AN: This fic is co-written. The parts that are from Brittany's POV are written by the super talented Blackshield. Enjoy!

Santana didn't hear the music, she felt it. She felt it surround her, engulfing her mind and body in nothing but vibrations; she felt it touch her nerves and enter her substance.

Tequila, vodka, and innumerable shots.

The beat rising in her chest compelled her body to move. The lights were constantly dimming and flashing, the noise of the people around her was both suffocating and arousing. Hands encircled her waist from behind, spinning her around and drawing her close. They were rough but firm, warm.

His breath landed near her cheek as he spoke. It reeked of alcohol; she knew hers must smell the same, if not worse.

"You look sexy tonight." He purred. One of his hands brushed across her ass and then re-gained its purchase on her hip, his fingers dipping under the edge of her Cheerios top. He leaned in close, the gap between their faces becoming negligible. The complement made her smile, although it resembled a drunken smirk more than anything else. She knew she looked sexy; she always did.

"Tell me something I don't know". Her words came out slightly slurred, syllables blending into each other. His lower body moved against hers in one continuous motion, prick clearly defined by the hem of his jeans. Santana's body mimicked his, using her sexuality and allure to draw him in further; a natural magnet.

A blur of red and white.

"God, you two should just get a room already." The voice was teasing but clearly annoyed.

It could have only belonged to Quinn. Santana's eyes reluctantly focused on the red and white apparition; her guess confirmed. She didn't look shitfaced.

"You shouldn't use god's name in vain, Fabray." She teased back, some venom settled in her voice. "Besides, shouldn't you be off not having sex with your beau?" If Santana wanted to dry hump her boyfriend in the middle of a party, there wasn't a soul who could stop her. Puck's eyebrow shot up, Quinn's presence clearly interesting him. Santana draped an arm possessively over his neck—partially so she could keep her balance. Puck's lip curled into a smile at the contact.

It didn't take much to get on Santana's nerves—Quinn was accomplishing this without expending any effort.

Santana could only roll her eyes at her when she wouldn't leave. She yanked Puck down to her height by the shoulder of his sleeve. "C'mon, this is getting boring anyways", she growled. Quinn rolled her eyes and walked off, probably searching for Finn. Santana wasn't sure why she even bothered going to these parties if all she was going to do was sit cutely on Finn's lap as everyone else got drunk.

What was said was said. Santana knew Puck wanted something a little more than grinding. He gave her a saucy grin and his eyes flickered toward the staircase that led to his room. She grasped his hand as they walked through the energized cloud of party-goers—it was obvious where they were going together, and she wanted people to recognize it. A few people glanced at them as they passed by, seemingly envious of one of them. She knew they were both hot stuff; everybody did.

Brittany sat at the base of the staircase; she was talking to a couple of particularly muscular guys on the football team. Santana thought she knew them both—but she could hardly be expected to know everyone she slept with. The jocks looked bored and horny; they were undressing Brittany with their eyes and making no attempt at subtlety.

"San!"

Brittany noticed her and Puck approaching. Her fingers were wrapped around the ledge of the bottom stair; her long legs were stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. Several empty red cups were strewn about the floor, some clearly belonging to the guys who were chatting her up.

Santana returned her enthusiasm with a wave and a smile. "Britt, hey." She paused, "I'll meet you in like an hour and we can get out of here." The two of them had an ancient tradition of going to and leaving every party together, riding out hangovers in each other's company.

"You can join us if you want," Puck offered, flashing his set of pearly whites.

Yeah, like that was going to happen. Santana just rolled her eyes and gave him a shove up the first couple steps. She looked down at Brittany, who seemed like she had just realized something.

"Have fun boinking!" She yelled up after them.

Say what you want about Noah Puckerman. He was arrogant; he was a jerk, a bully, and a bum. But nobody could say that he wasn't a great fuck.

