Title: Inside Out
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8.8k
Summary: Santana's back from Indiana for Senior year. She lived her five years ago, but there's something different about the place.
Warning: G!P
Notes: Dantana is hot, but Brittana is hotter.
/
"Did you hear about Jacob Ben Israel?"
There's a kiss on her cheek as Dani slides down on the bench beside her. They're outside for lunch, the sun shining in the sky, the weather unseasonably warm for this time of the year and Santana's been sat with Quinn for the last ten minutes.
It's been a week since they had their chat. Santana told her best friend everything, ignoring the clicks of the girls tongue in a disapproving manner coming down the phone when she reveals their Lima Point trips, and the too-many almost kisses they've shared. Quinn hadn't judged her half as badly as she'd expected, giving back the trust by confiding in her that she and Puck had a few moments of their own.
But like Brittany and Santana, something had broken the moment and always got in the way, and their sharing of stories brought the girls closer together.
Plus, Quinn's a bitch, but she wouldn't ever out Santana about her situation. She never did it about the situation in her pants, so she doubts she'd do it with something equally as challenging.
Santana smile at her girlfriend, squeezing her thigh. "No, what happened?"
She's wanted to get her hands on that Jewfro for a week now – perhaps throttle him to his last dying breath – but she hasn't seen him around which she didn't notice until now. Usually there's at least one or two appearances and ridiculous accusation filmed in the school hallways, but nothing recently.
"He got kicked out of school for good," Dani continues and steals a grape off her girlfriend's tray, popping in her mouth and winking. "Turns out he's been filming some of the girls in the locker room and posting it on RudeTube."
Brown eyes widen. "Fucking perv," Santana spits and it briefly crosses her mind if any of her friends have been taped. "Who was filmed?"
Dani shrugs. "Only a couple of the band geeks."
Relieved, and only because she'd hunt that bastard down and chemically cast rate him if she found out any of her girls – Quinn and Rachel included – were filmed. That's a serious invasion of privacy and it pisses her off. Not that it's any better that the girls in the band got filmed, but it's not close to her heart. Probably for the best.
"Getting kicked out is the least he deserves," she says. "Asshole should have his teeny weeny posted on the school Facebook page as revenge."
They all break out into laughter, imagining the satisfaction everyone would feel from getting revenge on the Jewish pervert. But it's interrupted when there's another tray sliding on to the bench and Brittany's sitting down, curiosity covering her face, questioning the explosive laughter.
"What's so funny?"
Santana can't help but flinch a little at her voice. They haven't spoken about their almost moment in her bedroom. They've had that talk way too many fucking times and it's so draining trying to avoid what's staring them in the face, but they're still texting and talking in person like nothing ever happened. Santana just accepts that's the way they have to deal with this now. She's aware the wool can only be pulled over their eyes for a short period of time, but they haven't crossed that bridge yet and Santana doesn't know if they'll ever fucking reach that bridge to be honest.
Surely if it was going to happen, it would have already?
"Jewfro got kicked out," Santana's the one to answer, looking the blonde in the eye.
"He was filming some of the band girls in the locker rooms during gym class," Dani adds on, scrunching her nose up at Brittany instead of a greeting.
Brittany grins back and Santana looks at them with her mouth open. She's so fucking confused at this entire situation because the two girls are acting like best friends, but there have been consistent times where it's been pretty fucking clear the blonde has thrown caution to the wind with that and disregarded said friendship. Although Santana's only done the same, she supposes, and continues to do so by not fessing up. She guesses she isn't any better. And, to Brittany's credit, and Dani's, they never have a bad word to say each other.
"Gross," the blonde cheerleader twists her face up in disgust in a way that's so adorable, it locks itself away in a bottle at the back of Santana's brain where it'll stay in the treasured memories section, replaying multiple times a day.
"Super gross," Dani repeats and looks at her girlfriend. "How's your day been baby?"
Santana goes to answer, she really does, but it's at the same moment that her girlfriend asks the question, she notices Brittany staring at her phone, her face considerably paler than it was a second ago – she knows, she was admiring it – and her mouth is dropping open. It sends concern shooting through her, and she leans around her girlfriend to look to the blonde, her hand automatically reaching around and over the table towards the girl.
"Britt?" She whispers, not wanting to scare her. "What's wrong?"
Blue eyes flick up, now coated with a shine that can only come from tears and barely second later, Brittany bursts into a hysterical sob, dropping her phone to the floor and hopping out from the lunch table, darting away through the students surrounding them and into the hall.
The cell is in her hand before she can even register it, and she's reading the words on the notification bar of the screen.
Senator Pierce caught in cheating scandal!
The blood runs from her face and her eyes search the crowd Brittany just ran through.
Fuck.
/
They've been hammering on the stall of the girls toilet for three minutes.
