So, remember the time that it became CANON that Brittana went on a months long vacation together? And remember the time that we didn't get to see it, because Glee doesn't actually air on Cinemax? Well guess what? The 50 Shades of Sand Vacation Fic Spectacular is here, and over the next few days, you'll get six fics about the vacation we didn't get to see. I'm up first, but make sure you watch for some amazingness from Swinging Cloud, ishiheard2day, jellymankelly, mysecretlifeofwords, and a collab from Chuckleshan and PlayWithMagic, and follow the tag Lesbowaii on Tumblr to keep track of all the excitement!
"Okay, are you ready?" You ask, actually hearing the excitement in your own voice as you flip up the armrest between your seats and snuggle in closer to Brittany.
"Totally. How do you want to do it?"
"Kiss me."
"Like this?" Brittany presses her lips against your cheek, and your skin flames, even at the innocent gesture.
"Actually, I was thinking more like this."
Cupping Brittany's cheek with your hand, you draw her into a deep kiss, nearly forgetting your original purpose as soon as your lips touch, the same thing that seems to happen every single time you kiss since that afternoon in the choir room (or, if you're being completely honest, every time ever). It's Brittany who manages to grab your phone, snapping the shot of the two of you with your lips locked, the leather airplane seats (First Class, Brittany Pierce was apparently not messing around when it came to this trip) serving as a backdrop. You can't believe the unnatural level of excitement you feel about a picture, but even that pales in comparison to how much you're looking forward to your trip, to making up for lost time, to beginning the rest of your lives together. With neither of you ready to pull away from each other, you remain like that, drinking her in, sucking her bottom lip, letting her dip her tongue into your mouth, until a voice comes over the airplanes PA system, and you reluctantly pull away.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Carla, your lead flight attendant speaking. On behalf of the captain and our entire crew, we'd like to welcome you all aboard Flight 6453 with nonstop service from Philadelphia to Athens."
"Fuck. Britt, here, you're faster than me, do it before they tell us to turn the phone off." You thrust your phone into her hands and she just laughs, tapping quickly at the screen.
"You're really excited about this, aren't you?"
"Obviously." You roll your eyes playfully, then snatch Brittany's phone out of her sweatshirt pocket, trying to make sense of the layout so you can get into her apps.
"Our flight time today is approximately ten hours and thirty-two minutes."
"Faster Britt, do it faster."
"I'm going as fast as I can, stop pressuring me."
"At this time, make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their fully upright and locked position."
"Done!" Brittany pumps her fist and holds up your phone triumphantly, grinning when she notices that the home screen has been changed to one of the pictures she'd taken of herself in her graduation gown. Smiling sheepishly, you shrug your shoulders, because obviously you needed to have one of those pictures as your background, and you'll probably keep it long after the two of you take a million pictures together on vacation, you're just that proud of your girlfriend.
"I sent it to myself while you were sleeping last night. I liked the ones you took better than the ones I did." You mumble shyly, and sort of relish the adoring look she sends your way. "God, what is taking this so long?"
"We advise you that as of this moment any and all electronic-"
"Not yet!" You yelp, just as the notification you've been waiting for appears on the screen of Brittany's phone.
Santana Lopez has sent you a relationship request.
"Here, accept it!" You pass the phone to Brittany, smiling at the picture that was under the request, and even though you know you're being a total dork about it, because it's just a lame Facebook relationship request, you can't even bring yourself to care. You're happy, happier than you've been since you left Lima for the first time, maybe happier than you've ever been, and if that makes you take stupid pleasure in small, weird things, than you're totally okay with that.
"Excuse me ladies, I'm going to have to ask you to turn your cellphones off now, the door has been closed for takeoff." A short, blonde flight attendant smiles warmly at you, a hint of a Boston accent obvious in her speech. As Brittany quickly hits the accept button and powers off both phones in her possession, she shoots a look in your direction, and you know exactly what she's thinking. She's marveling at the fact that you haven't shifted slightly away from her now that there is attention on you, you aren't trying hide your relationship from a stranger, you're just continuing about your business as usual. You remember that she hasn't seen this side of you before, that while she's seen you out, she's never seen this new you, the one who fully embraces who you are, who isn't so scared anymore, and you just give her a private smile, because you're still kind of proud of yourself too.