Santana saw sex as a commodity, something to be traded for a nice dinner out or moving up a couple of ranks on the McKinley High social ladder. She usually received no great pleasure from it. Puck was the exception to this. His hands were immense and warm, and they always knew just where to touch to make Santana's whole body flush with heat, even if he didn't always allow her to finish.

With the mastery of someone who had done this many times before, Santana's hands unzipped and unclasped his pants, which soon slid off. There was no kissing yet, no gentle exchange of confessed love. Just getting down to business. She pushed him down further on to the bed and climbed on top of him as he scrunched her top off, and then went to work at pulling off her jeans and undergarments. Puck looked at her with satisfaction and licked his lips, eyes not leaving her exposed breasts. If she was going to do this, she was going to have to be better prepared than she was now; otherwise it was going to hurt like a bitch. She brought her face up to his and planted a kiss on his mouth, parting her mouth for him as she did so. Puck's eager tongue entered her mouth, the contact causing an electrifying sensation to crawl up her spine.

As their tongues were connecting, Puck took one of her breasts in his hand—not quite enough there for a handful- and gave it a light squeeze, eliciting a shiver from Santana. She would be content if this was all there was to having sex, but she knew Puck expected more from her. And this was about pleasing him, wasn't it?

Puck extended his arm and reached into his nightstand drawer with some difficulty, and pulled out a condom. Last time they had sex they were without one, but Santana had insisted he go buy some—she had sex with too many guys to take any chances, and birth control could only do so much. Santana snatched it out of his hand and tore it open with her teeth; she just wanted to get this over with.

If they were going to do this, they were going to do it her way. She turned around so she wasn't facing him, but was instead straddling him backwards. She never knew where to look when they were having sex—all she felt when she looked into his eyes was guilt.

She explored his length with her hand, sliding the lubricated condom onto him as she toyed. He was hard as a board—probably had been the whole night. Santana couldn't help but wonder if it even mattered who was on the receiving end of his sex. Finally, she parted her thighs, allowing him to enter her. Puck was content doing most of the work for now, and he bounced her up and down with rhythmic thrusts of his body. Santana angled herself forward in vain hope that she could have him hit her in a specific place, but it never seemed to work.

Soon they were both breathing heavy, but Santana knew she still had a ways to go before she succumbed to him. Puck, on the other hand, seemed ready to burst. She couldn't see his face, but she was well-accustomed to the signals his body gave when he couldn't hold out any longer. With a loud groan, he released into her, moaning a name. A name that wasn't "Santana".

For a moment all she could do was sit there, still around him, mouth agape. She slid him out of her and spun around, face livid and slightly flushed.

"The fuck did you just say, mohawk?" But she knew what she heard. She wondered if Quinn knew too.

Puck didn't seem to know how to react. His hard-on was gone though, so that was something, Santana thought bitterly.

Defeated, she hopped off of his bed and began looking for her clothes, which were lost in the messy sea of laundry and porn magazines littered over Puck's floor.

"Sorry", he offered earnestly. "We should still do this again soon."

Santana tried not to let her hurt show on her face. She felt inadequate, jealous. Did Puck really have to think of Quinn Fabray while they were fucking? She could have any guy in the school, and she chose to sleep with him. He shouldn't be leaving her orgasm-less and miserable every time they hung out. Still, she wasn't sure she could let him go, especially if he had a thing for Quinn—he would just have to be kept on a tighter leash. They were the badass power couple in the school, and Santana was not going to give that up for anything. The alcohol was slogging around her mind, and almost reduced her to tears at these thoughts. She had to get out of here. She had to find Brittany.

"Whatever", she grimaced, avoiding eye contact. "I'm gonna go find Britt and leave."

She gave him a final glare as she wriggled back into her top and opened the door to his room. She knew her hair was probably messed up, but all it would do was boost her status if people knew she was up here having sex with Puck, so she left it.

She slammed the door shut, leaving Puck naked and alone at his own party.

