Summary: Brittana get it on in a locker room, with Sue watching and directing.
Brittany doesn't think it's a good idea. In theory, it seems like a sound suggestion: a quickie in the girl's locker rooms during lunch hour, thrill in the possibility of getting caught (Santana owns up to the kink) but with little odds of it actually happening. The way Santana describes it makes it sound like the greatest idea ever.
Still, there's just something about it all that makes Brittany uneasy — a gut feeling, and if there's anything Brittany knows, it's that she really shouldn't go against these hunches. After all, the last time she did was when Santana had proposed a "study session" the night before a big test, and the next day, she'd been too tired to even spell her name properly. However, these doubts quickly dissipate as Santana walks into the locker room, running a hand across Brittany's abdomen and swaying her hips in the most hypnotic and purposeful of ways. Taking in a sharp breath of anticipation, Brittany follows after her with little other thought.
She knows it's a bad idea once she hears Ms. Sylvester's voice coming from the entrance. Brittany has Santana up against the lockers, lips on her neck, the Latina's arms wrapped around her shoulders, one hand holding up one of the brunette's legs, and the other hand very obviously up the cheerleader's skirt, pumping, so she knows there's no way that she can make this out to seem like anything other than what it is.
"I find some comfort in knowing that your torrid love affairs won't end with either of you gestating pygmy heathen." Somehow, she can hear the Cheerio coach's distinctive snark amidst the inappropriate yet delightfully loud noises that Santana is making. At the coach's words, Brittany doesn't dare look up; all she can do is stop, freeze entirely. When she starts to back away from Santana — to do what? Run? Beg for mercy? — the Latina's eyes open just enough to glare at Brittany.
"What are you doing?" she snaps, voice husky, giving the blonde a brisk pull forward. "I'm not done yet."
Brittany just stammers in response, trying to communicate the fact that they're no longer alone, that Sue Sylvester, of all people, has interrupted and is watching. It's all too awkward, too surreally frightening, and she's still inside of Santana, who is grinding down on her hand to keep up the friction. It's all a little much for her to be processing at that moment. Through her haze of lust, she briefly has the thought that this must somehow be fulfilling part of Santana's fetish. How else could anyone explain how unperturbed Santana is by it all?
Sue voices in from behind them, sounding no different than if this were any other practice. "You heard her, B. Get crackin'."
Brittany doesn't know what else to do, so she obeys and resumes the rhythm they had before — well, she tries, made more meek and clumsy by her knowledge that they are being watched — sliding digits in and out. She trails kisses along Santana's jaw, working her way down her neck until she sucks at the spot right above Santana's collarbone, just how she knows the brunette likes it. Santana lets out a loud, throaty moan, and Brittany feels herself empowered by this, momentarily falling back into the belief that it's still only the two of them.
Her bubble is quickly burst by Ms. Sylvester's constant commentary, a stream of barked commands.
"Faster, stop being such a baby."
"Kiss her, don't hold back."
"Rougher, B. It's called fucking for a reason."
Brittany can only obey every command, eliciting more groans from Santana.
After some time, she's no longer aware of the woman's presence at all. Her and Santana, it's all she can focus on: her mouth sucking at a dark nipple, the brunette's Cheerios top and bra hastily removed and tossed aside after some command she can't remember, her left hand groping the girl's ass, pulling her forward with every thrust in.
Brittany has stopped discerning Sue's orders from her own thoughts, the two becoming one and the same to her, so when the coach tells her to put in a third finger, she does so with no hesitation. No longer able to muster the strength to make much noise, Santana's breathing is getting ragged, so Brittany knows her climax is nearing. When she puts in her third digit, gives her fingers a sharp twist, and curls them, Santana lets out a strained cry, her body shaking and her walls tightening around Brittany's fingers.
She doesn't pull her fingers out until she feels Santana relax and lay her head against her shoulder, panting. Brittany places a kiss at the top of the cheerleader's head, grinning proudly from ear to ear like a child, as she is often wont to do whenever she gets a reaction like this out of her.
It finally occurs to her to look up at Sue, to say something — although what, she isn't sure — only to see that she's already left. She stares with the most perplexed of expressions at the door until she feels Santana running fingers along the hem of her skirt, inching it down until it falls to the floor.
"What's with that face? C'mon, it's your turn now," Santana says, pushing the blonde back onto one of the wooden benches between the rows of lockers, kneeling down in front of her.
Santana never mentions the incident. Neither does Brittany, and she instead goes on to believe that it was all a figment of her imagination. Ever since that day, though, she is placed under Santana in every pyramid and paired with her for every Cheerios trip and hotel stay without needing to ask it of Ms. Sylvester.