Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be [Part Ten]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8.8k
Notes: Apparently I've forgotten how to write certain things... You'll get what I mean by the end of this chapter.
/
Barely a moment into stepping into the apartment, Santana hears her.
Her breath stops, ears perk up just to listen to her a little more and when she glances at the hallway, she sees Brittany step out into it, peering down to zone in on her. Their eyes meet, neither of them moving for a few long seconds and Santana honestly damn near runs away with the anticipation because neither of them are doing anything. Honestly, she wonders if she can just back out and pretend she was never here. Or like, curl up into a ball and disappear beneath the floorboards.
But just as the thought goes through her head, there's movement and Brittany comes speeding toward her, her eyes narrowed, jaw clenched and eyebrows pinched together in the middle of her forehead. There are so many strong emotions visually bursting from her that Santana barely has a moment to take note of all of them before Brittany's hands are against her shoulders, shoving her backwards, and the movement is so shocking, so un-Brittany, that she doesn't even react, just stumbles backward with wide, surprised eyes.
"How dare you!" The blonde screeches, metaphorical steam blowing from her ears. Her eyes begin to gloss over as she pauses, fists clenched by her sides and eyes burning into brown ones and she's breathing so hard it's almost beating the volume of Santana's pulse in her ears. Her entire body is shaking and Santana quells the urge to reach out and attempt to calm her down. "How could you do that to me, Santana!" She yells in a tone that's foreign to Santana's ears.
She doesn't think she's ever heard anything like it.
Still, Santana stays silent, taking the second blow as Brittany shoves her backward again, but luckily it's the last one coming because her back hits the front door and the blonde's backing her up, their chests almost pressed together, not letting her get out. And this intimidating proximity should evoke some reaction out of her. If it were any other person pushing her forcefully, standing this close or yelling for an unknown reason, she would be beating the crap out of them now, or at least yelling in Spanish to confuse them whilst she plans her getaway, but she just can't with Brittany.
It's Brittany for fuck sake, and she's always been powerless to her. Always been pathetic.
Plus, she doesn't even know what has brought this spurt of physical violence on. She doesn't know why Brittany's really yelling at her and what emotion Brittany's feeling because she's never seen her best friend like this. She's never seen Brittany so damn torn between her emotions that one second she's burning with anger, and the next she's upset and crying, and she sure as hell has never seen Brittany actually push someone because she's so mad and upset. That's just not how she is.
Yet she's here doing it to Santana and Santana's so shell-shocked she doesn't know what the fuck is actually going on. This definitely wasn't something she was expecting when she was stood outside the door only moments ago, which could explain the lack of reaction from her side – pure shock, and so she just can't force any reaction or movement.
"You are such a... such a—" Brittany slams her fists against Santana's chest with tears streaming down her face, but she's so angry at the same time and Santana sees the genuine sadness beneath the glossy blue and feels that same curdle in her stomach that she's felt before. That curdle that makes her hate herself because even though Brittany's not innocent, even though she can't take all the blame herself because it takes two to tango, in some ways she's making Brittany cry and it's making her emotions a hundred times worse.
And it's actually so bad, she finds that even as Brittany continues banging her hands against her chest with absolutely no strength behind it, and continues crying, Santana begins crying too. Her eyes begin prickling and she bites on her trembling bottom lip to stop the tears, but she just can't. Hot tears just begin filling her eyes until she can't hold them in and she's sobbing into her best friend, taking the blows and not feeling anything but utter destruction, which is a perfect description of what she feels like is going on here: the destruction of their relationship.
So she just tells herself to do something.
She tells herself to do anything, and because Brittany's banging against her chest, because Brittany's hitting her, she tries to stop her. She tries to calm her down by putting a halt to the physicality of the situation and grabs the other girls wrists, ignoring the ache in her own hand and attempts to hold her back. But Brittany's strong—she has years of dance training and daily yoga workouts behind her—and Santana feels herself crumple before her.
But she doesn't crumple in the way she expects.
She doesn't crumple into a broken victim on the floor; she doesn't just give up, slump down and cry on her knees up to her best friend, begging her to love her.
She doesn't crumple in the way she expects because it's as Brittany's attempting to shove her, attempting to get a reaction out of her, that she really begins to think. That she really begins to take in the reality of the situation, of how even after they've kissed, and of how despite the emotional pain of doing it, she tore herself away to make sure Brittany didn't hate herself even more than she probably is, somehow she still ended up the bad guy.
And it's shitty.
