HELLO.
No Glee this week, thank the good Lord Cheesus, but I decided to update anyways because reasons, idk, stop asking questions and just HERE HAVE SOME ANGSTY STRAP-ON SMUT OKAY.
Like a bad star, I'm falling faster down to her
She's the only one who knows what it is to burn
Brittany knows who it is before she even turns around, and, not for the first time, she asks the universe why it continues to dangle Santana in front of her, like Santana's a catnip-filled toy mouse and Brittany's Lord Tubbington. She supposes it's some kind of cosmic punishment that she has to endure for all the bad things she's done- that she continues to do- even though how could they be bad if they involve her loving Santana the way she does?
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Brittany knew Santana would be in Lima for Christmas, knew she'd have to face Santana at some point, but not like this. She didn't think Santana would be at Marley's Christmas party, but then- she'd forgotten that Santana and Marley were friends thanks to Sectionals, and thanks to the great laughing universe (of course she would be.)
Panic seizes her, turns her stomach ice-block cold, when she sees the back of Santana's body, standing near Tina and probably holding a red solo cup- and Brittany's here with Sam. She'd recognize Santana's hair- the way it shines, the way it flows, the way it feels, silk-like between her fingers, the way it feels clenched in her fist when she's coming hard- anywhere. But even if Santana goes suddenly hairless, Brittany knows her figure, has spent countless nights memorizing the shape and the curve and the softness. Brittany knows, and even if she tries, she would never, never forget.
When Santana turns around, though, Brittany forgets how to breathe.
Their eyes meet, and the ice block in Brittany's stomach melts instead into a lake of lava, and suddenly the room feels too hot. She swallows uneasily, hyper-aware of the warm presence by her side, the boy whose eyes do not ignite her insides like a volcano.
Brittany's here with Sam.
Santana studies Brittany briefly, dark eyes suddenly darker as Santana's mind makes sense of things. They had never talked about who they were spending time under, but now Brittany feels caught red-handed, ashamed, naked- even though she knows she has nothing to be ashamed of, except maybe that she's been cheating (though she still doesn't know who she's cheating on.)
People greet them, make pleasantries, and she tries to smile through the lump in her throat, but everything stops when Sam says in that big, dopey voice, We got married.
Brittany's eyes cut immediately to Santana's, unsure and a little afraid- Santana's expression is unreadable but just a little bit harder around the edges, and Brittany fights the dryness in her mouth and the hard pounding of her heart to chime in, I'm his Mayan star wife and force a smile.
It's the Saturday before Christmas, and the world didn't end, but with the way Santana's eyes are burning holes in Brittany, Brittany thinks maybe her world did. A million questions pop up from their friends, and Brittany can't slip away to explain to Santana that she never believed in that Mayan Apocalypse, that she had to pretend for Sam's sake, that she had to participate because that's what girlfriends did for their boyfriends, and Brittany was Sam's girlfriend, wasn't she?
If Sam notices (he never notices, not like Santana) her tension, he doesn't let on. He continues to laugh and joke and keeps his hand pressed intimately to the small of her back, and Brittany feels the warmth of it through her clothes, feels it burning her, feels Santana's eyes burning her, but she can only burn and do nothing.
Brittany's here with Sam.
The night drags on, but Brittany finds herself alone with Santana briefly in the kitchen, while Marley is showing Sam some of her designer thrift store clothes, and Brittany wishes she could feel even an ounce of jealous that her Mayan star husband is with another girl; but all she can do is swallow and fidget under Santana's gaze while Santana coolly sips her drink.
You married him, Santana says, her voice icy, like the ice block that's suddenly back in Brittany's stomach. She wishes it were a lava lake again.
It wasn't real, Brittany says, but her voice is smaller, weaker than she wishes it was, and she can't help averting her eyes to the floor. She feels like she let Santana down, but she didn't- Santana told her to- she told her-
It's real to him, Santana nearly growls, and it's enough to bring Brittany's gaze back up to Santana's face. Santana's eyes are dark, and like miniature ice blocks themselves, and the frigid edge in them makes Brittany shiver and swallow thickly.
But not to me, Brittany says back, firmer, growing angry now- because Santana told her to- she told her- and it's not like Brittany actually went and got married, it's not like she hasn't been keeping the important things- her heart, her soul- safe for Santana, because she has.