Brittany ran in here after escaping the courtyard, locking herself in and there's a heavy sobbing from over the cubicle. The sound is chipping away at Santana, physically making her chest hurt and tighten in a way she's not privy to. She's never felt this much empathy towards someone. She's never wanted to steal someone's emotions and suffer them herself because she can't handle this. That girl is supposed to be happy. That girl's supposed to be smiling all day, every day, because she puts the cheer in cheerleader.
And Santana's trying so desperately to plead with Brittany to come out. She's resting her temple against the door, Dani beside her with her arms crossed and face twisted with sympathy as she bangs tiredly at the door, but the blonde isn't hearing any of it. It may not even be registering in her mind because she's hysterically crying and Santana's glad for the separation between them; not only because she just might about die if she actually saw Brittany crying, but because she's not sure she could look at her without speaking a thousand other words right now.
That's not the kind of thing she wants her girlfriend to see.
Still, she flashes a sad smile to Dani and continues knocking.
/
Around twenty minutes later, the latch on the door is flicking open and Brittany's stepping out.
The sobbing stopped around two minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago – not that Santana was counting – and the blonde's face is now stoic, void of emotion. Her blue eyes are a steel grey, her jaw clenched tightly and she's not meeting anyone's concerned stare, choosing to meet her own in the mirror opposite.
"Britt," Santana hushes, her voice barely there. "Britt, are you–"
"I just need to get out of here," Brittany says and walks slowly to the sinks under the mirror. Her eyes drop to the porcelain, her left foot twirling gently on the linoleum flooring and then she's looking back up after a long moment. "Could you not follow me though?"
A little stunned (and partially offended) Santana sucks in her bottom lip and frowns heavily, resisting the urge to snap fuck no. There's nothing inside of her that wants to leave Brittany alone. She wants to wrap her up and run away, hiding her from the rumours – they're not confirmed yet – so she isn't hurt and hide in somewhere like Alaska. She'd switch off their cell phones, unplug the televisions and keep away from the internet in every way possible.
(The thought of them alone, away from all of this together, flutters inside Santana's stomach.)
(Fuck. No. Not the time.)
But the blonde seems to have other ideas, and frankly there's not a thing Santana can do to stop her as she's walking to the bathroom door. Dani's studying the interaction, following the blonde and gently rubbing her back as if it'll somehow sway the other girl. but Brittany's spinning around – out of reach – and shaking her head, something Santana can only recognise as fear flashing through her eyes.
"Please," Brittany's voice breaks. Santana's heart does, too. "I just–I wanna be alone."
The instant urge to wrap the blonde up in a tight embrace burns through her muscles, but she just folds her arms over her chest, fists curling, preventing the motion. Dani's stepping back, slipping beside Santana and they both just stare at the blonde whose eyes flicker between them, understanding their acceptance, then she's opening the door and disappearing into the crowded hallways.
Dani slips her hand into Santana's and squeezes gently, their eyes meeting. "She'll be okay," she says in a comforting manner. "We'll check up on her later, okay?"
Clearly noticing the concern – which is surprising, because there's an honesty in Dani's eyes that means she isn't reading it any other way but platonic – Santana bobs her head and runs her tongue along her teeth. She can't think of anything to say that doesn't involve no and I'm going after her, so she settles for swallowing against her thickened throat and accepting this, too.
(Even though she almost breaks.)
(Almost.)
/
Her phone hasn't gone off once.
Not that she's expecting Brittany to text her first out of everyone. She might text Dani seeing as they're best friends, or maybe she's just doing what she said and she's alone somewhere crying her eyes out–
Fuck. Even the thought makes Santana's heart faulter.
It reaches 9pm, and Dani and her have been sitting in the Lopez living room, watching some trash reality television show. But Santana has been paying zero attention to what's going on screen, instead figuring out what Brittany would be saying to her mom, to her dad, asking whether the rumours are true and whether it's going to be all over the internet with pictures tomorrow morning because the article hadn't said much.
Someone anonymously sold some stories to the press, and so despite the rumour spreading like wildfire, it had boldly stated that they'd reached out to Senator Pierce's spokesperson for a confirmation as it was currently hearsay. Not that a confirmation of such would come so easily – the guy is in the fucking government and high in it, too – but it doesn't stop the effect it has on the rest of the Pierce family because the possibility is now out there.
She doesn't know how to make this better, and she feels fucking useless for it.
"We should go check on Britt," Santana blurts out, almost unaware she's said it until Dani's turning down the television and twisting her neck up from where she's cuddled into her girlfriends' side.
"Has she text you?"
"No," Santana answers, too quickly. "But babe," she slows down her voice. Can't be too overenthusiastic. Even if she's been sitting on the edge of her seat for the past hour, withholding the urge to message the blonde first. She did ask to be left alone, after all. "This is bad, even if it's not true, it's already doing damage to his reputation and in turn, his family."
Dani's breaking their eye contact and searching the space in front of her. "Let's go see if she's home," she replies, and Santana's never been so damn happy for that reaction. She thought she'd have to put up a bit of a fight. Or maybe she should stop underestimating how good her girlfriend is. "If her car's in the driveway and we'll go from there."