It's really fucking shitty and it's when she's staring at her best friend, taking these unnecessary hits and batting away the hands coming at her body that she realizes it, and it causes this sudden rage to burst from her chest because she doesn't know how the fuck this is fair. She doesn't know how it's okay for Brittany to be angry at her when she hasn't done anything other than something she should've done all those months ago and walked away? She doesn't know how the fuck it is okay for Brittany to cry, to gaze, to yell and be so damn infuriated at her that it makes Santana want to fall to her knees and beg?
Seriously. She doesn't know how the fuck it's okay that Brittany can have the fucking balls to stand here and make her feel like shit, when Brittany needs to take a fucking reality check and take a good, long look in the mirror.
It's bullshit, and apparently, that's what comes out her mouth.
"This is such a load of shit," she yells but it's kind of a laugh, too. Brittany slows her hands right down and straightens up, her eyes still glossing over and tears still streaming but there's confusion in her eyes. Maybe even a dabble of disbelief because shit, even though this is quite possibly one of the most emotional conversations they're ever going to have, Santana's fucking laughing? What is she doing?
"What?" The blonde breathes, her eyes crinkling at the side and face turning incredulous like she's already figured out the answer to her question.
Santana just cocks her hip out, handing resting on it and she rubs her forehead and closes her eyes, telling herself to calm the fuck down before she begins talking. She's never been good at controlling her anger, always coming out with a well put together comeback that seems to destroy her enemy, but that's not her aim here. It's not her aim to hurt Brittany, she'd never want to do that, and so those viscous, viscous words need to go to the back of her mind so she can get out what she really means.
Putting her walls up isn't going to help anyone here.
"You're seriously calling me an asshole?" She sucks in both lips and shakes her head. "You're actually standing there with the fucking nerve to call me—" She points to herself and feels the blood boil beneath her skin, her voice getting louder and louder. "An asshole!?"
Brittany doesn't react, doesn't nod or defend herself, just stands tall, fists clenched and eyes burning with rage, but streaming with tears. That's enough of a yes and it just fuels her fire even more.
"How the hell am I a fucking asshole—" She know she's yelling now, her face getting hotter and hotter, her heart beating faster and faster. "When you're the one fucking me around and stringing me along by not making up your God damn mind!? Jesus, Brittany!" She huffs out loudly, steps out from between the wall and Brittany and spins around, unsure of where she's going. Seconds later, she just ends up spinning back around again. "You can't fuck with my feelings just because you're unsure of yours!"
Pink lips tremble and Brittany sucks in a deep, shaky breath, the muscles in her neck tightening and straining as she tries not to cry even more at the words. Apparently that hit a nerve, yet Santana just steps forward, able to step past the barrier that always stopped her before because even though Brittany looks so small right now, even though she looks like a puppy crying and usually talking to her like this would be unknown, Santana just breaks through it.
She pushes past it because she's so tired of this; she's so tired of fucking around and having these sneaky kisses that are full of betrayal, confusion and pain, and she's so tired of pretending like there isn't something going on between them. She's just fucking tired of it all, and if she doesn't get it off her chest, she'll have to walk away from it all.
But not just walk away for a while.
If she has to do it, if she has to turn and run, she won't be coming back. She won't be going down to the bar for another few rounds with Puck or Quinn, she won't be walking around the cold dark streets for hours on end, wondering how she's going to get her shit together... No. She'll be disappearing from this apartment, from this city, from this life and from this pain. She'll have to just leave it all behind and try to forget about it because it's just too much and she can't fucking take it anymore.
It's killing her.
"I can't believe you sometimes, Brittany," she continues, clicking her tongue and putting her other hand on her hip, switching so the other carefully comes up to cradle her forehead once more. She spins around, her back to the girl but moments later she turns back again, knowing she has only this moment to get it out. Knowing she has to stay at least a meter apart from the blonde because otherwise she'll end up giving in and wind up being just as pathetic as she's always been when it comes to Brittany.
"I can't believe that after everything you fucking put me through—put us through," she gestures between them, her voice scratchy and rough, burning with rage. "That you having the fucking audacity to call me that—" She punches her chest and winces at the pain shooting through her hand, ignoring the way blue eyes flicker to the movement, noticing it. She seriously wishes Brittany wouldn't do that when she's trying to be angry; it's hard to concentrate and not swoon at it because despite their situation, the blonde is obviously still concerned that she's hurt herself."—And not even feel the slightest bit remorseful for your actions, even though they're pretty much ruining my life."
The next step she takes is one that makes her come face to face with Brittany, and normally she'd be entirely distracted by the color of Brittany's eyes, how they darken from the hurt of Santana's words, from this close, or the way she knows Brittany has been cooking something today because there's vanilla wafting up from her skin, but right now, all she can think about is how fucking angry she is. How this is the last fucking straw because she's been put through too much shit and she's just fucking tired of it.
She's tired of trying and not getting anything back.