"Sorry about that. Just needed to change our relationship status on Facebook before we left the country." Brittany beams, bending to tuck your phones in the bag at her feet.
"Well congratulations! We're always really excited to have honeymooners fly with us. Just remember, save the honeymooning for Greece."
Before either of you can correct Olivia, her name tag reads, she sends you both a wink, and resumes shuffling her way down the aisle, telling other rule breaking rebels to put their phones away. You both erupt into a fit of giggles (yes, you giggle now, apparently), probably because it was a rational assumption that your change in relationship status on a transcontinental flight would be to married, rather than to finally got our shit together and realized we belong together, but nothing about your relationship with Brittany has ever been rational. Kissing her on the mouth one last time before take off, because you can, and you never want to stop, you take her hand in yours, and you squeeze it tightly, preparing yourself for takeoff, preparing yourself for the beginning of the rest of your lives.
Four hours later, after Olivia's come over with a bottle of champagne to celebrate your marriage, and you decide that you should totally pretend to be newlyweds for your entire trip, because duh, free shit, the cabin lights have been dimmed, and almost everyone else has fallen asleep. Both of you are more than a little bit tipsy, the entire bottle of champagne long gone, and two glasses each of ouzo consumed (Brittany learned in her research for the trip that the weird, licoricey liquor was created in Lesbos, and she'd insisted that you both drink it on the plane in preparation). The flight is surprisingly empty, and the two of you are in the very front of the plane, while other travelers are scattered further back, giving you plenty of space and privacy. Somehow, in the process of reclining your seats fully to get some sleep, you've managed to wedge your whole body into Brittany's seat with her (thank God you're both thin, and First Class seats are far bigger than coach), feeling like you just can't get close enough to her after so much time apart. With your back pressed just under the window, the two of you lay on your sides facing each other, toes, knees, bellies, breasts brushing underneath the huge blue blanket Brittany pulled out of her bag, just trading kisses back and forth. Your fingers play with the ends of her hair, and you inhale deeply, savoring the familiar scent of honey shampoo, the scent that you'd taken for granted during the years you'd been together, secretly, unofficially, officially, and that you hadn't even realized you'd been missing in the time you'd been apart.
"I'm so happy we're here." You murmur against Brittany's lips, tasting licorice and mint lip gloss and Brittany.
"I'd prefer to be in a bed." She smirks, trailing her fingertips up the outside of your bare thigh. She's been making fun of you for wearing a dress on an eleven hour flight basically since the moment you'd put it on, but apparently, she's finding it more enjoyable than she'll admit, as the path her fingers are making keeps ending higher and higher. "In a room, with four walls, preferably soundproof."
"Well, by here, I meant as a state of being, back together, happy, not denying how much I love you anymore. But I definitely agree that there are much better places to be than on this plane."
"You are being really good about your pteromerhanophobia though."
"My what?" You laugh, squeezing Brittany even tighter in your small shared space. Every time she says some kind of genius thing, some word you've never heard, some crazy math theory, you feel your heart swell with pride, because even if MIT wasn't her dream, you've still always known that she's capable of doing so much more than people expect of her.
"Fear of flying, duh." She rolls her eyes. "I thought I'd have to come up with creative ways to distract you."
"Hmm. What kind of creative ways?" You raise an eyebrow, nipping gently at Brittany's lower lip.
"The kind we'd be glad that everyone else on this flight is sleeping for. But I guess we don't have to worry about it, you know, since you're doing so well."
"Suddenly I'm feeling absolutely terrified." You hide your face in your hands, and laugh behind them as Brittany attempts to peel them back.