Brittany lay on her side, feet swung off the edge of the bed, peering up at Santana with a soft smirk. Even in the darkness, she could see the edges of Santana's lips tip upward. "C'mon, Britt, let's get you changed before you fall asleep."

The words came as if through a fog. She protested with a cheerful whine, sloppy smile still spread across her face. "But 'm sleepy."

She caught the glint of the moonlight when Santana rolled her eyes, but Brittany knew the smile was still there. Familiar hands splayed around her ribcage, pulling her up to sit. Her head buzzed at the feel of Santana's fingers. "Trust me," Santana said, apparently unable to explain why it was important to change their clothes. Brittany pouted, but only faintly, and lifted her arms upward to let Santana pull the tank top from her torso.

Brittany fumbled with the button on her jean shorts. Her fingers seemed too big—or was it too small? Her lips were dry; she wet them with her tongue and tasted the vodka from the party. The air felt so warm and thick.

She blinked and watched Santana's hands swat her own away from the shorts. Santana gently and efficiently undid the button and zipper, then lightly slapped Brittany's thighs and stood. Brittany smiled. "Thanks," she whispered. The air suddenly seemed too thick for loud voices. Santana felt too close for loud voices.

Santana stood and opened a dresser drawer, tossing a t-shirt at the bed beside Brittany. After a few attempts to undo her bra, Brittany forced it over her head. It fell to the floor. She stared at it.

Movement drew her eyes to Santana. Brittany could pick out the dips in Santana's spine as she tugged off her shirt. The muscles in her back bunching when she reached around to her bra clasp. A shadow of her front when she pulled a sleep shirt over her head.

Brittany found her lips dry again and sucked them into her mouth, biting the bottom one and letting the top peek out again. She shimmied her shorts down to her ankles, then kicked them toward her other clothes as she pushed her head and arms into Santana's shirt. When she breathed in, it smelled like Santana.

She looked up and found herself meeting Santana's dark eyes. They were just shapes but she could feel them, looking into her. She could feel the questions there, the thoughts, close to the surface but trapped there.

So she grinned her drunk, sloppy smile again. "C'mon, San," Brittany murmured, toppling back onto her side. She curled her legs up and kicked one out, bumping Santana's shin gently. Santana was still for a moment, but Brittany could sense her smile.

Santana climbed across Brittany to the other side of the bed. Brittany grinned, triumphant, and rolled over. She could see the faint lines on Santana's legs from the skintight jeans. Santana flopped next to her and Brittany nuzzled the pillow, facing her.

"You smell like a brewery," Santana finally said. It came out with a laugh, breathy and low. Brittany smiled at the feel of Santana's voice brushing against her face. "Maybe you should've taken a shower."

Brittany shook her head into the pillow as decisively as she could. There wasn't a lot of energy left for her to muster. "Sleepy," she repeated, insistent.

A breeze rippled the curtain. She couldn't help but smile at the expression on Santana's face. Her eyes so soft. Smile gentle. Brow relaxed. "Yeah, you're right," Santana murmured, as if getting up to take a shower had been a serious suggestion. She reached out and pushed Brittany's bangs away from her face.

The curtain settled again, leaving them in the dark. Brittany wet her lips again. Was it the vodka that had made them so dry?

This was the moment. She knew it. "Thanks, San," she whispered. There was too much in the words to say them loudly. It was like all the feeling sat on top of them, constricting them in her throat. She swallowed. Santana's jaw shifted, about to answer.

Brittany leaned forward and kissed her quickly on the lips.

She drew back and rolled over, knowing Santana would be speechless for a minute or so. She sighed happily, then snuggled into the sheets and drew her breath in a slow, deep pattern.

She felt Santana's laser eyes in the back of her head, peering at her matted hair, trying to see into her thoughts. Soon, she felt the bed shift. She knew those laser eyes were now pointed at the ceiling. Bouncing back down into Santana's thoughts.

Brittany tried to imagine the butterflies in her stomach falling asleep one at a time. She fell asleep with them.