She's tired of pushing when Brittany's just not willing to pull.
She's tired of this. Of them.
She's just tired.
"I just can't be bothered with this anymore, Britt," her tone drops a little, almost into whispers but she knows there's still a hell of a lot of emotion there. "I can't be bothered to try when I'm never going to be good enough for you," she lifts her shoulders and drops them, feeling her own words slide down her throat, twist around her wind pipe and squeeze around her heart.
It hurts more than she can imagine and she has to look away from her best friend to stop herself from breaking down, but she can still feel Brittany's warm breath on her face and wants nothing more than to just get away. So she glances back into blue eyes and sucks in her lips, her eyebrows coming together as she thinks about their situation, about their future and tries to figure out a way to tell the only person she's ever relied on, that she's giving up. That she can't take it anymore.
The words don't come so easily. She's not surprised.
"I just..." She clenches her jaw and swallows thickly, and there's a part of her brain telling her this is stupid, telling her that she can't do this because she doesn't know how to live without Brittany, how to work without her, but there's the other part of it, the smarter part, telling her this is the for the best. That this is the only thing she can do to get out of all this crap around her and so she just has to say it, no matter how hard. "I just can't do this—"
It happens before she even really registers it.
One second she's thinking about how this is the end of them, that this night will be the last for years to come, and the next Brittany's face is paling, the panic is getting evident in her eyes and then she's moving, quick and fast. Then there's a barely a moment to breathe before Brittany's body is pressed against hers, her hands are coming up to Santana's cheeks and she's bringing their mouths together, kissing her hard. A moan threatens to spill from her lips, and she hates herself because her eyes flutter and her chest rises with affection, and even though there's such anger, such apology, such sadness behind this kiss, it still renders her completely powerless.
Still, she feels it all the way through her body. She feels it melt into her skin, get into her veins and tingle down her spine and she fucking hates it. She hates that Brittany's still doing this, for the third fucking time, and she hates that she knows how wrong it is, but the part that realizes that doesn't seem to be kicking in. She hates that she wants nothing more than to reach up and pull Brittany shirt to bring her closer. She hates that Brittany's hands are clutching to her like they'll never let go. She even really fucking hates that she's actually kissing her back, but most of all she really God damn swear-to-the-heavens-and-back hates that she fucking misses Brittany's lips when the girl pulls her lips back but stays close, their foreheads coming together.
"Please don't give up on me," the blonde whispers, her voice hoarse and full of lust. She moves her head, her forehead rolling against a tanned one and her fingers stroke up Santana's jaw too softly, almost like they're mapping her. Like they're too familiar. God, that's annoying. "Please don't. I can't do it. I can't be without you, San, I just—I can't."
It's Brittany's words that causes her to snap, and she springs back and away like cold water's been chucked over her. Her entire body tingles and the anger she felt before, the one that sizzled beneath her veins and really got into her comes back and she puts her hand over her mouth, desperately trying not to think about how Brittany's lips feel against her own because it's not fair. It never will be fair and Brittany fucking knows that, yet she's still here, fighting with Santana and kissing her like she's not marrying some douche bag in the incredibly near future. How the fuck is that fair?
"You can't do that, Britt!" She squeezes her eyes and clamps her jaw down, making sure she doesn't wet her lips and taste them on her. That'll be her downfall. "You can't just kiss me like that and think it's all going to be okay because it's not!" She shakes her head and tries not to focus on the memory of lips against hers, of sweet breath flowing into her mouth but it's too fucking difficult not to. That's why she's in this mess in the first place.
And before she can even go on to yell more, to scream louder, to push Brittany away, the blonde steps forward again, her hands coming up and Santana gulps but finds herself unable to move. She finds her feet anchored to the ground, her body locked into place and she yells at herself internally to move. She screams to pick her feet up and get the fuck away from Brittany because she can see the intention in blue eyes, she can see the want, the love, the adoration, and she hates herself for it because she can feel it too.
She wants it to be like that, which is probably the worst part, and so when Brittany's body presses up against hers again, when those hands come back up to her jaw and cradle gently, she can do nothing but stand there. Fuck. She doesn't know how she thought this confrontation would end well.
So she warns her. "Don't," she tries, but her voice is weak.
She actually wonders if anyone in the entire world would believe that she didn't want this, that she didn't want Brittany this close to her, which, really, is ridiculous because she doesn't even believe herself. She can't convince herself, can't contain than the urges her body feels, especially when breath, warm and sweet, washes over her face and makes her eyes flutter shut and chest blossom with adoration for Brittany and irritation for herself because it's just so obvious how she feels. It's just so obvious that she doesn't have the damn strength to stop whatever is coming.
