A/N: Short fic (uhm, supposed to be short actually) as per mykindofparty aka Lulu's suggestion of working on something else to ease this writer's block I'm having at the moment. It seems like I've enjoyed writing my thesis so much that I ran out of words for my other stories (thesis proposal defence went off without a hitch and my group can proceed with our research, yay!).

Apologies for any mistakes. Be sure to check out my other stories as well!

It's been too long, Santana thinks as she looks down on the blonde head of hair bobbing up and down between her legs. And this—with Brittany's tongue brushing intimately against her core in a rhythm that is most familiar, and with her legs slung over muscular shoulders as she repeatedly runs the heel of her right foot across the smooth skin of Brittany's back—feels like coming home.

She regrets every moment that she had been too busy for Brittany, but honestly, she had thought Sue was a demonic slave-driver for pushing them towards a point where she had contemplated even offing herself—not that she'd tell anyone that, especially Brittany, but there's only so much she could take after that commercial aired—but her coach in Louisville is in a league of her own when it comes to cruelty. She's even worse than Coach Roz, Santana reckons, and her brand of name-calling would make Sue seem like a kitten abandoned in the streets and left to fend for itself. But whatever, she's getting used to it.

She thinks about other things because this is the least she could do to keep from finishing too early and embarrassing herself. God knows she's thrown more than enough insults about Finn's horrible skills in bed and she doesn't want to eat her words. But Brittany's warm and velvety tongue feels like heaven and is making it impossible to delay the inevitable, so she quickly brings up her knuckles to her mouth and bites down harshly on it—the momentary pain distracting her from the all-consuming fire of pleasure that Brittany stokes with every skilful stroke of her tongue.

That doesn't stop a moan from slipping out though.

And Brittany takes it as an inspiration to double the already astounding efforts of her ministrations and Santana couldn't help but gasp, torn between wanting Brittany to continue and wanting the anticipation to last much longer.

She chooses the latter.

She could feel the pressure building up and ebbing away, and then coming back stronger than before as it radiates from her core. She reaches out with her right hand to grasp at the headboard—knuckles undoubtedly turning white at the effort—as she digs her heels hard against the rippling muscles of Brittany's back.

"Britt," Santana pants, reaching out her left hand to tangle into her girlfriend's fair hair, because if Brittany keeps this up, Santana is sure she won't last much longer. "I want... you to kiss me."

Brittany mumbles something and the vibrations causes Santana to buck her hips and nearly come right then, but she manages to rein herself in at the last moment as Brittany pulls away.

And that's when Santana makes the mistake of looking at her face.

Her lips and her chin and even the tip of her nose are coated in Santana's arousal and the sight, combined with Brittany's innocent smile and twinkling blue eyes, is so fascinatingly disparate—so adorable and yet so sexy at the same time—and only Brittany has the ability to combine them and make it so arousing.

And just like that, Santana was tumbling over the edge and into weightlessness—seeing nothing but white as she grasped at the sheets and curled her toes while Brittany went back to licking her dutifully, much slower this time. When the aftershocks were over, Brittany was still licking at her, cleaning her off (she had told Santana one time that it was bad to waste food as a lot of people around the world go hungry each day), but her orgasm had been so intense that when Brittany brushed against that bundle of nerves, she couldn't help but flinch.

"Britt, come up here," she says, eyes closed as she weakly grasps at the back of Brittany's head to pull her up. Brittany pushes herself up against her elbows and looks up at her.

"Was I good? Did I hurt you? Did I do anything wrong?" she asks uncertainly, hovering over Santana.

"Of course, you're always good, B. It's just... I seem to be more sensitive right now." She smiles up at the blonde, and without warning, Brittany flops down on top of her, her weight knocking all the wind out of Santana.

"Sorry," she says, sheepish. She pulls herself up on her elbows again and kisses Santana soundly. There's just something incredible about tasting yourself on someone, and Santana feels another rush of arousal pooling below her stomach.

"I missed you," Santana says as they pull away from each other. Brittany just smiles and kisses her again, her tongue quickly finding hers as she slips a hand between them and starts massaging Santana's breast.

Just then, the door bangs open and in strides Brittany, carrying Lord Tubbington dressed head to paw in leather, complete with cat-sized aviators, whom she promptly drops. The sight that meets Santana's eyes fails to register in her brain as she continues kissing Brittany back, and instead the question that forms in her head is: They make aviators his size?

Wait.

There's a Brittany on top of her, kissing the hell out of her like it was the only thing she was born to do.

And then there's a Brittany standing by the doorway, slack-jawed and dressed in nothing but a black sports bra and tight gym shorts, her muscular body shining with sweat. There's something different about her though, but Santana cannot pinpoint what, exactly, as her mind is busily trying to process the sight before her.

