Summary: While visiting Brittany, Santana is unfortunately on her period. Brittany makes her feel better.
Brittany isn't going to lie. When Santana calls her, swearing a blue streak on day two of a three-day train trip from NYC to LA about cramps and how the hippies in the next sleeper responded to her request for a tampon by trying to give her a weird tiny plastic cup, she's super bummed. While sex is definitely not the only thing she's looking forward to about this visit, she can't deny that it's a thing she wanted to take advantage of.
There's a deep-welling fondness in her now as she watches Santana watch TV. Her girlfriend rests flush beside her, head laying heavy on top of her chest. With her right hand, Brittany strokes her baby fine hairline, and with her left arm, she wraps Santana close. Santana hums contentedly, then sighs. "That feels so good, Britt."
The blonde's body warms to the sound of Santana's pleasure, and she tenderly brushes a kiss to the crown of her head. "Well, you know I love to make you feel good," she says with a cheeky grin.
Santana lifts her head to look at Brittany, the hint of a smile in the rounds of her cheeks. "You're not even watching the show," she accuses, half playful and half put-out.
Brittany smiles back, scratching gently at her scalp to elicit a satisfied groan that resonates inside her own chest. "I'm watching." You, she adds silently.
"Ugh, I hate this guy," Santana gripes. "Time for a bathroom break." She makes to roll over her girlfriend to get to her feet, but is brought up short by hands gripping her waist. There's a moment of intense panic at the position. Her legs are spread wide as she straddles Brittany's abs, which is so, so nice, but it's been three hours since her last bathroom break, which is not so nice. She immediately tries to jerk away, which only makes her girlfriend hold on tighter. "Brittany!"
"Give me some sugar, and I'll get you some more ice cream while you're gone," Brittany wheedles, puckering her lips. Apparently, she doesn't realize that she is currently in the splash zone at Red Sea World, which makes Santana anxious.
Biting down her reactive "I do not negotiate with terrorists" speech, she leans down to drop a shallow peck on Brittany's lips — or what she intends to be a shallow peck, anyway. Brittany's doing that thing where she smiles into the kiss, and it's more self-satisfied than usual. But apparently Santana's hormones are totally into that, because her hips start circling a little before she really thinks about it, and then Brittany's petting over her legs in the way that almost always leads to them being wrapped around her head. "Britt, if you don't stop, your shirt is going to look like an inkblot test."
Brittany simply hums in response, focused on meeting Santana's bare shoulder with her mouth. The unusual lack of enthusiastic response makes her finally pay attention, and her brow furrows at Santana's expression. "Does your tummy hurt? Want me to rub it for you?" Her hands drag up and down the curve of Santana's spine, trying to loosen her muscles with warmth and pressure. "Do you need more Midol?"
Brittany's face gets this sweet, doting little pout, like she's legitimately sad that Santana hurts. It makes Santana want to kiss every inch of her perfect face, and she would do just that, except the warm, liquid feeling in her belly of falling even more in love with her genius girlfriend feels a lot like the literal warm, liquid feeling she gets when her tampon hits max capacity and her panties are about to look like a crime scene.
She kisses Brittany, hard and disarming, and the moment her girlfriend's grip goes slack, she bolts for the bathroom with her thighs clamped together, leaving Brittany dazed and making feeble grabbing motions at her retreating back. "Boooo!" Brittany whines, and Santana laughs at her as she closes the door.
Once sequestered, though, she turns decidedly more somber. After quickly settling on the toilet and stripping her sweats off, she sighs in frustration at the sight of red in the crotch — not enough to render them unsalvageable, but enough that she's going to have to change. There's an additional twinge of guilt at the mess, since she's the one who wanted to swaddle herself in the comfort of Brittany's clothes. She tosses them into the sink and stretches to reach the cold dial, so they can soak before the stain has a chance to set. Her underwear is in even worse shape, and she groans as she tosses it into the sink as well.
Suddenly, the doorknob rattles in the silent room, and Santana starts in surprise. "I'm coming in!" Brittany says way too loudly as she opens the bathroom door.
Santana's first instinct is to somehow hide the contents of the sink as she squeals "Brittany!" in the sort of tone that only dogs can hear. However, from her position, that's a lost cause, so she instead clamps her legs together and slaps her hands over her crotch to hide as much as she can. She feels her face start to burn as Brittany takes in the clothes in the sink and her position on the toilet — not exactly a tableau she ever wanted Brittany to have to see.
The blonde pouts a little, the corners of her mouth turning down and drawing Santana's attention to her favorite freckle. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that." She holds out her palm, two oblong pills resting there. "I brought you something for your tummy."
