It has been a really long couple of days. You just left Quinn and your Abuela at the airport and you really feel like you need 24 hours of sleep. Or 15 shots of vodka. Whatever comes first.
When you get home, the first thing you do is taking off your shoes, sighing softly as the cool floor tiles meet your toes. Then you nearly throw yourself onto your couch, face first, and groan into the cushions. You are exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Especially emotionally. All the talks have drained you. But you still need to finish unpacking, and you better do it soon, because you promised Brittany you'd show her your new place tomorrow, and half of your stuff is still stuffed in cardboard boxes.
After a couple of minutes laying down, when you notice you are actually starting to doze off, you get up with a tired sigh. Slaloming between boxes you get to your bedroom and take off your clothes, you just leave on your panties - actually male boxer briefs because in an unfortunate turn of events, you discovered they are actually the most comfortable undergarment you've ever worn -, and throw on yourself a 3 sizes too big t-shirt. You tie your hair up in a messy ponytail, and perch your glasses upon your face, since you've also felt your tired eyes protesting from wearing contact lenses for too long.
I still look hot... You think as you glance at yourself in your full body mirror. Not being able to help yourself, you strike kind of a sexy pose, snap a mirror-selfie and send it to Brittany with no caption, no explanation or anything. Then, you throw your phone onto the bed and leave it there, long forgotten once you are out of the room.
The first box you open makes you smile, it contains your collection of vinyl records. Since you already installed your gramophone, you take out your favourite one and put it on. It's Prince's Purple Rain; you can't help but sing along as you keep rummaging through boxes and stuff.
Your karaoke party is cut short by a knock on your door, and you frown. You were not expecting anyone. When you open the door and see who's there, you raise your eyebrow.
"Lady Hummel." You mock, not changing your facial expression. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your unsolicited visit?" You ask sarcastically.
"Oh, hello to you too, my sweet, sweet friend." He says just as sarcastically, pushing you aside. "Let me in, will you?" He says as he waltzes into your apartment looking around in awe. "I come bearing presents!" He yells as he shakes the wine bottle he is holding on his left hand. "But we have a lot of work to do. Need I remind you that we have the most important event of our lives in a week? Don't you smell it? New York already smells like fashion, and celebrities, and money. We need to get in the loop, Alicia Keys' manager called this morning to confirm she's going to wear our design."
And with that, your boxes are forgotten, Prince continues to sing all alone on the background, and you and Kurt are already 3 glasses of wine in.
"You know, Kurtsie, we should be humble and all, but we do an awesome job." You say. You clearly are a bit tipsy. "Look at this models, they look fantastic in your clothes." You add. You are ogling a little too much at the models, but you are not made of stone, okay? And you have eyes. And it's not your fault women are so delicious.
"So, I'm thinking these three for the night gown runway..." Kurt says, rummaging through photos, but you are not listening to him anymore. Thinking about delicious women derived in you thinking about one particular delicious woman with blonde hair, eyes of the colour of the sky, and legs that could go on for days. Kurt notices your stupid smile and dreamy face, and snaps his fingers repeatedly in front of your face. "Santana!"
"Yes? Yes! Those ones for the underwear event." You say, trying to sound convincing, but as he raises a brow looking at you, you can't control the childish giggle that leaves your lips. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I got sidetracked." You say clearing your throat when you notice Kurt is not having any of your shit.
You behave the rest of the evening, and actually get all the work done, even if both of you kept drinking till you were done with the whole bottle.
Once he leaves, you are still tipsy, leaning into a little drunk, and alcohol has always made you horny. You really wish Brittany was with you right now. You may have had your reserves a few days ago when she tried to make a move on you, but tonight? Tonight you would ravish her, with pleasure.
You walk back to your room, and grab your forgotten phone from the bed. You find Brittany has replied to your picture with one of hers. Of her thighs, to be exact. They are slightly parted, and you can see her hand between them, but you actually don't see anything because her most intimate parts are covered by the hem of what looks like a button up shirt. Your imagination runs wild, though.
Without a second thought, you call her as you lay back on your bed and tuck your hand into your boxers.
"Hi, beautiful." She greets with a chuckle when she picks up.
"Tell me what you'd to me..." You husk into the phone, followed by a soft moan as you caress yourself, realising you are actually dripping wet.
"I see you liked the picture..." She purrs with an airy chuckle that drives your senses wild. "Wanna know what I did with yours?" She asks, and takes your quiet groan as a yes. "I touched myself. I touched myself so good I had to change my sheets right after, that's how wet I got them. That's how wet you make me..." She sing-songs sultrily and it's almost too much for you.
"Britt..." You moan, one of your fingertips running gingerly over your clit. "Keep talking..." You beg. The sound of her voice is an absolute turn on for you. She could be talking about the freaking weather and still drive you crazy.
"When I snapped the picture, I was already dripping, my thighs were slippery...I wished really hard you were there to lick me clean..." She mutters. You arch your back in delight, gifting her a series of delicious moans as you keep playing with yourself. You hear her breath getting ragged as she listens to you, she always loved hearing you. "You wanna know what else I thought about?"
A faint humming sound from your lips stirs her on.
"I thought about that one time I bent you over my desk and fucked you from behind with that strap on you bought, while my parents were downstairs watching TV..." She growls quietly. "How I had to cover your mouth with my hands to keep you quiet..."
As you don't answer, she insists.
"Santana?" She asks, and is met with absolute silence.
After a couple of seconds she hangs up with a frustrated groan.
You just fell asleep on her. She is not going to let you live it down.