There's a pause. There's an excruciating moment in time, where Santana waits. She expects the sting of rejection to come. She expects to walk out the door with her tail between her legs. She expects that this was all too good to be true. She expects the worst, because it's easier to brace herself for that, than to be build herself up, to then be wholly unprepared for a free fall.
She feels Brittany searching her face. She squirms beneath her, and she squeezes her eyes shut. It's too much scrutiny. It's too much…everything, and she doesn't know how to handle it. They remain closed, the blackness behind her lids far easier to handle, until she feels the press of a palm on her cheeks. Until she feels the press of a kiss on her lips. It's then that she opens them again. It's then that she makes herself look back into Brittany's eyes.
"Is that what you want?"
"I…do you want that?" Santana's voice cracks a little. Mentally, she shoves her fingers in her ears. Mentally, she lets out a scream that drowns out the sound of Brittany's answer.
"I want you, however you'll let me have you."
That's all it takes for Santana to shuffle back to a sitting position, nearly knocking Brittany off of her as she does. Brittany laughs, leaning over to kiss Santana again, before offering her a hand up. Santana's legs are shaky as she stands, and her stomach turns over and over again. The whole way up the stairs, she has to will herself not to throw up. Normal people cannot possibly be like this. Normal people cannot possibly obsesslike this. She can't even imagine what she'd be like if she didn't take pills to keep her mind from racing triply. Probably entirely incapacitated.
Santana's never been in Brittany's bedroom, and when the door opens, she sucks in all the air she can manage. She's far from a virgin, but yet, in this white room, she feels like one. Every sexual experience she's had until this very moment was hurried. Void of feelings. Rushed. It was all about physical pleasure, despite Santana knowing that she'd feel overexposed before she could even flee from the room. But here, here it's different. Here, she's already caring too deeply for this woman. Here, she doesn't want to feel rife with regret, before it's even over. Here, it means something.
"Hey." Brittany locks the door behind them, and she takes both of Santana's hands. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." It's more of a word than a breath, and she nods profusely, wanting to make her point. "Good. Can we just…the lights?"
"Of course." Her fingers are quick to find the dimmer, and she turns them down, until just the slightest glow of light remains in the room. "Do you want to continue what we were doing downstairs?"
There's something about Brittany Pierce. Something that makes Santana feel like they've known each other for their entire lives. A way, is the only word she thinks she can use. This way about her that puts Santana at ease. This way that knows exactly what Santana wants and needs. This way that puts her at ease. It's uncanny, and it should make Santana feel like her space has been violated, but it doesn't. It doesn't at all.
"That sounds really good."
Still fully clothed, Santana perches on the edge of Brittany's bed. Brittany steps between her legs, starting softly on her lips again. It makes Santana's head spin, just the way she kisses her. She didn't realize it was possible for kisses to feel so good, but these certainly do. These are enough for Santana to feel comfortable, slowly sliding back into the pillows of another woman's bed.
Brittany kneels over her then, determined, Santana thinks, to make her feel good. Still kissing her, Brittany gently trails her fingers up Santana's sides, thumbs just barely grazing her breasts. At the sensation, she freezes. A sense of panic seizes her, and she gasps for air, feeling every cause for anxiety hitting her all at once.
"I won't take it off if you don't want me to." Brittany hums into her ear. "I won't do anything you don't want."
"I just need a minute." She squeezes her eyes shut. She's mortified. Of course she wanted to come upstairs to get naked. But here she is, still fully clothed, and already starting her spiral into panic. "Can you take yours off first?"
Wordlessly, Brittany pulls hers over her head, unsnapping her bra and removing both in a single motion. For someone who'd spent a good part of the first five years after her surgery looking at pictures of normal breasts on her dusty old Gateway computer—in a completely non-sexual way—Santana would have expected to be jealous. These breasts, Brittany's breasts, are near perfect. The ideal incarnation of human breasts. And yet, for the first time in her life, Santana isn't thinking about that. Santana isn't breaking this down into what shecould look like, but rather, appreciating the gorgeous form of the woman straddling her.
"Wow." She breathes, eyes comically wide. She wants her hands on Brittany, she wants her mouth on Brittany, but all she can do is lay there like a deer in headlights. "Wow."
"Wow, I really like you. In a romantic way, in a you're beautiful way, as a human…" The words come with a giggle, and again, Santana thinks of how Brittany's laugher doesn't bother her. Again, Santana thinks of how good she feels around her. And because of that, she puts her hands over Brittany's, and she guides them to the hem of her shirt. "Yeah?"