"Thank you, Britt-Britt," she says with a sigh after swallowing the pills, tilting her head to nuzzle Brittany's hand. "I'll be out in a minute. I just need to clean up."
Brittany gives her a peck on the lips, and then another one with her "you're so cute I can't help myself" face that makes Santana's insides go all warm honey again. It serves to remind her of the warm rush between her legs that is definitely mostly blood, but perhaps also some arousal? There's just something about nurturing and careful Brittany that makes Santana think of riding her. Hormones are a hell of a drug.
"Go rest, San. I'll wash these," Brittany gestures to the sink, "before the blood sets."
The guilt rears up faster than the embarrassment this time, and Santana quickly interjects, "Britt, you don't have to do that. I'll clean everything."
"Nope. You're going to get your fine ass back on the couch, and I'm going to be a good wifey and take care of the rest." The way she says it is definitive and no-nonsense, and if Santana had been wearing panties, they would have dropped. The ratio of menses to arousal between her legs has definitely shifted. "Go ahead and take your shirt off too. I'll get you something fresh to wear," Brittany adds as she leaves the bathroom and heads to her bedroom.
Knowing that Santana's boobs get really sensitive when she's on her period, Brittany skips the bra and picks out a long-sleeved workout top, well-loved and soft from ages of wash and wear. For underwear, she picks a pair of dark cotton hipsters with light polka dots and tries not to get too distracted by the thought of pulling them up Santana's legs. Or down them.
She fails pretty miserably. So badly, in fact, that when she returns to the bathroom to find Santana looking all shy and sweet, Brittany almost can't make herself leave the room so she can get dressed. The Latina just looks so…ravishable. Like when they played Student and Teacher, and Santana asked about an oral exam for extra credit while wringing her hands in affected nervousness. Brittany's not sure why she has such a thing for Santana being all bashful, but it's definitely there, and it definitely makes it really hard not to throw Santana down on the floor and eat her out until all that embarrassment melts away into writhing and hair-pulling.
Still, she's being a careful, doting girlfriend right now, so instead, she gives Santana the gentlest kiss she can manage — even after Santana introduces a little tongue and makes those quiet, satisfied moans that make Brittany's whole self ring just for her — before leaving her alone and heading to the kitchen to make good on her earlier promise of ice cream. She's actually proud of herself for that act of self-control.
As she's throwing together three different flavors of ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, caramel, Oreos, pretzels, and brownies, she feels warm arms loop around her waist and Santana's soft cheek resting on her shoulder. It feels natural to pull Santana in closer, resting their hands together over her stomach.
Then, Santana turns her around, cups her cheek, and draws her in for a warm kiss. Brittany grins into the kiss, and Santana smiles back, which makes her grin harder, and they fall into a familiar loop of sweet kisses traded back and forth. Her body livens to the feel of their bodies pressing flush.
The kissing goes on for longer than she intended. At some point, Santana works her hands under her top, and Brittany shivers at her smooth nails raking up and down her spine. She can taste lemon drop chapstick on the inside of her bottom lip and feel the hard countertop at her back.
It's Santana who breaks away first, leaving Brittany looking a little dazed and confused. She watches, transfixed, as Santana runs her finger around the corner of her mouth, cleaning her smudged balm and looking supremely self-satisfied. "You'd better hurry up. My ice cream is melting."
Oh.
Leaving the kitchen for the living room, Santana relaxes on the couch. Her abdomen twinges, and she shifts uncomfortably on the layers of towels Brittany laid out for her while she was getting dressed. She's super appreciative of the thoughtful gesture. Hopefully Brittany is up for more sweet lady kisses, because her hormones are super appreciative too. Having Brittany take such good care of her is a thing she didn't realize she's so into.
"You can start the show again. I'll catch up," Brittany says as she breezes by, stopping just long enough to kiss Santana's temple and set down her bowl on the coffee table.
Santana grabs her arm before she can pull away completely, tugging her back to give her a proper kiss. Soon, Brittany's kissing her back with a fervid hunger that surprises her — in a good way. Her hands gravitate to Brittany's soft, squeezable hips naturally, and she draws her in with an insistent tug.
All too soon, Brittany breaks the kiss with a start and a wet noise. "You are super distracting," she deadpans. "Sit. Eat. I'll be back."
Santana huffs but obediently retrieves her bowl and pops a heaping spoonful in her mouth as demonstrative proof that she'll behave — for now. The blessed marriage of salty and sweet and crunchy and sticky combine on her tongue, and she moans appreciatively. The way Brittany's face goes slack at the sound is even better than the rich brownie hidden under layers of ice cream and hot fudge.