"Then I think we should probably do something about that, shouldn't we? Our epic vacation can't be ruined because you were sad on the flight over." She plays along.
When you spread your fingers and peek through them, Brittany's eyes are dancing with mischief, and you grin, because she's just so damn cute that you can't actually handle it. When she kisses you quickly again, like she's reluctant to pull away even for a second, and then pushes herself up, tugging her sweatshirt off before peering over the seat to glance around the cabin, you feel your heart start to race in anticipation. You're pretty sure you're about to have sex on a plane, and even though you're positive that you'll be breaking all kinds of airline regulations, and possibly international laws, you'd be lying if you said that didn't send a jolt of arousal straight through you.
"Looks like everyone's sleeping." She grins cheekily, and nudges your shoulder so that you're no longer lying on your side, but instead, flat on your back.
She does that weird switch flipping thing that she's always done, going from absolutely adorable to sexy and smoldering in about three seconds flat, and you sort of suspect that it must be some kind of super power. She slips back under the blanket on top of you (and you realize that she probably packed a giant blanket for exactly his purpose), her weight pressing down so comfortingly on your body, and you feel a sense of desperation for her take over. It doesn't matter that you woke up in her bed at her parents' house this morning, or that you have been making up for lost time (read: having lots and lots of sex) since you told her that she was your choice, and you did want her two days ago, you still kiss her hungrily, your hand on the back of her neck drawing her closer to you.
It's weird, because you'd always figured that joining the Mile High Club would be quick and dirty, but here you are, making out with Brittany like you're in your old bedroom, like other people can't wake up and sense what you're doing, or the flight attendants gossiping in the back of the plane can't walk by and stop you, like you have all the time in the world. It's a thrill, definitely, and you bite back a moan as Brittany trails kisses across your jawline and sucks hard on the pulse point at the hollow of your throat. While Brittany's hands knead at the back of your bare thighs, the tips of her fingers repeatedly grazing the curve of your ass, yours play at the hem of her tank top, teasing there before letting them slip underneath, up to her braless chest. Her motions still when your thumbs brush her already stiff nipples, and you feel goosebumps raise on her skin, and the release of her warm breath in a hiss against your neck. She squirms a little above you, her eyes turning dark, and you feel a small sense of self-satisfaction at taking control of the situation.
When her lips reattach to yours, you slide one hand out from under her shirt, and down to the waistband of her sweatpants, still squeezing her left breast with your other. You're desperate to dip underneath, to touch her, to be inside of her, but when she grabs your wrist and gives you her sexy smirk, you realize that for the split second you thought you were in control, you never actually were, you're putty in her hands, and you'll never admit to anyone else just how easily you submit to Brittany, how much you love for her take control of your body. Before you can fully process what's happening, your gorgeous girl winks at you, and ducks her blonde head under the blanket, sliding down, and leaving a trail of open mouth kisses on your clothed breasts and stomach.
"Britt, what are you-?" You lift the blanket and gasp as you watch Brittany squat on the floor, wedging her body between the wall in front of you and your seat, and pulling you closer to her by your calves.
"What do you think I'm doing?" She quirks an eyebrow, and you swear, you might overheat and die with how turned on you are. Sweaty and out of breath after the first time you'd had sex since getting back together, you'd quietly confessed to Brittany that even though you'd slept with other people, you hadn't allowed anyone else to go down on you, or, for that matter, gone down on everyone else. It was too intimate, made you feel too vulnerable, and those are feelings you can only handle with Brittany. Since the words left your mouth, Brittany was insistent upon using hers whenever, wherever she could, apparently, including right in the middle of a flight to Greece. "Think you can keep quiet?"
"Fuck, Brittany Pierce, you're going to kill me." You bite down on the inside of your wrist, knowing that you're anything but quiet, especially since you already feel arousal pooling between your legs, just from kissing her.
"Well then maybe I should stop. I wouldn't want to get you back and then have you die on me so soon." She teases, but as she spreads your thighs further apart and begins placing sucking kisses on the inside of your right one, you know she has absolutely no intention of stopping.
