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"Tom Chaney killed my father and I intend to go after him."
Brittany quoted the movie(southern accent included) playing on the flat screen as she wrapped her arms around your torso, her eyes glittering even in the darkness of the room.
You laugh in confusion, "How many times have you watched this movie?"
She shrugs her shoulders and murmurs something that sounds like seven or eight times into the fabric of the low cut purple shirt. The one she loves so much because it clings to you and hangs off of you in just the right places. Your eyes slide over to the bedroom door to make sure it's locked. Lola, Brittany's mom, was almost privy to an eye full yesterday morning. It won't happen again.
She kisses down your neck, little hums emitting from her throat. She loves this more than you do. And even as you start to protest, "Brittany they're going to be here any minute..." Your legs begin to part so her body can fit against you.
She bunches up your shirt and suckles at the thin skin covering your hip bones. You cant your body up to let her know that you're ready. Her fingers begin to fiddle with the buckle of your jeans. You make a note to yourself, no matter how hot your ass looks in denim, it's dresses and skirts from here on out. Too much time wasted getting you out of these things.
She pulls your pants down, just below your butt and kisses the soaked fabric of your panties. You hiss, bite back a moan. It's only six o'clock in the evening. Lola and Jim, Brittany's parents and her younger brothers are still awake. Oblivious to the fact that they're pride and joy is using her mouth to render you useless.
"Santana?" The tip of her tongue licks under your panties. Remember not to cry out too loudly.
Your voice comes out in a forced, raspy groan, "Huh?"
Her fingers pull at your underwear, works them down only enough to expose the important places of you. The part of you that's already drenched with fluids and hot heat. Your breathing's become haggard. Like you've been running a mile. She flattens her tongue against your mound and laps up to your clit where she sucks, hard. You can't help the moan that escapes your lips. But, Brittany doesn't seem to care. Her tongue darts in between your folds and her index finger begins to rub circles around the bundle of sensitive nerves.
You push yourself against her face. She holds you down with a strong hand. Your moans escalate from childlike to primal. You slap a palm over your mouth to keep them inside of you to the very best of your ability.
Brittany finally finishes her sentence, "I got something for us." The words vibrate against your sex. You can't imagine what else you guys need. But, before you have the chance to ask you here It-
"Are those African fertility statues? When my dad's were searching for a donor they had tons of them around the house and they would rub them every day."
Rachel's voice floats up the stairs and slaps you right in the face.
And then Quinn's, icy and even. "I think those things only work if you have the correct anatomy, Rachel."
"Of course it worked. I'm here now!"
"Which would explain the many, many things that have gone wrong with your disproportionate body and self-centered mind."
A chuckle floats up. It's Mercedes, "Mrs. Pierce are Brittany and Santana upstairs?"
You don't here the response, but moments later shoes begin to stomp up the stairs.
You groan, "Brittany, off."
"What?" She lifts her head up, eyes the kind of dark blue they get when she's turned on. A color reserved for you.
"They're here." You pull your panties and jeans up together, waste no time with buttoning up.
Brittany's looking at you confused, "Aliens?"
"What? No. The Glee Freaks."
You wipe her mouth for her, she nips at the palm of your hand and warns, "You mean our friends, Santana."
"That's what I said." You reply as you shrug your shoulders.
You rest against the headboard as a knock rings out at the door.
"Abandon all hope ye who enter here." You call out in a sing-song voice and the door swings open. Your little quip is lost on everyone except Quinn who gives you an approving nod, "Dante's Inferno. Nice."
The blond is followed by Rachel grinning like she's just won a prize for being the world's tallest midget, lugging a tote bag full of movies. And Mercedes who's hair, even in this humidity is immaculate. So, is Kurt's you muse as he latches his arm around Mercedes and tosses a wink in your direction.
Brittany looks past the group as they pile inside, "Where's Tina?"
Mercedes shook her head, "I called her earlier to see if she was still coming, but Mike leaves for Chicago to visit his grandparents so she spending it with him."
"You mean she's spending it doing it with him. Ha!" You let yourself laugh at your own tacky joke. Brittany grins and wraps her arms around your waist as she snuggles into your side.
Quinn catches your eyes. Amusement shining in a green ocean. You ignore her, look past her bob of blond hair to Rachel as she takes out True Grit(a look of disgust plastered across her face) and shoves in one of her movies.
"Hold up, Berry. What the hell did you just put into Britts dvd player because I'm not about to spend my night watching midgets prance around in fields...Wait. Do your cousins record they're outings?"