As long as it's out looking for Brittany, Santana doesn't care in what capacity that is. She's up on her feet and finding her car keys before she can even agree with her girlfriend.
/
Brittany's not home.
They pulled up outside the Pierce residence and plunged the car into darkness, headlights and all. It feels a little like a stakeout, but it's a swift one because Brittany's SUV is nowhere to be seen and now they need to go searching into the night for her – something she won't stop until her objective is complete. It would have been too easy if she'd been here, so it's not a huge surprise, Santana could almost feel it when they were on their way here, but of course not. Of course, she isn't, because if she had been then they could've gone back home, knowing that the blonde was with her family and not alone somewhere to think–
Shit.
It hits Santana like an eighteen-wheeler, and she mutters curse words beneath her breath, flicking the engine back on with speed as they peel off into the darkness once again. How could she not think of the one place Brittany would go to think? How could she not have even thought about the one place that she found Brittany those nights they spend together up there?
How could she be so blind?
"Where are we going?" Dani asks, and Santana becomes aware of the quizzical expression pasted on the other girls face.
She probably could've explained instead of dramatically blazing off into the night.
"I know where Brittany is," is the only thing that comes to mind, and she tightens her grip around the wheel, begging that there isn't a follow up question as to how she knows that.
Luckily, Dani doesn't, and instead settles into her seat, reaching over to take Santana's hand.
(She thinks it's supposed to comfort her.)
(It doesn't.)
/
There's dirty pinging against the side of her truck – probably leaving a dozen of so scratches she'll have to get out at some point – but she's not paying mind to it. The grip on her truck is making the small hill up to Lima Point an easy task, and she's glad for it because she's driving a little too fast to be considered safe. Dani's left hand is on her thigh, squeezing intermittently but her right is clutching to the door handle like her life depends on it.
"Is she here?" Dani asks, leaning forward in her seat.
Santana's eyes are narrowing, like it'll turn them into telescopes or something, and she searches for a whole three seconds before cool relief flushes through her body and she's settling on the vision of a black SUV, parked up in a familiar spot, looking out on Lima.
"Yeah," she breathes, unaware of just how relieved she sounds – to the point where Dani's side-eying her – and she swiftly pulls up beside the other vehicle, putting it into neutral and climbing out the truck.
Her feet are leading her towards the black SUV, momentarily pausing to help her girlfriend get out too, and she's focusing on the blonde who's sitting on the hood of her SUV, hugging her legs tight to her chest. It's clear she's crying again, the moonlight is bouncing off her paled cheek, and Santana quickens her step, coming up the side of the car and stopping.
It's so quiet, bar the wind blowing in the trees surrounding them, and she doesn't know what to say.
Brittany's obviously aware of their presence – she's wiping at her face in preparation to talk to them – but she hasn't yet met their eyes and Santana knows if it was her, she wouldn't want her friends fucking ogling her whilst there's rivers falling from her eyes. So, she looks away, tugging gently at her girlfriends hand to do the same and helps Dani on to the hood, rounding the front to join on the other side of the blonde, settling in the silence around them.
It's the only thing she can think of to do.
"I need to see my dad," Brittany's the one to speak. "I need to go to DC."
Santana's eyes flit to her smart watch, noting the time. "It's 930, Britt," she says. "You can't go now."
Dani winds her arm around the blondes waist, and Santana doesn't linger on the question of whether she should do it too, and lets her instincts take over. The girl needs comfort, and frankly if her girlfriend said anything, she'd jump down her throat. This is about Brittany, about making their mutual friend feel better or at least suffering with her, and not the time to question intentions.
Not that there is any.
"It's a 7-hour drive," the blonde continues, ignoring what Santana said, her words coming out like she's not addressing either of her friends. "If I go now, I'll make it by morning."
Santana's looking at her girlfriend for help. This isn't a good idea, and Dani better back her up because the blonde driving in this emotional state, at this time of night, is a recipe for disaster. She'd end up in the local news after ploughing off one of the many bridges surrounding Lima, and that's not something that Santana can take. Everything would just be dull without Brittany.
"Santana can go with you," ends up being what Dani says, and it's not what Santana was fucking thinking. To the point where she's only aware she's staring at her girlfriend in utter disbelief – mouth open, eyes wide – when Dani's confirming it with her. "Can't you, babe."
It's not a question – more of a command, and Santana's not sure whether to give into the urge to nod her head erratically or play it cool and act like yeah¸ her and Brittany alone, travelling 7 hours in a car, with all their tension, is a super good idea. They've only spent three or so hours together and okay, nothing happened, but it was an almost time and Brittany's vulnerable.
And honestly, Santana would do anything to make the girl feel better, and she wouldn't be able to conceal that.
But wait, why isn't Dani offering to go herself? They are best friends, after all.
