(Author's Note: I wouldn't go so far as to call this dubious consent, but Brittany's side of the post-Sectionals sleepover might be a little triggering for certain readers. TOTP readers can probably guess why.)
Santana has never been anything but sweet to Brittany when she says the kind of thing that makes other people look at her funny. But after she basically tells everyone over the phone that she and Santana are having sex—she still can't believe she did that—Santana pulls her into an empty classroom by the wrist.
"Britt, what the fuck was that?" she hisses.
"I didn't mean to."
"You realize now everyone in Glee is going to know about—you know." She looks around like someone's about to catch them talking.
"You're always saying how it's not a big deal," argues Brittany.
"Just… just…" San drops Brittany's wrist. "Fuck it, I so can't deal with this right now. We'll talk about this later." She leaves without another word.
Then the big fight happens with Quinn and Finn and Puck, and everything goes down with Sectionals, and no one can stop to think of anything else—not even Brittany and Santana.
After they win, Santana brings Brittany home with her. They say nothing on the drive from the school parking lot to San's house, and when they get up to her room, San turns on the TV. Nothing on. Brittany watches faces flash by as San clicks through channels on mute.
"Do you want to talk about it now?" Brittany doesn't have to say what.
"Not really."
Silence. They pretend to watch the sitcom flickering soundlessly over the screen.
"I'm really sorry, San," says Brittany at last. "I didn't mean to say it. It just came out."
"Whatever," says Santana. She refuses to look at Brittany. "I'm just trying to figure out what we're going to do about it."
"No one said anything," Brittany points out. "We can pretend it didn't happen, like it's no big deal." Brittany trails off, and Santana bites her lip.
"Well, it isn't a big deal, right? I mean, I sleep with guys. You sleep with guys. You've made out with other girls. This isn't any different from any of that."
"It's not?"
Brittany regrets it as soon as she says it. Santana turns off the TV and looks at her with such a strange, searching stare that Brittany feels her stomach turn.
"We're not lesbians," says Santana, as if Brittany had said they were. "We're not gay like Kurt. We're popular, remember?"
"Sure," she says, weakly, "but…"
Before she has time to think of what she wants to say next, Santana kisses her. But not like usual. It almost hurts; Santana seems to be using more teeth than anything else. Brittany pulls away. She doesn't think she likes this Santana.
"Nothing has to change," Santana whispers. It sounds like a threat.
Suddenly she's biting Brittany all over, and now it really does hurt, but Brittany doesn't stop her. She knows she deserves to be punished. So she lets Santana's teeth sink into her skin over and over. And even though it's painful, San's mouth moving over her body is starting to make her really, really wet.
She pins back Brittany's wrists and looks at her so hard that Brittany withers a little.
"Don't be angry, San," she begs.
"I'm not angry." It's a lie. But Brittany knows better than to argue.
Then, suddenly, Santana's hand is under her dress and inside her underwear. She runs her finger down the wet seam and bites Brittany's ears.
"Beg me to fuck you."
The whisper belongs to Santana, but not Brittany's San. It makes her shiver.
"Please. I need you, San."
Not good enough. "Beg me to fuck you. In those words."
And suddenly, Brittany realizes: this is the Santana that fucks boys. The one Puck was talking about. Hot mean. She likes to be rough. She makes you fight for it.
Her heart is pounding. She doesn't know whether she's more turned on or afraid.
"It's just a game, Britt," she says, Brittany's Santana for a moment, and Brittany folds, forcing her heartbeat to the place where Santana's fingers are poised against her.
"Please, Santana. Fuck me."
Santana forces herself into Brittany, stretching open her thighs with a thrust of her hips. It's too fast. But then her fingertips find the quick of Brittany, somewhere deep, and Brittany just closes her eyes and gives herself over.
After a minute, a sore spot builds inside where Santana's fingers hit her again and again. She knows Santana doesn't want to hurt her like that.
"Can I take off my underwear? And yours?"
Santana shakes her head no. Brittany is not allowed to do anything. But Santana does it herself, pulling out just long enough to peel off first Brittany's panties, then her own. Brittany can feel Santana's damp heat like breath against her as Santana thrusts at a new angle that makes Brittany see stars.
Brittany is afraid to open her eyes. She tries to lose herself in how good Santana's fingers are making her feel, at the wet sounds her hand makes against both of them as Santana's hips move against hers. It feels good for Santana too: Brittany can feel from the way her rhythm and breath change and the way she digs her nails into Brittany's wrists.
Brittany feels dirty, used, but satisfied too, since fucking her like this means Santana's admitting that what she and Brittany do together counts.
Then Santana shifts her fingers, just a little, and Brittany sees nothing but white light. She's saying San's name, and then she comes so hard she forgets nearly everything else. Everything except Santana's body, so shaken, so close to hers.
Dark has come over the sky before Brittany wakes up with Santana tucked into her side. Her dress is damp where San's face is pressed against it, which she figures must be sweat, until she feels San's chest shake and realizes she's crying. It's not something Brittany is supposed to see. She closes her eyes again and tries to forget.