Two Brittanys.

There are two Brittanys.

It takes a while before she is able to put two and two together, but the realization is enough to make her jump out of her skin (well, not really, just out of bed), throwing Brittany off her in the process.

Wait, was that really Brittany?

She turns towards the naked Brittany who is currently picking herself up from the bedroom floor.

"What are you doing here? I told you to stay in the basement, and never, in any other circumstance, interrupt my sweet lady sex with Santana," Brittany says sharply, and though naked as the day she was born, draws herself up to her full height and towers over the Brittany standing by the doorway.

"She's even hotter in person," sports-bra-and-tight-gym-shorts Brittany says in awe, her blue eyes raking in Santana's magnificent nude form.

"Don't stare at her too long," Brittany growls, and the other Brittany's eyes snap towards her in a flash.

"I—I was just hoping to catch a... glimpse."

"You got it now please go away." Brittany pushes against the door but then other Brittany holds out a hand to stop it.

"And Lord Tubbington is stoned out of his mind I think?" She furrows her brow in the same way the real Brittany does, Santana notes, even though the situation is absurdly hard to believe. "He's like, yowling and he keeps scratching and jumping and chasing at invisible mice. He nearly knocked our mom's priced vase over."

Was this some kind of a dream or what?

Santana slaps at herself frantically and naked Brittany turns to her.

"No, you aren't dreaming San," she says, displaying her impeccable ability to read Santana before turning back to the other blonde. Santana can't find words and she's starting to doubt her sanity. She racks her brain for anything that may indicate that Brittany had a twin sister she had somehow forgotten about, but comes up short.

I'm insane. I've missed Brittany so bad that I snapped and I—

She stares at the two Brittanys eyeing each other by the doorway, until the clothed Brittany gives up and turn dejectedly away, but not before Santana spots something black on her abs. Looking closer, she realizes that it is a pocket crudely-drawn with a Sharpie.

"Should've locked you up in the garage and fed the key to my uncle's goat," Brittany mutters darkly as she closes the door and locks it for good measure.

"She doesn't have a—" Santana starts to say, successfully stopping herself from hyperventilating. She blinks several times and even pinches her arm to make sure she hadn't imagined the bizarre encounter.

"Of course she won't have a bellybutton as she didn't come from the womb," Brittany by the doorway says as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. "I drew her a pocket since I've always wanted to have a kangaroo as a pet and also so she wouldn't look so bare. By the way, I named her Roo, as in kangaroo, but it's also like that cute kid's name in the Hunger Games film."

"I—she's real, isn't she? I'm not having hallucinations?"

"Of course, you're not, San. I asked myself that when I first saw her too, but now that you've seen her, statistically, there's a fifty-percent chance that she's real."

Santana tilts her head to the side as she considers this. She was usually fluent in Brittanese, but trying to make sense of that statement is like questioning her sanity and she doesn't want to go there. But other Brittany, or Roo, was able to carry Lord Tubbington, right? So that would mean she was solid. Unless she imagined Lord Tubbington as well.

"What happened, B?" she asks instead as she searches out some of her clothing amongst the pieces of paper and other articles of clothing littering Brittany's bedroom floor in order to retain a semblance of normality.

Brittany visibly deflates and sinks back into the pillows. "Something went wrong with Charity's poop, you know that kind of shit I've been putting into the time machine for ages? Either that or I installed the mirror wrong. But I think it has to do with Charity's poop. Lord Tubbington joined a gang recently and I'm afraid he got her the wrong brand of catnip." She furrows her brow. "Although now that I think about it, ever since that Stoner Brett auditioned for Glee, I've started seeing him in the neighbourhood a couple of times. Do you think he got Charity into a habit too?"

"What do you mean, B? I'm not following?"

Brittany gently scoops up Charity's poop with a tiny shovel and puts it inside a Ziploc bag. Her brow furrows in thought when she notices that it looks different—the consistency, the colour, and the smell—all different. She lifts the litter box to check the label, and sure enough, CHARITY is spelled out in bold letters.

Whatever.

She stands up and makes her way towards the garage, which doubles as her laboratory as well, where an idling DeLorean hooked to a weird metal contraption sits. She places the Ziploc on the desk and takes out a heavy logbook from the drawer, along with a blue crayon. She looks up the previous records and scribbles:

09-27-2012: Experiment 111

Note: Charity's poop different in consistency: Plasticity index around 20, brownish-green in colour. Let's see how it works this time. Mirror repair underway.