"I don't think I can," Brittany whispers, so soft it's like a whisper in the wind and Santana feels the meaning of her words shoot through her.
Still, she tries to fight it. "Just stop, Britt," she entreats, but her voice breaks and the other girl whimpers in response.
And it all feels like too much. It feels like this is too fucking much because Brittany and being alone, and being this close and having known what it's like to kiss her, it's just all mixing together and it's punching her rapidly and repeatedly in the heart. It's quite literally killing her yet even though her eyes are tightly closed, even though she's pointedly not looking into the pair of eyes that could break her in two, she knows what's coming.
But she just doesn't have the strength to stop it and fuck, she wish she did.
"Just—" Brittany pauses as her hands drop down from Santana's face, smoothing down the expanse of her neck before sliding behind and gripping gently, the tips of her fingers stroking over fine hairs. Her feet shift forward, bumping against Santana's and Santana's fists clench impossibly tight by her side, her nails cutting into her palms, while Brittany's mouth descends nearer towards hers, hovering just far away enough that she knows if she had the power, she could get away, but just close enough that she knows she can't. "Just please..." The blonde continues, her voice dropping so low it's barely audible but Santana hears the way she gulps so loud it's like a gunshot in her ears. "Don't give up on me."
And there's something in her tone.
There's something in the way she brushes her nose over Santana's and takes in a deep breath, steeling herself, holding her lips barely a hairsbreadth away nervously awaiting that rejection, that flicks off a switch inside Santana's head because it feels like this time, Brittany's the one that's vulnerable. This time, it feels like Brittany's the one waiting in the wings, waiting to be shoved back into the darkness or brought out on to the spotlight, and fuck, there's a part of Santana that's really going to regret this later, that's going to want to make her punch a brick wall, but now that something—that honestly, she can't quite put a finger on exactly—makes her eyes burst open to meet blue ones and makes her hands reach up, trembling so damn much, and grip Brittany's cheeks as she tilts her face down and kisses her.
Because that something... Well, maybe that something is something that's just meant to be there, and always has been.
/
Brittany's nails bite into the skin of the back of her neck, tugging, tightening, pulling her deeper into the kiss, and she moans loudly when teeth graze over her lip, biting gently but still rough enough to cause sparks to shoot straight to her groin. Her hips push forward at the movement, her hands now down by Brittany's hips, slipping beneath the thin cotton of her shirt and she can't quite remember how they got from the front door to standing by the sofa—a good ten feet away—without realizing, but she guesses she's not entirely focusing on that.
Because her head's spinning from the kiss, her tongue tracing around the curves and tips of Brittany's teeth and the taste of strawberries and cream that's just so unique to the blonde is intoxicating. Everything about this moment, from how one moment they're standing, their bodies pressed tight and hands roaming freely through dark hair and up a smooth, toned back, to the next moment when they're lying down, their shirts now strewn on the floor, Santana between Brittany's long legs and her body moving in a way that shouldn't be so easy and practiced, is just so damn easy.
Honestly, she doesn't know how this isn't affecting her. How this transition, that this step—that goes so far past the line, the line turns into a fucking dot—is so damn easy and doesn't even feel the slightest bit wrong, despite all the outstanding factors.
But she'll be fucked if she's going to think about them right now.
Not with Brittany writhing beneath her, making these noises that she just wants to bottle up and keep in a drawer beside her bed. She just can't focus on all the bad things because this just feels so damn good. So damn right.
"Santana," Brittany breathes as Santana takes a moment to move away from her lips to kiss down her neck, her tongue sliding up the muscle in her neck and lips sucking on her pulse point. Her hand glides down Brittany's side, grazing down her ribs to her hip, moving over soft skin and she memorizes how their bodies feel pressed together, skin to skin. She doesn't think she could ever forget. "Santana—Fuck."
Hearing the blonde curse is not something even Santana's privy to, and she doesn't even need to respond, doesn't need to react to her best friend to know what she's being asked. She knows that the tone in Brittany's voice, the way she breathed her name and how her hands are now leaving her neck and reaching between them to the button on her pants, that Brittany's asking for something they've obviously both wanted for longer than they'd admit.
So she just goes with it.
She skims her teeth across the girls pulse point one last time before she pushes her hands into the spaces either side of Brittany's head and kneels between her legs, her hands moving down to her jeans and unbuttoning them. Nimble fingers do the same to hers, and their eyes barely even meet because it's in such a hurry, without a hell of a lot of thought, that before she even knows it their clothed sexes are tightly pressed together, their pants now joining their shirts on the floor, and Santana's moaning against the edge of Brittany's jaw at the heat she feels warming her hardening cock.