"I'd come but my mom's out of town and the babysitter has my sister until 10," Dani explains, answering a question that wasn't spoken. Her tone is full of guilt, and she's shooting an apologetic smile at the blonde. "I'm sorry, Britt. You know I would if I could."
Brittany's sucking her lips into her mouth and nodding, a silent acceptance of Santana's company. There's no fight in her to say otherwise, and she's secretly happy that she'll be able to help her friend. It feels like a job she's confident in doing and now she knows she's got her girlfriend trust, and the knowledge that this is not the kind of situation that should result in another moment also makes her feel a little more content than a minute ago.
/
They're halfway to Washington when the storm hits.
They dropped Dani back at her house, Santana stepping out and closing the door to kiss her girlfriend because – just because – and they'd parted ways, promising to update each other on everything. Dani would keep an eye out on the news to find anything else and report it as false information at home whilst she looked after her sister, and Santana would message her on how Brittany was doing throughout the night,
She'd decided it would be best for her to drive, but they took Brittany's SUV – after leaving Santana's truck at the Pierce household – as it was more spacious and not half as old, but it seems like an added bonus when the heavens open and it's pouring buckets all around them, the four-wheel drive coming in super handy on the slippery roads.
"I can barely see the road," Santana groans, the wipers rapidly wiping the screen, the rain drops only being replaced the second they're cleared.
"There's a hurricane warning," Brittany mentions from beside her, voice too calm for the information it just released.
Brown eyes snap to her. "What?" Santana gasps and the car slows down in reaction. Fuck that as a weather warning. There's no way in hell she's driving through this. "We have to stop."
"No," the blonde interjects, her body twisting in the seat. "We have to keep going, San."
It was the deal. They spoke about it when they left Dani's house, and Santana said she'd drive through the night, surviving on energy drinks and loud music. Brittany had thanked her with that damn sad smile, but at least it was a different type of sadness. Not a better one, just a different one.
"Britt, I want to get there in one piece," Santana reasons, her voice soft. She's trying to meet blue eyes but she's concentrating on driving which is a must in weather like this. Road traffic accidents happen like 70% of the time due to human error and she doesn't want to be in that statistic. "There's a motel up ahead."
There was a sign a couple miles back, signalling the destination and Santana had made a mental note in case the rain didn't stop, or at least lessen. Despite the obvious dislike to the suggestion, Brittany knows it's for the better and doesn't protest further, instead nodding her head and returning to staring out the window blankly like she'd been doing for the past half an hour.
/
The motel receptionist eyes them suspiciously when they ask for a room. He's an older guy, and there's a television playing loudly in the background which Santana guesses is to pass the time as it doesn't seem particularly full due to the empty parking lot, and she wonders why he thinks they're here. They have a small duffel each – containing a change of clothes and underwear – but they're soaked from head to toe, the short walk between the car and the reception being considerably longer in torrential rain.
Still, the guy passes them a guy and grunts it's on the first floor to the right, number 107.
She doesn't even consider the fact they didn't specify separate beds until they're opening the door and there's just a double bed in the middle of the room, and she suddenly realises why the strange look was thrown their way. This motel does reek of hourly rates and cheap furniture that squeaks loudly because of the countless pornos that were undoubtedly filmed here, and being young adults, they fit a certain category.
Or maybe the guy was looking at them strangely because they look like drowned rats and are in the middle of fucking nowhere with a hurricane warning.
"I'm gonna take a shower," Brittany doesn't even comment on the sleeping arrangement, instead throwing her duffel on to the bed and heading straight to the bathroom.
Santana doesn't quite know what do to. It's a bit of a cheap motel – something out of a horror movie – and she suspects every channel has a triple X warning, or is some documentary called Animal Planet that'll bore her to sleep, and she wants to make sure her friend's okay before she does so. Even if the three hours of driving after a shitty night's sleep is tugging at her eyelids.
"I'll go get us something to eat," she replies, noting the vending machine by the main office.
Without another word, she steps out into the night, pulling her jacket tight to her chest because the rain is coming down diagonally, straight past the cover of the balcony outside their room and pelting her in the face. She scurries downstairs, fishing a few coins out her jeans pocket and eyes the selection – or lack of – in front of her, settling on a couple bags of chips and some soda's. It's not exactly filling, but she knows Brittany's distraught enough that hunger is at the very bottom of the list of things she's feeling.
The wind bites the skin of her face, whipping her hair around in it and Santana runs back up the steps towards her room, sliding the key into the lock and falling into the room, feeling like a wet dog. There's not a single part of her clothing that isn't drenched, and she throws the snacks on to the bed, shrugging out her jacket and shirt, leaving them strewn on the floor as she digs through her duffel.
There are two sets of clothes, and she grabs the sweatpants, quickly changing into them before she disposes of her t-shirt that's clinging to her torso. She's cold, she can feel it in her bones and the bathroom door swings open, blowing more air towards her that makes her skin flood with goosebumps.