She opens another drawer and pulls out a large square mirror, silver-backed like the one to be used against vampires she had bought the other day from an antique shop and fits it into the slot in the contraption. Next she puts on rubber gloves before pulling the Ziploc open.

Grimacing at the horrible smell, she empties out the bag into the funnel and the contraption shakes as smoke billows out of the pipes. Brittany scrambles to put on a mask. Even after a hundred and eleven experiments, she couldn't get used to the godawful smell.

Suddenly, there's a high-pitched whine and she turns toward the machine in alarm. It is vibrating violently now, so violent that it almost breaks free of the bolts connecting the bottom to its pedestal, when it suddenly stops. As if somebody flipped a switch.

Brittany warily approaches it and catches a reflection of herself in the fogged-up mirror. She reaches out a hand to clear it and recoils at the heat.

What—

Before she could continue with her thoughts, there is a small explosion, making her jump. Smoke starts issuing from the open hood of the DeLorean and within seconds, the whole garage is engulfed by smoke. Coughing, she frantically opens the windows to let the smoke out and runs the exhaust fans full blast.

Just as the smoke starts to clear, she sees a shadow sitting on the driver seat of the DeLorean. A shadow which suspiciously looks to be human.

Frowning, she grabs a baseball bat lying on the corner of the garage and crouches low as she draws near the still-smoking car. Brittany yanks the door open, holding the bat threateningly in one hand, and the person sitting on the driver seat spills out into the concrete, face-up.

The person is her. Brittany Susan Pierce #2 in her birthday suit.

"Does your parents know about this?" Santana asks, incredulous.

Brittany shakes her head. "They're dogsledding in the Arctic as my dad wants to reach the North Pole before Christmas. Meanwhile, mom and Katie are over at my Nana's. Dad wanted me to come with him but I'm working on my grades you see, and I already know how it feels to live in the North Pole since right now?" She smiles and kisses Santana chastely on the lips then whispers, "I'm on the top of the world. And the best thing about this? I can live on the top of the world without ever getting cold."

"You're really sweet, you know that?"

"Nuh-uh, I think I'm quite salty."

And they're kissing again, and Santana somehow forgets the absurd situation they suddenly found themselves in.

"Mija, what are you doing here? Home in the middle of the week? You didn't get yourself expelled did you?"

Santana scowls as she lugs her bags into the living room. She puts them down as her mother engulfs her in a hug. "Aww, give me some credit, mami!Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Of course I am. I'm just surprised, is all. So why are you home so early? I told you, you can do your own laundry in the dorms, 'Tana. I packed a set of instructions for doing laundry... even wrapped them in plastic so they wouldn't get soggy."

"No, it's not that. I missed you."

Maribel rolls her eyes. "And Brittany."

"Yup. Besides, we have the next three days off along with the weekend. I may or may not have anything to do with the fact that most of the squad is incapacitated in some way."

Her mother sighs and shoots her a withering look. "'Tana, what did I tell you about jeopardizing your scholarship?"

"I'm kidding, mami!"

"Ha, sure you are. C'mon, you're just in time for dinner. Your papi is pulling double shifts at the hospital."

"Well, what else is new?" Santana mutters under her breath. "Can Brittany stay over tonight?"

Maribel wags her finger at her and says sternly, "No funny business."

Santana just shrugs. She can't promise that. She never did.

Santana takes a quick shower and changes into her sleepwear—a duck-patterned onesie given as a going-away present by Brittany—before crashing into bed as she waits for Brittany. She had just texted that she is on her way over and Santana's skin is buzzing with excitement even though they had seen and done each other only a few hours before.

She is startled when she hears her bedroom door slide open and before she could get to her feet, there is a dip in the mattress and before she could process what's happening, Brittany's soft lips are upon hers, kissing her fiercely. Somehow this feels different...and wrong.

"Bri—wait—wait—"

"Tana!" she hears her mother call out to her and she freezes even as Brittany insistently yanks the zipper of her onesie downwards.

"What's with going all Romeo and Juliet on my window, you could al—"

She isn't able to continue as Brittany is kissing her again, sloppily this time, all teeth and tongue, communicating the message effectively that she wants Santana, and she wants her now. Santana can't help it. It turns her on when Brittany is being so aggressive like this.

"'Mija, your novia is here!"

Now both of them freezes.

Santana recovers first and lifts up Brittany's shirt quickly. And sure enough, her bellybutton is missing. There's something unsettling about its absence though, and Santana couldn't help but recoil. Did she just cheat on Brittany?

No, Roo kissed her first.

Without warning, the door slams open and in storms Brittany, barely-concealed rage swirling in her blue eyes.