"Jesus," she groans, her forehead dropping down against a pale collarbone, her hips moving in sync with Brittany's until Brittany's arms are wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her down and Santana's name is spilling from pink lips.
And it's ridiculous because Santana's obviously had sex before. Admittedly, not a lot in recent months, but she has and this is proving that there's a definite lack in her stamina. Her entire body feels like it's buzzing electricity, her member twitching every time it bumps against Brittany and despite her dick aching like a fucker, she's determined to make this. She's determined to make this last because Brittany isn't one of those other girls. Brittany is... Well, Brittany, she's the sun and the moon, she's the stars and the galaxy, and basically, that speaks for itself.
She's not like any other girls Santana's been with, and this is going to be a whole new experience because it's not going to be fucking, or just having sex... It's going to be making love.
"San—" The blonde's breath hitches in her throat at one particular movement and Santana reels back to press their lips together to stop her. She doesn't want to know what's going to be said, because she can feel how hot and intense this moment is. She can feel how fucking special this is going to be and there's so many reasons why they shouldn't be doing this but right now it's almost as if it doesn't matter. Right now, it's almost as if it's just them, in this moment, where they can't be touched.
It feels like they're invincible.
/
After long, hot moments of making out and shamelessly grinding on each other, Brittany wraps her legs around Santana's waist and pushes up, forcing the girl to sit down while she straddles her. It brings a whole new position, a whole new feeling and Santana can't help the groan that pours from her lips when Brittany presses down with her hips. It feels like she's about to explode.
Her hands shoot straight to Brittany's ass, gripping through the thin fabric of her panties and she rolls up into her, desperately trying to ignore the way this feels just so damn right because it could break her confidence down as she cranes her neck and brings their mouths back together, not even bothering with the teasing and pushing her tongue into Brittany's mouth, flicking it against the roof of her mouth.
"Mmph," the blonde groans, her moans muffled and Santana smirks into the kiss as she hooks her thumbs into the side of her panties, tugging gently, encouraging them down her legs until she can slide her hand between her legs, though she pauses. She hesitates just as she's curving up the inside of Brittany's thighs and pulls back, finding blue eyes because even though they're doing this, even though she's sure nothing is going to stop them, she still feels like she needs permission.
Brittany must see it in her expression, in her eyes, because even though she's sitting astride her, her hair wild and messy, her eyes dark, hooded and intense, and even though she's got pink cheeks and her hands are still quivering a little where they rest on Santana's neck, she's hesitant too. Because this isn't what friends do. This isn't something they can take back once they do it and Santana doesn't even want to begin imagine how many hands she would need to have to count reasons why they shouldn't be stepping over this line.
"Bri—"
Lips press against her, silencing her and she leans forward, trying to continue the kiss as Brittany moves away. "Don't," the blonde tells her through a whisper, and the second Santana opens her eyes, she feels one of Brittany's hands move from her neck and grab at the tanned one by lingering by her thigh, clutching it with a shaky grip and pulling it up until the tips of Santana's fingers meet wet heat.
And she buckles.
Santana buries her face into Brittany's shoulder, biting down on her collarbone to contain the moan threatening to spill as she slides her fingers through Brittany, unable to get over how wet she is. How ready she is, all for Santana, and her lips soothes straight after with a soft kiss to contain the moan building within. Her fingers glide up and down, circling Brittany's clit, and she relishes in the way Brittany's hips twitch, the way her fingers grip that little tighter and how she arches her back, rolling into the movement so much so that when she dips down, when she pauses and strokes one finger over Brittany's entrance, she exhales sharply herself.
Because this just can't be real. This just can't be happening.
This is everything she's ever dreamed of since she met Brittany. This is all she's ever wanted, to be this close, to be able to cup the back of the blondes neck and pull her down into a kiss as she moves over her, feels how ready she is for her, and it's hard to believe that this isn't going to be a dream, that this won't be a lie. She doesn't want to wake up tomorrow morning, hung over and half-hanging off the sofa, groaning at herself and wanting nothing more than to put her head through a brick wall because it was, once again, a dream. She doesn't want to hurt all over again.
She wants it to like this—her and Brittany—always.
A hand sneaking between their bodies breaks her out her thoughts, and for that she's glad because she knows had she continued, she would've talked herself out of this. But now she's far too preoccupied with the way Brittany's reaching beneath her boxers, confidently fisting her erection and pumping her slowly to think about anything else other than how it must feel to be buried deep within her best friend and fuck, her stamina is taking a serious hit.
