' Santana whimpered and nodded, forgetting that she was alone. 'I thought so. Run your finger along your slit, spread your wetness all over your pussy lips, and spread them. Your clit must be so hard… I want to suck on it. Soon.' Brittany's words promised, and Santana's heart picked up. 'Flick your thumb against it. Rub your come all over the nub, and enter your dripping pussy with one finger.'

It wasn't enough, Santana knew. She felt her grasping heat around her index finger, walls fluttering against the intruding digit. 'Thrust slowly, make yourself drip some more. Make sure your palm grazes your clit again and again, and fuck yourself with another finger. Feel that stretch, Santana. Stretch yourself for me.'

All Santana could feel was Brittany. Brittany's fingers, her long, blonde hair tickling her skin. Brittany's lips and tongue on Santana's neck, leaving marks that Santana would see the next morning, only to be filled with elation and sexual desire. Santana fucked herself with another finger, moaning as her pussy clenched around her digits. She wanted them to be Brittany's.

'There's nothing I want more,' Brittany wrote. 'but to see you come. To see you fall apart by my fingers touching your soaking hole, my tongue flicking and suckling on your clit. Will you come and cry out my name, Santana? Be desperate and ride your fingers. Hump your clit against your palm and come.'

And just like that, Santana curled her fingers and shuddered. She screamed, high-pitched and wanton, as her orgasm rocketed through her. "Brittany!" Santana cried out into the emptiness of her room, her body trembling with the intensity brought to her by her imagination and Brittany's words.

She relaxed underneath the duvet, cuddled against pillows she longed to be a blonde.

The following weeks became hectic for both Santana and Brittany. It was midterm season, and both women barely had time for their own needs, let alone for each other's'. But the notes-through-essays didn't stop—only became more domestic.

'I did my midterm for political science this morning.' Brittany wrote in one of her close reading essays for Little Birds. 'I think I did well. Also, you look so lovely in red. Wear it more often? :)'

Notes such as these made Santana's day, and quite possibly, even her week. She would always write back on the margins (the college was reinforcing paper reduction thanks to Quinn's girlfriend, the theatre director). 'Coffee was terrible in the teacher's lounge today and Starbucks was filled with you college students studying for your midterms. I might have to bring my own coffee maker into my office. Keep wearing high pony tails. I like seeing it bounce, along with your everything else when you walk. ;)'

'My friends and I went to a karaoke bar. I sang all the Britney classics. You should've seen me there, Santana. Everyone was cheering for me and stuff!'

'Really, baby? I would've given up a night of clubbing just to see you up on that stage. But this weekend I thought I'd get a pet. Like a cat or something. Any suggestions?'

'I have a pet cat! His name is Lord Tubbington and he's awesome. Cats are awesome. Adopt one!'

And so it escalated into that. Sex and domesticity, fleeting glances and soft touches, discreet smiles and the promise of whispered 'soon'. It was what kept them both going, up to the end of the fall term. It was snowing on the last day of class. Everyone was excited, and Santana, being the best teacher ever, brought some donuts and their final exams with her to class.

"Let me just say," She announced, "that it's a wonderful experience to teach enlightened and mature students. In the beginning, some of you were afraid to talk about cocks and pussies," Santana shot a look at Kurt, who just grinned and shrugged. "All of you came a long way. Congratulations. You all passed my course."

Cheers and shouts filled the room, but Santana barely heard them. This farewell to her students usually led to a few tears shed, but not this time. This time, as soon as the clock struck four, these people are no longer students.

Brittany would no longer be her student.

They passed the time eating donuts and discussing stories they read, but when the alarm on the computer sounded, everyone rose and hugged Santana as they left the classroom. They all filed out, one by one, and finally. Finally, it was only Santana and Brittany left.

Santana closed the door and rested her back against it. A million things rushed through her mind, but there was only one thing she wanted to say.

"This was the best course ever." Brittany murmured. "I learned so much. I met the coolest people. And I met you."

Santana took one furtive step closer to Brittany. She never really realised just how the light reflected her hair, how she was a few inches taller than she was even with the heels, and how curved her body was. "Is that so?" Santana asked. Brittany approached her, and their first touch as two women, not bound by roles, was electric.

It was their first kiss.