"You stole my car!" she angrily says to Roo who immediately cowers. "You stole my car to get here first and have your way with my girlfriend!"

"Britt, calm down!" Santana gasps. Angry Brittany is hot, sure, but she's also a tad scary.

Suddenly, Santana feels herself being pulled to her feet and being dipped low as Brittany—the real Brittany—attacks her neck in order to assert her ownership. Santana isn't in a position or condition to protest.

Eventually Brittany's anger cools down enough as clothes started coming off. Even Roo's.

So when she joins in in the middle of a heated makeout session between Santana and the real Brittany by tentatively palming Santana's breast, Brittany doesn't protest.

And even though Santana knows that one Brittany is enough to wear her out, she could swear she is positively dead after the two of them had their way with her.

But it's a great way to die, she thinks as she drifts off to sleep, the two Brittany's cuddled into her.

The next evening, Santana jumps off the couch as the doorbell rings, and sure enough, Brittany is standing there, face flushed and sweaty, dressed in a grey Cards hoodie that Santana had given her and a pair of running shorts. She looks so hot and Santana wasted no time in kissing her.

"I gave Roo a list of things to do to keep her busy. She's mowing the lawn as we speak."

"Wouldn't your neighbours think it weird?"

"Oh, they won't. They know me. Besides, a few weeks ago? When I was in a funk because I was missing you—" Santana's heart couldn't help but clench at the thought of Brittany in a funk because of her. "—I was up all night yelling at the shrubs in my yard. The ones you made out with. In your dream."

"Oh, that. Sorry, Britt-britt."

"Point is, I've done weirder things."

Santana chuckles. Brittany is just too adorable.

When she wakes up the next morning, the first thing she sees is Brittany grinning smugly at her like the cat that got the cream. Well, thinking about it, she sort of did, especially after she had eaten out Santana last night like she was starved and Santana is the only food available. Santana can feel the familiar heat building up in her lady loins as her mind starts flashing back choice clips from their mind-blowing sex last night.

"Hey."

"Hello to you too," Brittany says, kissing the tip of her nose.

"What's going on in that devious mind of yours, huh, Britt-britt?"

Brittany just continues to smirk at her before finally speaking up. "I've decided not to send Roo back to that alternate reality where she came from."

"What? Why?"

As weirdly thrilling as having a threesome with your girlfriend and her clone is, Santana isn't looking to repeat the experience. It was great yeah, but the next day, she could barely stand, and walking is out of the question. It was even worse than the time she had cheer practice in Louisville for eighteen hours straight—or eighteen hours gay, whatever. And she couldn't stop herself from getting jealous when Brittany starts making out with her clone, and it takes every shred of her self-control not to yank the other Brittany by the roots of her hair and throw her out of her bedroom window into the yard two floors below.

"I'm thinking," Brittany slowly says, teasing, as she starts to draw pattern on Santana's stomach. No doubt a replica of Happyville she had drawn on the back of her Algebra test. Santana had complained that her boobs aren't saggy, and that Brittany should know that, but still the drawing is adorable in more ways than one, and she had it framed on her bedside. She glances at it and smiles. "I'm thinking that Roo could like, take my place at McKinley, and then I could come with you."

"What about your grades? Does Roo know about your lessons?"

"She does. She's even smarter than me, I think?" Brittany pouts and Santana kisses that pout away.

"She's not. You're smarter Britt-britt. You created her... uhm, well, sort of."

Brittany's face lights up. "Well, yeah, I think. Let's revise. Uhm, maybe she could take my place for a while, and then I'd come with you? For like, a week. And then we could go christen your dorm room."

"That's a capital idea, Britt-britt!"

"I knew you'd agree. You're whipped."

Santana rolls her eyes but doesn't disagree.

It's a good thing she got herself a single room since she had terrorized everyone during her first week at Louisville. Nobody could blame her, really. She's cranky from lack of sex, and not to mention this is the first time in ten years that she and Brittany were separated and unable to be with each other in some capacity. Skype doesn't count, and even though Brittany had tried scissoring a webcam once, while incredibly hot, made Santana concerned for her hardware's well-being.

Eventually, after reports made by the other students which usually consisted of a lot of sobbing and sniffling, the Students Residences director decided that no one should be made to suffer being roommates with her.

Well, she and Britt will surely make the most of it.

I kid you not, when I started uni five years ago, my mom did send me off with a set of laundry instructions pasted on a cardboard and wrapped in plastic so it won't get destroyed easily. I'd never done laundry in my life before college! (The uni I go to is an hour's plane ride from my hometown so I'm only ever home for the holidays.) I could easily picture Maribel doing that with Santana as well.

So did you love it? Hate it? Reviews are much appreciated.