"Mmhm." Her nod is sure, and Brittany kisses her again, slow and deep. Long, and enough to make her mind blank, if only for an instant. "Sorry I'm making this so unsexy."
"Impossible. You're sexy." She assures Santana, thumbs rubbing the tiny, exposed strip of skin, where she's begun to lift her shirt. Santana starts to shake her head, but Brittany raises an eyebrow. "Promise."
Though she feels emotionally stunted, and is beyond embarrassed that as a grown women, she still needs reassurances before being undressed in front of Brittany, the tenderness she sees in Brittany's face, in her actions, is so soothing. Santana can tell that Brittany is trying to distract her from the process of taking her shirt off—unwrapping a gift no one wants, she thinks, bitterly—and she closes her eyes. She thinks about Brittany's lips on her neck, sucking the hollow at the base. She thinks about the blonde hair slipping through her fingers. She thinks about the foreign pulse against the heel of her hand, one that flutters and jumps, one that seems to almost match the rhythm of her own. Nervous and excited.
When Brittany gets the shirt up, she arches her back, letting her pull it over her head. Then, then she lifts her head, she captures Brittany's lips again. She curls her tongue around Brittany's, she explores her mouth, and she opens her eyes again. Kissing with her eyes open is weird, but before she can scold herself, she watches Brittany's pop open. So close to her, so blue, and she's drowning. Drowning in the blue, drowning in the heat that rushes and thrums through her body, drowning in Brittany.
Long fingers on the clasp of her bra seeks silent permission, and when Santana sucks in air, she's breathing Brittany's breath. She's breathing all that this is, and her answer is another kiss, her answer is fingers scratching her scalp. She thinks Brittany murmurs something against her lips, but she can't hear her. All she hears is her pulse rushing in her ears, hammering, hammering, until she's sure it will deafen her.
Once her bra is undone, and Brittany lifts her head to guide the straps down her arms, Santana fights her innate urge to cross her arms over her chest. She fights the need to hide herself. She fights her every instinct, because somehow, someway, Brittany has breached all of her barriers, Brittany has scaled all her walls. Brittany, Brittany, this woman who drives her crazy, has gotten closer to her heart than any other person in the world ever has.
"Still okay?" She checks, and biting her lip, Santana nods, eyes never leaving Brittany's face. "Can I…?"
"Why?" Santana's chest tightens, and her stomach clenches.
"Because I want to. Because you're beautiful. Because if I'm going to make love to you, I'd like to make love to all of you."
"I…" Words die in Santana's throat. She thinks of questioning whether she really still wants to. She thinks of turning the tables, of sliding Brittany's jeans off to distract her from this idea, of going down on her until she's too tired to remember that she ever wanted to touch Santana to begin with. She thinks of preserving her dignity, and protecting herself from the deepest hurt. But she doesn't. She lets herself trust, no matter what the consequence. "Okay."
Leaning back against the soft pillows on Brittany's bed, Santana forces herself to keep her eyes open. She forces herself to see what she's so afraid to see. She thinks, in theory, maybe it's the same concept as getting back on the horse, facing her fears and all that. But horses, they're easy. Horses…her thoughts die, when Brittany's nipples make contact with her own. She jolts and shivers, and it only grows more intense, when Brittany presses a kiss over her heart, letting her lips linger to feel the beat of it. Santana wonders if she feels the pace quicken like it does. Nearing tachycardia, probably. She wonders, she wonders, and then, to her own surprise, she brushes Brittany's hair from where it splays across maimed flesh.
At that, Brittany stops, just for a moment. She looks up into Santana's eyes. She smiles into her skin. She hums, and Santana feels the word beautiful ripple into her heart then travel down, down, and settle between her legs, making her want Brittany more than she imagined possible. Soft lips travel down, down, over deep scar lines, over purple skin. The combination of both Brittany's reverence and her need to pleasure her make Santana's head spin. Her feet scrabble against cool sheets, and she fights the moan that seems to settle permanently in the back of her throat.
The flick of Brittany's tongue on her damaged nipple frees it, finally, and when lips latch around it, Santana's fairly certain she might come just from that. Her breasts her tender almost all the time, but the way they feel sensation, it's something she's never experienced, it's something she's never wanted to experience, until now. Until it's Brittany. Brittany with her caring eyes. Brittany with her mouth that wanders and explores. Brittany with her hand firmly pressed into Santana's hip, bracing her, assuring her.