"Oh," Brittany gasps, seeing Santana half-dressed. "Sorry, I didn't think you were back."
The blonde's holding a too-small towel around her body, barely leaving anything to imagination. Her hair is damp, hanging around her face but it's fluffy so she must have towel-dried it, and Santana can't help but drink in the sight of her. Her legs are long – she knows, she's admired them before – but they're glistening with droplets of water and it's putting this pressure on Santana's spine that's totally inappropriate for the situation they're in.
And she's embarrassed. Embarrassed because she knows that Brittany's noticed, because she's widening her eyes and tightening the towel around her body, clutching it for dear life.
Fuck.
Santana really didn't mean her mind to wander, it just went there and now she's kicking herself. Fucking idiot. The girl's dad has been accused of cheating – possibly breaking up the Pierce's family – and she's standing here checking out the blonde.
"Could you pass me my duffel?" Brittany asks, and brown eyes flicker up, shocked to find a small smile tugging at the corner of the blondes lips.
She obliges, grabbing the item and walking over a few steps, not wanting to lob it across the room.
And it's her downfall really.
Brittany moves to grab it off her, but her fingers brush over Santana's and she's suddenly aware of how hot her skin is from the touch and that she's stood there in a sports bra, the other girl in less. She gulps audibly, the air prickles intensely around them, and the blonde seems to notice it too, because they're just staring, not moving. Their eyes are locked and it punches Santana in the stomach when the duffel falls to the ground and all thoughts of getting dressed up shoot out her brain because they're impossibly close, their breathes mingling between them and she's breathing too shakily to play it off as just another moment.
Because it's not.
It's the moment, and Santana sees the intent in blue eyes, more solid than ever before and before she can register the movement, she's stepping over the bag and releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding as Brittany mirrors it, pressing their foreheads together. She can't do this. It's a terrible fucking idea. Somewhere inside of her she knows that, but then there's a hand coming up to her cheek and she's staring so deeply into blue eyes she considers herself lost at sea, any sense drowning with it.
"Brittany," comes out her mouth, so weak that it couldn't even be considered a whisper.
"If you don't stop me," Brittany utters softly, her thumb is stroking over Santana's bottom lip. She damn near buckles at the touch, her fingers wrapping around the hand on her face to secure it there. "I won't be able to stop."
Santana's throat is a thousand times thicker than was a second ago, her heartbeat amplified in her eardrums, partially deafening her. If it didn't feel bad before, up at Lima Point, in the bathroom of that house party, or in her very own bedroom, it's bad now. Not a single thing one of the few possibilities of what could happen next are any good, mostly because 90% of them end up in them kissing, and Brittany's vulnerable right now and Santana doesn't want their first moment to be because of that.
"We can't," she entreats, wanting to pull away.
"Then stop me," Brittany says, so fucking quietly it surges through Santana like a spark.
And it's at that moment it becomes exceedingly obvious this isn't for any other reason than they both fucking want to and have wanted to for too long.
It breaks the last tiny bit of restraint in her and all hesitation flies out the window because waiting, eyes large and scared, and nope, Santana can't and won't stop it and she's pushing their bodies come together and she's kissing her – one of those urgent, needy kisses that connects the dots. A strangled moan comes from the blonde, and they back up until the blonde hits the nearest wall and their hands are threading together against it either side of them, their tongues stroking against each other in a way that comes from months of wanting to do this.
Santana's head fills with Brittany, letting it flood through her entire being and her hands drop pale ones to travel down to the small of the blondes back automatically, the blonde wrapping her leg around the girl to close what's left of the gap between them. She can't believe she's kissing her. She's fucking kissing Brittany and it's more than she ever expected. Heat shoots through Santana's body, and fuck, this is what she wanted.
This is what she was missing, and the realisation punches through her as teeth drag across her bottom lip, warmth flaring low in her groin. For the second time tonight she wonders how she could've been so blind.
Her hands drift, coming round to the front of the barely-there towel, and she's lingering on a deep kiss, only pulling back to confirm what she wants to do. Her fingertips are aching with the need to touch Brittany, to feel her skin and cross that line that they've been teetering in their relationship, even if that line is so far past them already.
Brittany's lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed a dark pink and Santana momentarily drinks in the sight of her, letting it sink into her long-term memory. This will be a moment she'll remember for the rest of her life.
The girl is fucking beautiful.
It seems she's been lost in her thoughts for too long, has admired for too long, hands stroking over Brittany's features, because the blonde's pushing her back, bringing their lips back together as they move back towards the bed, the back of Santana's legs colliding with the foot of it. If it wasn't for the kiss, she would have panicked that the moment was over before it even really begun, but then she's falling on to the comforter, and Brittany's holding her eye contact as she slowly drops the towel from her body, allowing it to fall to the floor with a practised ease and Santana's fucking speechless.