It's silent between them for a moment, tense and uncomfortable, until Sam comes up next to her and plants a big sloppy trouty kiss on her cheek. Brittany cringes, sees her expression mirrored on Santana's face.
Brittany's here with Sam.
Ready? Sam asks lovingly, and Brittany nods, because they have plans, together plans, husband-and-wife plans, and they were only stopping by the party to say hi. They say good-byes to everyone, but Brittany can't meet Santana's eyes, and the ice block that's in Brittany's stomach has grown, has frozen her heart and made her feel numb all over as she follows Sam out the front door and to his beat-up old truck.
It's freezing outside, but Brittany doesn't notice. She's too cold inside to care.
Later, when she's underneath Sam, she tries to push thoughts of Santana out of her mind. She tries not to shiver when Sam touches her, tries not to mumble out Santana's name, and chokes back her sob when he enters her. Sam's not bad, but he's not Santana, and Brittany feels cheap and guilty and sad and hopes Santana is okay by herself.
When Sam kisses her on her cheek and curls up behind her, Brittany feels cold, even with his warmth pressed up against her. Sam holds her tighter; his deep, even breathing usually calms her, but not like Santana's does- and she feels even guiltier, because Sam is content and blissfully unaware.
Sam is nice. Sam is beautiful. Sam is tender, caring, and comforting.
Sam is not Santana.
The next night Brittany answers the phone call she knew was coming. She and Santana had spent every Christmas Eve together with Brittany's family since junior high, even when they were dating other people, especially when they were dating other people, but this year, Brittany's family is out of state to visit family, and Brittany's spending most of her time with Sam, anyways.
Brittany answers the phone call she knew was coming, but she can barely get out a syllable before Santana's talking.
Christmas Eve, Santana says, clipped, like she's angry that Christmas Eve exists, even though it's not Christmas Eve's fault that it exists, or that they're not girlfriends, or that Brittany's fake-married to Sam.
Tomorrow night, Brittany says, because she doesn't know what else to say.
It's silent for a moment. Santana takes a deep breath- to calm herself, Brittany knows.
Are we still- Santana cuts off, too unsure or too scared to ask what Brittany knows Santana wants to ask.
Now it's Brittany's turn to take a deep breath, Brittany's turn to calm herself, because she knows Santana is not going to like when she says, I- I made plans with Sam. Brittany holds her breath.
With Sam? Santana asks, her voice steady but monotone. With Sam, she repeats, and this time Brittany can hear the flare of anger, the beginning of the storm. Brittany remembers junior year, remembers Santana's panic, remembers He's just a stupid boy, and she feels the ice block beginning to return to her stomach as Santana breathes, What about Christmas Eve?
What about it? Brittany asks, getting angry herself, because, Santana told her- she told her- and Santana didn't tell her she was coming or that Christmas Eve was still happening and Brittany may be able to read Santana's mind a lot of the time but it's harder when Brittany's in Lima and Santana's in Louisville.
We always spend Christmas Eve together, Santana nearly snarls, and Brittany's stomach is a full-on ice block again, the numb feeling has begun to take over, and she swallows and tries to control the waver in her voice, in her reply.
Well, we aren't officially together-
We are unofficially together-
You told me to date other people-
But not to replace me, Brittany! Santana's nearly yelling, and her voice is breaking, and Brittany can hear the tears in it, and she's so, so confused. Not to replace me, Santana says again, softer, weaker, and Brittany's pretty sure her whole body has frozen solid.
It's Christmas Eve and Brittany's alone in her dark house when there's a knock at the door. She knows who it is before she answers, just like she always does. Because she already told Sam that she wasn't feeling well, and she knew Santana would show up, anyways. Because it's Christmas Eve.
When she sees Santana framed in the doorway, Brittany forgets how to breathe.
Wordlessly, Santana enters the house, takes her coat and shoes off. They avoid each other's eyes as Brittany leads her to the living room, where the Christmas tree is. Santana silently moves into the kitchen to make hot chocolate, and Brittany builds a fire in the fireplace, just like her father taught her three winters ago. The fire's caught and spreading when Santana returns with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, and Brittany takes hers and sips it, a smile coming to her lips at the fact that Santana made it just the temperature that Brittany likes, because she doesn't like it too hot, because then she can't drink it right away (Sam never notices, not like Santana.)
They sit on the floor in front of the fire, side by side, and Brittany wraps the blanket around them silently, carefully, holding her hot chocolate in one hand and the blanket in the other. The only light comes from the Christmas tree and the fireplace, and Brittany steals a glance at Santana's face, watching the firelight dance in her dark eyes.