Fighting the urge to push Brittany's head closer, Santana fists the pillowcase behind her head. Her breathing is labored, she knows, and every suckle and kiss, every trail and flick, Santana feels between her legs. It pushes, pushes, threatening to drive her over the edge, but it's Brittany finding her hand, it's Brittany bringing it to her head, that really labels her a goner.
"You show me what feels good for you. You show me exactly what you want."
"I just…want you." Santana gasps, the hum she gets in response making her cant her hips up. She's reaching the point of desperation, and when she feels Brittany's fingers trace the seam of her jeans, and tease at the zipper, she prays to whatever higher power is out there to let her survive this night.
"Can I…" Brittany wriggles down, pressing a kiss to the button of Santana's pants, and then trailing them down, down. "I want to go down on you."
"Holy shit." Santana hisses, the husk of Brittany's voice really making her pulse down there, reallythreatening to shove her straight into a free fall. "Holy shit."
"Can I take that as a yes?"
Santana just nods, and this time, she's forced to close her eyes. This time, it's too much. She can barely bear the sensation of this woman sliding her jeans down her body. She can barely bear the sensation of her mouthing her silk panties, before removing them completely, and spreading Santana's legs wide. If she sees it, she's sure she'll explode. If she sees it, she sure every molecule of her being will spread out across the universe, and she'll cease to exist.
Never before, has Santana allowed anyone to do this, never before has she wanted anyone to. But Brittany is different. Brittany just pleasured her deformed breasts, and still wanted to. Brittany has murmured into her skin how beautiful she is, more times than the word has been said to her in her life. Brittany is everything she never thought she wanted, and so much more.
"Keep showing me." Brittany squeezes Santana's hand on the back of her head, and the hot breath that hits her sex makes her whimper. "I want this to be good for you."
"You're good for me." She confesses, breathy, and a quivering mess. "All of you."
"You're good for me too. So good."
While Brittany kisses up her inner thighs, Santana's mind empties. She can think of nothing but physical sensation. She can think of nothing but the way Brittany inches closer and closer, without actually touching her sex. By the time her nose finally nudges her clit, and she licks straight through her sex, Santana is on the verge of tears. It feels too good, it feels too much, and Brittany doesn't even stop the first time she comes. She keeps going, going, until Santana feels a new coil forming in the pit of her belly. Until her tongue is inside of her, and Santana's body shakes. Until her legs tighten around Brittany's ears, and she has to push her away.
She's a mess, and absolute mess, and Brittany kissing her way back up her body doesn't make it any better. Instead, it has the opposite effect. It sets her reeling. A sob hiccups from her throat, and her arms fly up to cover her face. She's crying in the middle of sex, and as much as she pleads with her mind to shut it all down, it doesn't. It's too good, too much, the actual act of sex, and the emotional care that Brittany pays to her, and Santana is crippled by mortification.
"Hey, did I do something wrong?" Brittany moves off of Santana, and Santana keeps shaking her head, face still hidden.
"Just gimme a minute." She mumbles, trying to scrub her face clean. "Then it's your turn."
"Santana…this isn't about…you're crying."
"I'm not." She protests, and feels Brittany sit up. "I'm having an allergy attack."
"You don't have to hide it." Brittany whispers, but she doesn't try and touch Santana. It's like she knows it will be too much.
"I…" She sucks in air, again, again, again, until she can really breathe. When she takes her arms away from her face, she sees Brittany, jeans still on, sitting topless and cross legged beside her. Her hair is tousled, her face glistening with the sheen of Santana's arousal "Why?"
"Why?"
"Why are you just…this is why I ask why you're like this, because I don't even know what I'm trying to say. You just…wow."
"You're pretty wow yourself."
"I haven't done anything yet."
"You're already wow though. You're sexy, and beautiful, and making you feel good really turned me on."
"I should probably do something about that." Santana pushes herself up, wiping away the last remnants of her tears, the last remnants of her insanity. She had a moment—with more than good reason—but she's regained composure. She can stop acting so weird.
"Not if you're…"
"I'm good, I'm really good." She breathes, and leans over to kiss Brittany. When she tastes herself on Brittany's lips, she moans into her mouth. It sends shivers down her spine, and when she pulls back a little, she has to lick her own lips. "My turn."