The groans that pour from her throat as Brittany's thumb flicks over the tip of her dick make Brittany moan too, and she resumes her previous movements, moving upward to flick her thumb over the blondes clit one last time before she dips down and pushes inside of Brittany, biting down gently on her lip. It's so hot and tight, so unbelievably amazing that Santana can only think about what's to come and move quicker, her thumb traveling north to press down against the bundle of nerves. She just can't wait to be inside her and—
Brittany's hand retracts, slowly pulling Santana's out at the same time and she stands up. For a moment, Santana panics, thinking she's done something wrong or the blonde's realized what's happening and is about to run out the apartment to somewhere unknown, and her mouth drops, eyes widen considerably and breath hitches. But then blue eyes are narrowing down at her, pink lips curving into a smirk and long, nimble fingers glide down a pale body until Brittany grabs her own panties and shimmies them the rest of the way off her, leaving her standing there, completely nude.
"Wow," comes out through a breath as brown eyes roam around Brittany's body, appreciating, gazing. Santana's mouth runs dry and she can feel herself getting harder and harder by the second, almost aching with the need to feel the girl staring down at her. It's like this heavy tugging, right in her stomach, tingling down her spine and she almost has to fucking slap herself when Brittany bends down, her breath hot and heavy against a tanned cheek and she lingers, her hands reaching for Santana's boxers, because she swears it must be a dream.
But it's not.
Confidence is the only thing the blonde exudes as Santana lifts her hips, allowing her underwear to be shimmied down her legs, and she can't fight that it's the fucking sexiest thing she's ever laid her eyes on. Brittany's posture is straight, her eyes hooded but dark and it's like she's this whole other person as she flicks Santana's boxers into the room behind them and bites down on her bottom lip, tilting her head so her long, blonde hair falls over her right shoulder and throws a leg either side of slim hips. It's a thing of beauty, really, because she's never known this side of her best friend and she can't help but stare freely, openly, in the way she's always stopped herself before.
Because she's bold enough to do that. She's bold enough now that her hands are soft and warm against Brittany's thighs. She's bold enough now that Brittany's leaning down, her eyes shining in the dim light of the lamp. She's bold enough now that she wants nothing more than to claim Brittany, to make her her own so no-one else can have her because that's how she feels when she's around Brittany; she feels selfish. Like she wants her too much. Like she needs her too much.
She just wants to be as selfish as possible when it comes to Brittany; right now in this moment more than ever, because it's still hard to believe that she's not confined to certain limitations that have driven her insane before. It's hard to believe that she isn't going to wake up in a cold apartment, hungover as hell with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels rolling about on the floor beside her.
So she's going to take all she can get. She's going to soak up as much of Brittany as she can and love her the way she's craved to for the past few years.
Except her mouth has other ideas. "Britt," she pants, shock setting in when she hear her own voice, ringing loudly inside her ears.
Brittany's eyelashes flutter open, her eyes looking back at her and there's concern shaded deep within. Both their bodies freeze, tanned hands stilling against creamy thighs and they both gaze deeply at each other, so many questions drifting through the limited space between their mouths. And she wants to move, she wants to forget she said her name but her brain begins processing other sentences, her mouth ready to say it but—
"Don't. Please," the blonde begs, her hands now clutching at Santana's cheeks, her eyes boring down. "Just... Just kiss me."
She doesn't continue. She doesn't push. She just does as she's told.
And boy it feels good to be bad.
/
Brittany kisses her like she's never done before. There's so much intensity, so much emotion that when the blonde pulls back for air, Santana has to take a moment to remember who she is, where she is, what she's doing. But then she's right back there, following her and pulling their mouths back together, curling her tongue against Brittany's teeth and flicking against the roof of her mouth, earning the most delicious of moans.
A sluggish tugging within her gut grows and she can feel her cock pressing against the inside of the other girls thigh as their hips grind against each other, the once feeling of emotion turning into a deep desire that both of them have built over years and years of being close. A deep desire that sparked the very night they met, that only developed with time and is now creating this fire between them, urging them on until it just can't wait any more.
"San," Brittany pants, her hands clutching at dark hair, her lips swollen and pressed against Santana's cheek. Her hips are rocking harder against Santana's, and she can't help but groan at the sensation, her entire body buzzing at the way the blonde shivers and moans, her arousal spreading all over tanned skin. "San, I need—"
She kisses her again, knowing exactly what she needs and God, with any other girl she wouldn't hesitate. With any other girl, she wouldn't be worrying about how hard and fast her heart is beating against her chest. With any other girl, she wouldn't be thinking about how this connection, this moment, is going to change everything. Because with any other girl, it just wouldn't fucking matter and it's really getting to her how important this is.
But it's quickly blown out her mind when long, nimble fingers dance down her chest and a strong hand fists her erection, pumping slowly until she's sure she could come just from it. Her head tips back, her lips parting from Brittany's and she barely even gets to let out the moan crawling up her throat before Brittany's rising on her knees, lifting herself and guiding Santana to where they both need her to be.