"You wouldn't." Your wrist muffles your words, and you use your other hand to sweep her hair off of her face as you keep your head tucked under the blanket, wanting to watch her every motion.
Brittany doesn't answer you, she just presses her lips back to your skin, sucking and nipping her way from just above your knee to just below where you know that you're absurdly wet for her. Just when you think her torturous trail is over, she locks her blue eyes with yours and purses her lips, blowing you an invisible kiss before she makes the same trail on your left thigh, her tongue darting out to lick your skin, just because she wants you to see it, and think about what she'll be using it for soon enough (and you're sure someday, that tongue will actually the the death of you, the most pleasurable death ever to occur). If you were thinking rationally, you'd worry about the bruises that are sure to bloom from her actions, especially because you plan on spending a good part of the next few months in a bikini, but when the love of your life has crammed herself into a tight space and has her face inches from your throbbing center, there's not really any room left in your head for rational thought.
Pushing up your dress so it gathers just below your chest, Brittany hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your thong, and you lift yourself off the seat so she can pull it off of you completely. She insists on moving agonizingly slow as she does so, letting the tips of her long fingers graze all the way down your legs, lingering on your ankles and tickling the arches of your bare feet, making you squirm in anticipation of what's to come. The hand that isn't currently shoved halfway into your mouth twitches for something to do, until Brittany slips the scrap of fabric she finishes removing into it, and you squeeze it into a fist, dropping your clenched knuckles against your newly exposed stomach. Brittany continues her teasing, grazing her teeth against your lower abdomen and down your hipbone, and you're glad for the white noise that exists inside the plane, because you're sure that even your hand is incapable of stifling the guttural moan that you release.
"Shh." Brittany breathes, just as she lifts one of your legs over her shoulder, and the sensation of the hot air from her mouth sends tickles of pleasure down your spine.
"Please, Britt." You try to whisper, but you aren't sure if you're quiet, or really, even if you're making comprehensible words at all.
Given the fact that you're already trembling and pleading, and if she teases you much longer, you'll probably come before she actually makes contact with your sex (you're embarrassed to admit that it wouldn't be the first time that's happened, but whatever, she's so sexy you can't help what she does to your body) Brittany takes a small amount of pity on you and presses her tongue against your entrance, not quite dipping inside. Involuntarily, your hips cant up to meet her mouth, and you can feel her smile against you as she pushes you back down into the seat, giving in to what you want, but only for a brief instant. Even in the low light under the blanket, you can clearly see the look of adoration in her eyes as she removes it again, and then wraps her lips around your clit, your thighs beginning to shake when she flicks her tongue against it. All you can think, in that moment, while you feel the beginning of the tingles at the tips of your toes, and you're just about convinced that Brittany can see straight into your soul, is the same thing that's been reaffirmed every minute since you got back together with your soulmate, that with feelings, it really, really is so much better than anything else.
As you bite harder down on your wrist, hard enough that you're sure you'll break the skin, and your body shudders at the combination of the pain there and the pleasure building in your lower belly, your other hand unfurls, dropping the fabric from inside. You bring it to Brittany's face, running your thumb over the apple of her cheek, silently appreciating what she's doing to your body, since you can't cry out (or else you really may end up living out your life on a lesbian island, after you're banned from all future air travel), and your hand weaves it's way into her hair. As Brittany alternates between licking and sucking, your grasp tightens there, and your eyes slip closed. When you feel Brittany twist her tongue inside of you one last time, before replacing it with two fingers, you squeak, trading your wrist for the crook of your elbow, knowing you need more to muffle the sounds you can no longer control. She shifts slightly, never breaking the rhythm of her fingers, never removing her lips from where they're working your sensitive clit, and when you open your eyes back up to watch her, you nearly come on the spot when you realize what she's doing.
"So fucking hot." You manage, your words muffled by the inside of your elbow.