Swear to God, her heart fucking stops when her eyes trace down the naked blonde, her mouth dropping open at the confidence the girl is showing as Brittany slinks down, leaning on to her palms and crawling up until she's halfway up Santana's body, eyes slowly looking up through long lashes. Santana nods at a question that wasn't asked, and the blonde licks her lips, her hands moving to the buttons on Santana's jeans and popping open, fingers bumping against the bulge there that makes Santana jolt.
Fuck. She's so hard and she didn't even realise.
The jeans are thrown back, and there's barely a second between the sound of them thudding on the hardwood floor before Brittany's slowly climbing up the bed, her legs fitting either side of Santana's hips and well, dreams really do come true. It's on top of her, everything blurring out behind the girl and then they're kissing again, sparking fireworks behind her eyes. Brittany's eyes are trailing over her body, and she's never felt so attractive before. None of her past hook-ups have looked at her like this, like she never wants this nice to end.
This is what was missing.
This is the feeling Santana knew was there, routed deep within.
Words aren't exchanged when their eyes meet, and she's so fucking glad right now that she can read the girl just enough to see what she wants and knows it reflected in her own. The want, the need to feel more is burning inside both of them and Santana sits up on the bed, her palms gliding up a smooth, pale back and she presses her lips into the crook of Brittany's neck, along her collarbone and up her neck, marvelling in the low, guttural moans coming from the other girl. Hands tangle in her hair, pulling her close and she pushes her hips up, the minor relief of pressure shooting as Brittany grinds down in a way that should be illegal.
The breath Santana takes is shaky, and she swiftly rolls them over on to the other side of the bed, fitting perfectly between her legs. Brittany's mouth quirks into a smile, and Santana spares a quick glance into blue eyes before tracing over the girl's body – over the dip in her abs, the curve of her hips and the long, smooth expanse of her legs. Blonde hair litters the pillow, the girl looking so fucking gorgeous it rips the breath from Santana's chest.
Everything and everyone else pales in comparison to this.
She lowers her body down, their almost-bare chests touching, pressing down, the front of her bulge against Brittany's heated centre and lets her lips dust kisses over the girls chest, up the valley of her breasts until she meets her mouth, where she strokes confidently inside, reeling at the reaction she gets. The blondes legs wrap around her hips, feet tangling together and locking her in places and she winds her pale arms around Santana's neck, securing them together as they kiss lazily, deeply.
And it should be strange. It should be making Santana feels nervous, but she's so comfortable in this moment that she doesn't even silently ask before she's parting their mouths, sparing a glance into blue eyes as her hand wanders down the front of Brittany's body. Her fingertips come to soft skin, too-soft skin, and she gasps when she slides through slick heat, wetness coating her fingers.
Fuck.
Brittany's so wet.
Her head drops down, ears thrumming from the way her own name is whispered into her ear, Brittany's fingernails scratching lightly down her back. It only propels Santana, makes her want more¸ the arousal ten-folding inside of her until she's hovering around the girls' entrance, using one fluid motion as she slides two fingers into her, relishing in the way Brittany's mouth pops into an 'o' and eyes glaze over when she curls and hits that spot instantly.
Fuck.
This is actually happening.
Santana can't think of anything she's ever wanted more.
Her arm works in a slow movement, rotating slightly and she can feel Brittany tightening around her with every bump. It's a thing of beauty. The thing that makes beauty fucking beautiful, and she peppers kisses along the blondes jaw as she works her up, thumb wandering to circle the most sensitive part of her. It's so fucking hot, and tight, and Santana nearly fucking comes at the thought of it around her cock, taking her in until she's buried so deep everything else will blur away.
Brittany's teeth nip at Santana's lip, a sign she wants more, and Santana accepts the silent request, shifting her weight to the other side, the hand already on the blonde working faster and faster, slamming into her and bringing her close to the edge. Santana's lips hover over slightly sweaty skin, brow furrowing at the dull ache in her forearm and then it's not long until Brittany's legs are tightening around her hand, her body undulating as waves of pleasure crash over her and she squeaks at the orgasm pulsating through her body.
It's the second most beautiful thing she's seen tonight.
And she can't really believe she gets to see it. The way Brittany's face contorts, the way the back of her head pushes into the pillow whilst her hands scratch down a tanned back has something low grumbling in Santana's groin, intensifying the moment their eyes meet and then kiss – a little too softly for the moment they've just had.
But there isn't a second to cast a thought that way, of how soft their kisses are in comparison to the way Santana just touched Brittany, because there's a hand sliding down the front of Santana's boxers and she's jerking into the way long fingers wrap around her shaft, stroking languidly, confidently. There's a thumb rubbing over the tip of her dick, and she pushes her hips into the other girls side, slowly removing her fingers from inside the other girl and groaning at the loss of contact.
She doesn't want to stop. She wants to do it repeatedly until Brittany can't take it anymore.
Brittany's then rolling on top of her, hand trapped between them, still grasping a throbbing member. Santana tenses her stomach, resisting the urge to buck up into the girl on top of her and instead enjoys the soft strong of her tongue in her mouth, a thumping in her ears forming in response.