And it's like magic. It's like watching an illusion as the blonde stares down at her, drives her crazy with those dark, hooded eyes and rubs her along the length of her, bumping her clit purposefully because Santana's sure she can't be this lucky. She's so sure that this is everything she's ever dreamed of but could never have, something she thought would never happen and it actually fucking is, and it's so unreal it doesn't really sink in until a soft, wetness is coating her tip and her eyes are darting up to meet blue as Brittany begins lowering herself down.
It builds within her rapidly, and her eyes roll into the back of her head as her shaft meets a hot, tight resistance, walls clenching around her and fuck, this feeling is something she'll never forget.
"Brittany," she breathes, her hands shooting to the girls hips to steady her. She knows she's not exactly small, and she can feel how tight Brittany is around her, how she's stretching to accommodate her size, and despite it feeling out of this fucking world, she's still wholly concerned with the small whimpers bubbling out of Brittany's throat.
Yet the blonde doesn't stop. Her face twists with slight discomfort but intense pleasure, eyebrows knitting together but her hand continues to grip Santana around the base of her shaft, stroking and she lifts her hips, sinking down and repeating the movement over and over until Santana's entire cock is covered by this silky wetness. It causes her body to shudder with pleasure, tiny little shock waves jolting all over her body and it takes a few moments for Brittany to breathe through it, her hand releasing from beneath her and coming to rest upon Santana's shoulders, but then her neck tilts and her hands wind around the back of Santana's neck, gripping lightly and she looks at her. Like really looks at her.
And that's when it happens.
For months, for years, for so fucking long she's been dreaming about this moment. For so fucking long she's been wondering what it must be like to feel Brittany like this, to have Brittany like this; all around her, hugging her and wrapping her love around her, not only physically but emotionally. She's been wondering and it's something entirely new, something entirely terrifying but right now, gazing deeply into blue eyes and breathing in time with Brittany, the blonde in and her out and so forth, she knows that this is where she's meant to be.
She knows that this is what is supposed to happen between them, and what they should be, because some things are meant to be, and she honestly God damn deep-in-her-soul-never-known-anything-to-be-truer believes, that she and Brittany are one of those things.
Her lips tell the blonde that without her having to as she leans forward to kiss her, and when Brittany begins moving slowly, raising up until she's teasing the head of Santana's cock inside her, and sinks back down again, she damn near dies. It's just confirmation of what she's feeling, of what she knows, and the movement quickens bit by bit, that satisfaction spiraling through her like she's never known before, but Brittany never strays from her lips.
Because their mouths say the words their hearts cannot say. Their lips create the words they're both afraid to speak, and Brittany rocks her hips in slow circles, massaging Santana's shaft with the ever-so-soft grip. The hot sweet breath sweeping into her mouth dizzies her head and she marvels at the way Brittany still continues to rip the breath straight from her chest with her kisses at the same time she blows her mind with the rhythm of her hips.
And even though there's so much in this for both of them, when the blonde pulls back, her breath now labored and moans tumbling in with each exhale, Santana almost can't focus. Brittany, on top of her, their hips moving, pleasure sparking through them like electric and making the blonde bite down on her lip and struggle to keep her eyes open... Well, damn; it's just the sexiest thing Santana's ever seen.
"Fuck," she pants, swallowing hard when she hits deep and the other girl tightens around her. Brittany just groans, her mouth descending back down and her tongue stroking against Santana's like it'll be the last time and it feels like she never wants it to end. She can't remember the last time she had a connection with someone like this, and if she's honest, in the deepest hearts of hearts, she knows she probably won't—Hell, she doesn't want to. This right here, with Brittany rutting against her, her short nails scratching against her scalp and moaning into her mouth... It's just a dream come true.
And it takes all of her self control to hold back from pushing up into her, burying herself deep and feeling Brittany's slickness all around her because she almost doesn't want to force anything to break the moment. It just feels too surreal, yet when the blonde separates their mouths, exhaling heavily into Santana's and her hips slowing down from the tempo she'd been keeping up, Santana feels herself moving without really meaning to. She begins pushing in, eyes rolling into the back of her head at the way Brittany's massaging her cock, and a sudden rush of excitement rises in her chest as the blonde drops her head down on to her shoulder, a string of whimpers pouring from her mouth as Santana hits that spot.
"Fuck, fuck," the blonde chants breathlessly, bouncing slightly. The pitch of her tone is something she'll never forget. "Santana."