The lava lake is back, warming her stomach, buzzing under her skin, and with the blanket and the fireplace, Brittany feels entirely stifled, and she shifts uncomfortably next to Santana, her bare arm brushing against Santana's clothed one.
You married him, Santana accuses quietly, and Brittany huffs angrily, because she can't quite believe they're having this circular argument again, and especially not on Christmas Eve-
But then Santana's kissing her, and it's steamy and sultry and Brittany's panting, gasping for air because it's too hot and she can't breathe and Santana's pushing her down onto her back and attacking her neck and Brittany's letting her fingers slip through Santana's dark hair.
I wanted to marry you, Brittany rasps, her eyes catching Santana's brown ones, which look like melted chocolate- on fire- with the light from the fireplace flickering in them. They're warm and angry and loving, but closing as Santana's nipping at her bottom lip, sucking it, and Brittany's hips are canting upwards into Santana's, and, oh-
Brittany pulls back in disbelief, shocked that Santana feels like she has something to prove, but Brittany knows she can't and won't talk Santana out of it, because they both need to affirm that Santana is the one she belongs to, so instead she reaches down and tugs Santana's pants open, pushing them off her hips, freeing her.
Santana is clawing at Brittany's clothes, and Brittany struggles to undress, because Santana won't let her sit up, and won't stop kissing her, and won't stop sucking on her neck (Sam never notices, not like Santana- still, she's thankful for scarves and winter) and won't stop groping her breasts, and Brittany just feels overwhelmed with heat and desire.
The lava lake has spread to Brittany's whole body, igniting her nerves, heating her skin. Brittany's face is flushed, and she can feel sweat drip down her temple. Santana's hair is damp where she grips it tightly in her fingers, as Santana's tongue burns a searing path down her body.
Brittany feels cheap and guilty and sad, but when Santana enters her, Brittany's crying out with abandon, not holding Santana's name back from her lips, not pushing thoughts of Santana out of her mind, and nothing has ever felt more right. Her mind can only think Santana, her eyes can only see Santana, and Brittany can only feel Santana inside her heart, soul, and now body.
Santana slides her arms under Brittany's shoulders, holding her close, and it's the main reason Brittany loves when Santana fucks her with the strap-on, because she feels loved and secure and intimate in a way that fingers and mouth can't grant. She feels the beat of Santana's heart against her own, she feels Santana inside her, stroking her, filling her completely, she feels Santana's sweaty forehead against her own, their hair sticking in places.
With each thrust of her hips, Santana's reaffirming her claim, reassuring Brittany that Santana can do it as well as Sam, better than Sam, that no one can fill Brittany the way Santana does, make Brittany feel the way Santana does, make Brittany come the way Santana does, and Brittany's only response is yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
Brittany doesn't need Santana to fuck her with a fake dick to prove that Brittany belongs to Santana. Brittany has only ever belonged to Santana, and Brittany loves the things Santana gives her that no one else can. Santana builds her up, kissing the spot on Brittany's neck where Brittany likes to be kissed when they're together like this (Sam never notices, not like Santana.)
Santana's strokes are long and deep and slow, and Brittany feels every inch as it pushes in and slides out, back and forth, until Brittany's at the edge and then over it, and without thinking she's crying out Santana's name, arching off the blanket, tugging Santana's hair and shaking.
When Santana comes between her legs with a strangled cry of Brittany's name, Brittany forgets to breathe.
Brittany cradles Santana to her, kisses the top of her head, strokes lazily down her back and pillows Santana's head on her chest. They're both breathing deeply, panting- Brittany feels too hot, sweaty where Santana's skin is pressed to her skin.
Santana presses a kiss to her chest and lifts her head, and they stare at each other for long, silent moments.
I wanted to marry you, Brittany repeats in a devastated whisper.
Santana swallows. I know.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays all that.
I may decide to do a NYE themed update next week if inspiration strikes, but don't hold your breath or anything.
As for the Bram!Wedding, I chose to go with the legendary JJ's take on it and believe that Brittany knew it wasn't real the whole time. If you're confused on how that could be possible, I suggest you read JJ's analysis, its very insightful. :D
the usual: themostrandomfandom dot tumblr dot com slash post slash 37894660912 slash and-now-for-your-quick-draw-take-it-or-leave-it
Read it, you won't regret it!