There's literally nothing she wants more than to grab the blondes legs, throw them over her shoulders and bury herself inside of her. The need is almost too strong, but it seems Brittany has other plans because she's sliding down the bed, pecking soft kisses down tanned skin as she goes down, biting through the fabric of Santana's sports bra at her nipple and fuck, she swears she could come just from this.
A second later, her cock is freed from it's fabric cover, bouncing against her stomach as the other girl hooks her fingers into the side of them and yanks them down. Then her hand is moving to grasp at the base, her eyes staringly hungrily at what's in front of her and yup, Santana knows she's not going to last long. Not if the girl does what she thinks she's about to do.
Blue eyes darken, in a way that she's not used to. There's an intensity, a deep arousal staring back at her and tanned hands grasp at the bed sheets, fisting them instead of giving into the urge of grabbing blonde hair and watching her cock disappear deep into her throat.
It seems she doesn't have to though. It seems that Brittany can read her, which is still irritating because Santana can't do the same, apparently apart from in sexual situations,and flashes the sexiest smirk Santana's ever seen before opening her mouth and swirling her tongue around the tip of Santana's dick before taking it all in, not even pausing at the slightly larger length before her lips are pressing against the skin surrounding her cock.
And fuck.
Santana has stamina.
Well, usually she does.
Usually, she could run a fucking marathon in sexual terms, run across the Nevada desert without a doubt, but with Brittany, bobbing her head up and down expertly, her hand working in time with each flick of her tongue in a continued tempo, she might as well have zilch. The heat is building, spiralling inside her too quickly and her hands thread through blonde hair, just holding her gently, but she can barely keep her head up to marvel because the blonde is working her in a way that no-one ever has.
Her head drops back to the bed, and she's squeezing her eyes shut, refusing to let this moment happen to soon. She knows if she doesn't do something, if she doesn't have a three second break, she's going to be coming in less than a minute. So, quickly thinking, she shoots up, pausing the movement for a painful few moments and she's tugging Brittany up, manipulating the other girls body until they're head to toe and vice versa, Santana dipping her tongue straight inside the other girl whilst Brittany gasps, but resumes her motions on the throbbing sex before her.
They work each other in a incredibly rhythm, and Santana can feel the sweat forming at the base of her spine as the fights the surges of pleasure shooting through her like fireworks. She wants to make the other girl come with her, she wants to feel Brittany's juices all over her and lap them up clean as she finishes inside the other girls mouth, and she wants it now.
Her tongue flicks perfectly against Brittany's clit, and with a quick stroke of her tongue across the whole of the girls slick heat to follow, she feels Brittany quake and come undone for the second time. It's enough to send her over the edge, she mutters Britt in lieu of I'm gonna come and the blonde doesn't disappoint, choosing to take Santana in completely again, prodding the back of her throat as Santana releases herself, her eyes bursting open and fingers gripping at the soft skin of Brittany's thighs at how intense her own orgasm is.
The other girl collapses on top of her, sliding off due to the moisture on both their skins, but her legs remain draped over Santana's torso. In response, Santana moves her hands up to grab at long legs, panting heavily as she reels from the last few moments and they both settle into a comfortable silence.
/
After a minute or so, her brain stops malfunctioning, Brittany's climbed up the bed so they're laid next to each other, noses touching, and she takes in the sight before her, but she doesn't expect to marvel at the spectacle because she's sure there should be some sort of regret in the moment. Some sort of massive realisation, a strike of fear or regret or fucking something, but not a single thought inside her head contains anything that's not happiness or complete satisfaction.
Because they finally happened.
Something actually fucking came of all of this, of all their almost moments, and there's a grin pulling at her lips before she can stop it.
This is what it was all about.
Sure, the fooling around was like, unbelievable, but just this, laying quietly next to each other, staring into each other's eyes is exactly what she's been missing. This is the thing she's never felt with anyone else. This is the type of thing that people write about, that in romance movies all across the world, because it's the knowledge that this is the thing that people search for all their life.
(She doesn't want to say the four-letter word. It'll become too real.)
Instead, Santana chooses to stroke her fingers across Brittany's temple, pushing back the golden strand that had fallen across her face. The blonde smiles softly, blinking her eyes half the speed she usually does and she hums out a breath, sinking further into the embrace they're in.
Santana really can't believe this. She really can't believe they're sitting here like this and as much as she wants to take it to the next level, to flip the other girl over and enter her from behind, wrapping her up in a tight spoon and grind her hips into her, she knows she's going to need a good few minutes to reload. That wasn't just any release, that was without doubt the most intense release she's ever had.
However, the world seems to have different plans, because before those few minutes are up, there's a loud vibration thrumming through the room and Brittany's head snaps up, eying her cell phone on the floor next to the towel, probably after having been kicked off the bed. She's up in a second, Santana groaning at the loss of contact, but her eyes fall to the naked body and arousal shoots through her once again.