To hear the girl swear probably shouldn't be this sexy, but brown eyes widen, swollen lips pop open and Santana finds her vision wavering because the pleasure is just too damn much. She thrusts inside the girl, her stomach tightening and every part of this moment sinks into her brain, embeds itself into her memory and shit, she's just totally fucking mesmerized by the sight of Brittany above her. By the gasping breaths, the roll of her body and the way her legs are squeezing the outside of Santana's as she drives down on to her cock; it's all just incredible.
Though her thoughts are torn away when Brittany slams her hips down, rolling them in a way Santana's only ever seen when the blonde's been on the dance floor. She's rocking and pulsating, her body moving to the rhythm of their harsh breathing and she tries to keep a hold of herself, she tries to tell her that stamina should be her friend right now but there's no way in hell it could be when it's Brittany rocking against her, fucking her in the most beautiful way. There's no way she can control herself when the blonde's clenching around her, working her expertly and as her hands slip around, palming the curve of Brittany's ass, she knows it's only moments before she explodes.
Her head falls back against the sofa, eyes drifting up and the breath hitches in her throat at the sight of Brittany, biting her lip, her hair wild, fallen around her face causing the tightness in her stomach to triple. An almost pained expression comes across her face, and her hips begin picking up the pace a little more, the slapping sound between their skin almost obscene around them but the pulse inside her ears is too loud she can barely even hear anything else. Fuck, she can barely focus on anything else because her heart's pounding to the rhythm of Brittany, Brittany, Brittany, and her hips are moving with it, too.
"Ugh," Brittany squeaks as Santana pushes harder, meeting her downward thrusts. "Fuck—There," she continues, her hands coming to grip at a tanned neck at a certain tilt of Santana's hips. "Oh my God," she mutters and hearing her spur her on only makes Santana push harder and harder, the feeling building so high she feels she could explode.
But she wants Brittany to come first. She wants to make Brittany feel good because she's never wanted anything else. In the physical and emotional manner, she's only ever wanted Brittany to feel good, to be happy, and when Brittany's forehead comes down on hers, resting there, small squeaks and whimpers bursting through her lips, Santana knows she's pushing her over the edge. She's letting her fall into a pleasured oblivion, and she herself makes an animistic grunt when Brittany rolls once more and peaks, her eyebrows coming together and her mouth dropping open, eyes widening, because she's sure there's nothing more beautiful than this.
"Fuck, San—I'm gonna—" Brittany kisses her hard but briefly, her entire face scrunching up as her orgasm rapidly approaches. "I'm gonna—I'm co—"
The blondes body tremors, quakes and quivers and Santana moves her hands to slim hips, all the mean while rolling her body to bump Brittany's clit to push her over the edge, then she's driving deep into Brittany, holding still and groaning loudly as she comes hard, too. Her eyes snap open to meet blue ones, their faces barely inches away, noses touching and breaths kissing because their lips can't as their lungs momentarily still, and Santana tenses as short spurts of pleasure pulse within her, whilst her name spills from Brittany's lips as she shudders above her, her hands clenched in dark hair.
And it's like everything just disappears around them. It's like all the shit, all the worries, the concerns, the problems that surround them just vanish, and she can't even get a grip on it because it honestly feels like she's flying. The springing tension in her lower stomach just releases, her hands reaching to grab at the other girls cheeks as she tugs her close and she rides this wave along with Brittany, their eyes never straying which terrifies her in the best way possible.
It scares her because she's never been this intimate, yet she's here, never looking away because she wants to know what color Brittany's eyes go when she realizes what they should be. She wants to know the shade her eyes go when she finally notices that they're supposed to be together, that other people in their life shouldn't be there and the sooner it happens the better because that color is going to be her favorite soon enough, because it'll be the color that changes her life.
And when she sees it, she swears her heart stops for a moment. It makes her entire body tingle, and her chest swell with emotion because the second she sees Brittany's lips pop open, sees the flash in her eyes, and the hears the way a lump forms in her throat—one that's definitely not from the orgasm causing her body to quake—a smile begins pulling at her lips that she just can't escape.
Much to her surprise too, even though she goes into panic mode, Brittany doesn't skip a beat and as she collapses almost back boneless, arms winding around Santana's neck, she begins chuckling lightly. Immediately it lifts the tension from the room, breaks the strange silence lingering between them since they both experienced orgasms that were damn near earth-shattering, and Santana releases a breath she didn't know she was holding and wraps her arms around the blonde, a smooth laughter erupting from her throat to join in.
And that's how they stay for a while, wrapped up in each others love.
/
I'm not even going to lie, I don't like this chapter at all. I haven't beta'd it myself, but it took me ages to write, a lot of inspiration to collect to do it, so if you enjoyed it - even a little bit - drop a review in the box. If you have anything negative to say, well, I probably will agree so feel free to say what you want.
Thank you guys, and hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned for another update in a million years because I'm shit.