Although you can't fully see what's happening, you can tell by the way she's moving that while she's fucking you with her right hand, she's slipped her left into her own panties and is touching herself. You're torn between looking into her eyes, and closing yours again, wanting to imagine your fingers inside her, your fingers making her writhe the same way you're on the verge of. She's really gotten herself worked up, you can feel it in the way she pants against your sex, and suddenly, even without closing your eyes, the visual in your head, combined with everything her hand and mouth are doing between your legs prove too much, and stars begin to invade the corners of your vision.
"Come for me, baby." She rasps out, and you throw your head back, letting the most intense orgasm of your life wrack through your body.
You're shaking, and everything is just slightly fuzzy while Brittany draws her fingers out of you, but continues to lick gently, helping to bring you down. When you manage to lift your head back up, you see her eyes fighting to stay open, her face contorted in pleasure, and you know that she's still inside herself, and are so grateful that she hasn't come yet. You want, no you need to be the one who makes her shatter, you need to feel her around your fingers, you need to watch her eyes turn the color of the deepest sea as she gets dragged under by pleasure.
"Come here." You bring your hand to her forearm, removing hers from her pants and tugging her upwards.
She doesn't bother to pull down your dress as she unfolds herself and crawls up your body, the blanket that's covering you barely rippling with her graceful motions. Still out of breath and sort of delirious, you connect your mouth with Brittany's, moaning into it as your taste yourself there. Her tongue moves against yours, and you waste no time plunging below the elastic band of her pants, sliding through the wet heat of her folds. You feel her shudder as your thumb brushes her sensitive nerves, and your breath catches at just how ready she is for you, how easily you can push three fingers inside of her, how quickly she stretches to accommodate them.
"Your fingers feel…ugh...so much better than mine." She groans, digging her short nails into the back of your neck.
As you begin pumping in and out of her, Brittany can no longer maintain your kiss, she's too close from her own ministrations, and she drops her head, sinking her teeth into your shoulder to quiet the whimpers that don't stop escaping her lips. You feel her stiffen above you, and you suck hard on your favorite patch of skin on her neck, just below her ear, before redoubling your efforts, curling your fingers, hitting her spot over and over again, wanting her to come as hard as you, wanting her to feel like the entire world is falling out from underneath her. When you know she's just about there, her entire body quivering and oh, so sexy, you cup her cheek again, letting her forehead fall to rest against yours as your brush kisses over her lips and chin, urging her over the edge. When she tightens around your fingers, her body naturally drawing you further in, you kiss her deeply, swallowing her soft cries as she plummets.
You're both a sweaty mess of tangled limbs, back on your sides, while you try to regain composure. Brittany somehow manages the strength to tug the blanket to cover both of your heads, encasing you in a blue cocoon with only each other. While your fingers tickle up and down Brittany's ribcage where her shirt has risen up, she brings your wrist to her lips, softly kissing the angry red welts there, soothing the sting that your teeth left. You feel safe, and loved, and so, so happy after what you're sure is the first of many once in a lifetime experiences you'll have with Brittany on this trip.
"I love you." She sighs, kissing your drooping eyelids, and you feel like it's possible that you're smiling so brightly that it might light up the entire world.
"I love you too, so much." You move your hand up to her heart, and let it linger there as the rhythm slows back to normal. "That was the best fake-marriage consummation of all time."
"Imagine what our real marriage consummation will bring." Brittany teases, and if anyone else ever joked with you about marriage, you know you'd probably die of commitment-phobia, but with Brittany, you know it's an inevitability. You know that someday in the not-so-distant future, there will be wedding rings and chasing dreams together as wives, because that's always how it was meant to be.
"I'm totally going to love being fake-Mrs. Pierce." You say, but that adoring look in Brittany's eyes is back, and you're pretty sure she knows that you mean someday you'll enjoy being real Mrs. Pierce too.
"Well, we should get some sleep, wifey." Brittany grins, and you cuddle into her chest, letting her drape her arm across your shoulders. "See you in Athens."