But no. No.
Brittany's phone just buzzed and blue eyes are now scanning across the screen, reading the content. This is not the time for round two, rather to check in on the girl, because their friendship remains regardless of what's just happening. Regardless of anything, they'll always be friends.
(Hopefully not just friends, though. Not after that.)
So, Santana sits up, propping herself up and breaks the silence. "What's wrong?"
Brittany's crouched on the floor, legs tight to her chest and she's looking all kinds of confused. "My dad's home," she replies, her voice soft, but a little hoarse and fuck, if Santana hears that too much the animal inside of her is going to break from her chest. "He's back in Lima."
It means the journey was pointless, but Santana knows that's not the case, not really. It wasn't pointless if she's just realised something that was staring her in the face the entire time. It's not pointless when she'll never be able to not remember the way looked when she came. It's not pointless when the few hours spent here in uncomfortable silence, has now transformed into the enhancement of the clear connection between them and shit, Santana would've driven double the time if it meant she'd discover this all over again.
But then she freezes, because it also means they're going back to Lima.
After what just happened.
Fuck.
Santana just wants to run away and never come back. Get back into Brittany's SUV and escape to some remote cabin in Alaska, or lost in the city of New York so that no-one can ever find them amongst the large population and then they never have to face the consequences.
But again, this isn't the moment to ponder over that, as much as Santana wants to. Because it means they need to get back to Lima, push down all questions that surround them and focus on the whole Senator Pierce thing.
"Do you wanna leave now?"
Blue eyes flash to Santana. "You'd do that? We just got here."
Santana can't help but smirk. They haven't just got here. Not unless the last hot, sweaty forty-five minutes don't count. "You need to see your dad," she passes on the actual thoughts in her mind. Not exactly appropriate. "We'll get dressed and go."
Brittany bites her lip, but her eyes well up and she looks like she could kiss Santana but then she faulters, her face changes and Santana knows her face mirrors it – the realisation that they need to get back there dropping cold in their stomachs. Because Brittany does need to see her dad. They do need to leave this cheap motel. They do need to return to reality and burst this bubble they've been in since they got here.
And Santana can't protest it. She can't tell the girl they should stay here, because there's far more important issues at hand and family comes first. It's something that she gets; if it were here, and her dad was in an accident or something that equals this destructive public rumour she'd be needing to get closure on it. So instead of kissing her, like she clearly wants to, Brittany grabs the towel from the floor and wraps it back around her body, her hand grabbing for her duffel as she goes to change in the bathroom.
Just like that, the spell is broken.
/
Santana took a shower before they left, mostly to avoid the sudden return of uncomfortable silence.
She packs their small bags into the back of Brittany's car whilst the blonde grabs a few more snacks for the road from the vending machine – the ones Santana bought earlier were kicked off the bed and the chips packets burst when they were rolling around on top of it. Thoughts of what she's going to say to Dani when she gets back begins itching at the back of her mind, and she climbs into the driver's side of the SUV, reminding herself that she promised to update her girlfriend on their trip.
The briefness of it is something she should probably mention.
Thumbs typing away at the screen, Santana wonders how she's going to break it off with the girl. She knows now, for sure, that there's something else, something stronger meant for her. She knows that she can't avoid the way she feels, and the guilt sets in when she has to choose how many kisses to end the message. She doesn't want to hurt Dani. She doesn't want her to think any different until they're face-to-face, because she deserves that at least.
Although she doesn't deserve to have her heart broken, but Santana can't lie anymore. It would be worse to pretend everything was normal when it just isn't anymore.
Still, she sticks to the usual over-the-top kisses that end their texts and throws her phone into the centre console, just as Brittany pulls the door open to join her. Blue eyes flicker down to the phone, and due to the auto-lock not being on, Santana realises that the girl's now staring at the very normal text she's just sent to her currently girlfriend – a text that has no difference to their usual and ends in love you.
And she goes to protest, her mouth popping open to tell Brittany that it's not what it looks like, but Brittany's letting out a disappointed exhale through her nose and shaking her head, cutting Santana off because she can even speak.
"Let's get home," she says, and Santana's mouth snaps shut. "Guess you let Dani know, huh?"
"Yeah," Santana confirms, but it's not what she wanted to say but it's what comes out. "But it's not–"
"It doesn't matter," the blonde's hand shoots out to turn the volume of the radio out. "I need to get home to my dad."
At the end of the day, that's what matters, and Santana wants to argue, she wants to blurt out everything that's flashing through her mind about how she's been so wrong, how she's going to break it off with her girlfriend for Brittany. But she knows this is the time where the blonde needs a friend, a best friend, and Santana can bite her tongue on the lingering questions that remain between them after tonight at the motel and replace it with concern for the Pierce family.
So, she keeps her mouth shut, and begins the journey home, just like they came here, in silence.
/
Hope you enjoyed!