"Amusing, Santana. Maybe I'll laugh about it tomorrow."
You grin. Rachel's getting good at side stepping all the shit you give her. Finally. If you are going to be proper friends with this albatrosse she's going to have to learn to take a fucking joke.
Rachel continues, "I"ve packed all the classics. Streisand, Liza and Cher."
Kurt practically comes in his pants as his eyes shine, "Magnificent! I brought facial creme!"
He reaches into his overnight bag and pulls out a canister a light green goo.
You volunteer to order pizza. Three boxes of greasy pepperoni and cheese. They're finished off in no time. After a quick argument with Rachel.
"...I will not watch any movies containing orphans."
"I want to cry tonight, Santana! I wore the runny mascara..."
"...I will not be witness to a crying dwarf..."
"...The photos I take for my website will be great in this light."
"I will punch you in the face if I see homeless kids..."
"Brittany, tell her that Little Orphan Annie is a classic."
Brittany turns her head up to you, and repeats, "Little orphan Annie is a classic."
You sign heavily, "Don't make me do this, Britts."
She's merciful, "Hobo Annie is a no-go Rachel. Do you have anything with cats?"
A stifled moan emits from Kurt who can't move his face due to all the facial creme, "No cats!"
So much gay in this room tonight you muse inwardly to yourself.
"Funny Girl it is." Rachel gives in.
Faces are wiped clean and everyone changes into soft pajamas. You skillfully maneuver yourself out of the empty hallway when Quinn tries to corner you. She wants details, no doubt. But, you're not ready to share them yet.
They'll have to tide themselves over with rumors they've no doubt created for themselves. You've heard some of them. They've all been accurate.
The lights are shut off and Rachel hit's PLAY on the remote.
"...Oh life is juicy, juicy and you see I gotta have my bite, sir..."
They're all screaming the lyrics of the seminal song from the Streisand classic. Rachel's leading the chorus, veins straining against the skin of her neck. Her hands stretched out grandly in front of her from where she sits on her knees on the floor. Quinn's gripping her fingers, singing along. Mercedes and Kurt hit high notes that only dogs can hear.
But, you're quiet. So is Brittany.
You're both too intent on pretending like your watching the movie that you don't notice they're all singing along. You're eyes are locked on the screen, glowing and overflowing with secrecy.
Under the soft blanket you've wrapped yourselves up in, your fingers have been rubbing tiny circles against her clit for the past ten minutes. Her leg keeps spasming. So you discreetly drape your calf over hers to keep her still. Your hand slides over her clit, through fluids and your arm extends slightly to let your index finger slip inside of her. It does, easily. Her muscles contract and you slide in another digit.
Her chest heaves, twice. You still your movements so she can calm down. You're not so sure what will happen if one of them look over and question the two of you, but you don't want to find out. She slides her hand over yours and she pushes in. You squeeze your eyes shut. You would give anything to have everyone in the room gone when you opened them again. Tonight's been fun. You'll even admit that to someone if they asked. But, you're ready to be alone with Brittany now.
The pace you set is slow and deliberate. You alternate rubbing her clit with pushing your two fingers inside of her as deep as they will go in the position your both in. Brittany's other leg has started to shake slightly. There's nothing you can do about it without drawing attention.
The muscles around your fingers are tightening to such a point that you have to make an effort each time you thrust inside of her. A rose colored flush has creeped up her neck and colored her cheeks. She's close. You lean over, hoping that the cloak of darkness will be enough to conceal you as you bite down on her shoulders. She pushes back against the headboard of the bed as she silently comes, biting down on her lip. Her chest heaving. Your fingers trapped inside of her as you steadily thumb her clit.
With a lengthy breath she parts her legs and you pull your fingers out wiping them on the sheets. She leans over to you, all delirious and spent. Eyes the color blue you willingly let yourself drown in. She wants to return the favor, but you stop her. Tell her they can go for round two in the shower later. She agrees as she cuddles back into your side, draping her legs over you. You kiss her forehead, let your lips linger on the tiny film of sweat that has built.
She begins to hum along to Streisand. You look around the room to make sure your friends (yeah, friends) are still immersed in the television. And they are.
Except a pair of green eyes.
Quinn's looking at you. She giving you her "mom" smile. The one she gave out a lot when she was pregnant with Beth. Everything she needed to ask you earlier that day in the hallway has been answered. You lock eyes with her.
She knows.