The Rules:
1.) No additional feelings, nothing past the physical.
2.) If feelings arise, any form of contact must end for the time it takes to overcome said feelings.
3.) No scissoring. That's just too gay.
4.) No cuddling afterwards. That's even more gay.
5.) Nobody is to know about this.
6.) Kissing on the lips is absolutely not allowed.
"What are you thinking about?" Brittany breathily asked in that innocent way of hers. Her body was leaner, tauter…
"Nothing." Sharply, too sharply. And with that Santana furiously stuck her tongue further into Brittany's mouth, tasting the faint hint of Chapstick and saliva. Saliva, saliva, wet, swirling.
"Your hair's nicely-conditioned today," she whispered out, minutes later, fingers weaving in and out of Santana's hair.
"Shut up blondie," Santana said softly, smile breaking forth as she kissed lower down, and skin became whiter and softer.
Just under an hour later, the two lay, nude, interwoven. Tired and happy, Santana periodically pecked Brittany's smooth lips. Sweet juices besides saliva mixed with each other as tongues darted, still curious.
"I love your lady kisses." Brittany grinned and hugged Santana closer. Eyes shut peacefully; everything warm and lovely.
"What was that?" Brittany's quiet voice woke Santana up. It had been two hours, asleep. Suddenly Santana felt dirty and not quite right being…there. Here. In Brittany's ever-empty house.
"What are you talking about?" She croaked out, groggily.
"You said…'Kim' or something. I don't know."
"It's called sleep-talking, Britt. Besides, I don't even know a Kim." For some reason, though, her face burned with a tender vulnerability.