It's not long before Netflix sucks her in once more, and she's almost done with her sundae when Brittany returns from the bedroom. "I'm going to give you a backrub, okay?"
Absently nodding, Santana keeps her eyes glued to the screen and startles a little when Brittany's hands suddenly appear on the bare skin just north of her ass. Her palms are warm and firm and slick, and the smell of baby oil is strong in the air.
"Is this okay?" Brittany asks again, hands going still.
She nods again, slower, and Brittany kisses the nape of her neck before stroking up and over her ribcage, dragging her shirt up as she goes to eventually bare her whole back. It's all smooth, slow, broad strokes then as she spreads the oil, and Santana sinks into the soothing rhythm of her touches.
If her mouth weren't full, she would've purred.
Soon, Brittany's hands are on her hips and steadily moving towards her belly button. Chin still resting on her chest, Santana finds herself staring at Brittany's pretty hands as they caress her skin. They splay possessively over her abdomen, trying to touch as much skin as possible all at once. It's warm, and the firm massage really does lessen the pain from the cramps.
"Did the pills help any?" Brittany asks, her voice tranquil and close to Santana's ear.
She reaches for Brittany's wrists and grips lightly, just to hold her. And maybe nudge her hands a tiny bit lower and harder, so that Brittany's fingertips catch on her hip bones. "A little. But this helps more."
It's not like her cramps are crippling or anything. They just don't really respond to any over-the-counter medication she's ever tried, and they tend to leave a constant, throbbing, dull ache that she eventually gets used to. In her experience, the only things that really help are getting drunk, getting high, or getting off.
Her thighs clench and rub against each other as Brittany works the pads of her long fingers in circles over her trembling stomach. Brittany lures her closer with insistent pressure just under the waist of her underwear until her ass is cradled in Brittany's lap, and her legs are stretched out along the couch. Something firm pokes her back, and she recognizes the weight and feel of the blonde's favorite toy (okay, maybe she's a fan too).
"I know you're sore all over. I just want to make you feel good. Tell me what you want," Brittany breathes in this sonorous purr that Santana feels right between her legs. Still, her nerves shake when she thinks about what she actually wants Brittany to do. Although Brittany clearly wants this, with her hands splitting their time between stroking her underboobs and her inner thighs, her business being closed during the red flood has always just been a de facto rule that she's never actually thought about before.
Santana takes a fortifying breath, which comes out a little shaky when Brittany's right hand cups her breast. She shoves Brittany's other hand inside her underwear, and even just her fingers skimming clumsily over her mound is enough to have her rocking her hips for more. Every part of her body recognizes Brittany's grin against it, and her neck is no exception. The brush of her lips in that well-worn motion relaxes Santana, shaking off the last of her nervousness. Her head drops back to Brittany's shoulder, opening herself up to the wet, sucking kisses her girlfriend loves to leave all over her throat.
"I've missed touching you so much," Brittany breathes. Her index finger and thumb play over a dark nipple, and Santana gasps encouragingly. The gentle tugs feel like they're being mirrored on her clit, like there's a direct line between the two, and she squirms and reaches one hand behind her to bury in Brittany's hair. Santana's hand turns into a fist as she turns her head to nip at Brittany's jaw, overcome. Brittany butts her head against her affectionately, knocking their temples together.
Then, the hand on her breast withdraws. The protest on the tip of her tongue dies when Brittany sucks both fingers into her mouth, grinning as Santana stares dopily at the totally sexy motion, then quickly flicks her wet fingers over Santana's nipple. Santana cries out, and her clit throbs. Her thighs slam together around Brittany's hand, and her back bows. Despite how tender and sore her breasts are, Brittany manages to find just the right touch that feels good, intense but not spiky and raw. The fingers cupping her mound gently shift, middle and pointer sliding over her slit and slicking themselves.
"You're so gorgeous, Santana." The words are satisfied and leonine.
She tugs at Brittany's hair fitfully, unable to stay still under her eager attentions. It can't be helped when her hips start rolling faster, and the motion coaxes Brittany to touch her more fully. It's only two fingers, but they're drenched, and they feel like the best sort of sin — just silky, even pressure. Reaching down for an anchor, she grips hard onto Brittany's thigh, using it to brace herself as she rocks harder into Brittany's hands and back into Brittany's crotch.
"I love when you ride my fingers. It makes me so wet."
Santana shudders hard. Brittany's knees are between hers, keeping her spread wide, just how Brittany wants her — with no leverage to change the pace, only able to follow Brittany's lead. And Brittany's lead is going to have her coming embarrassingly fast. Her fingers are rolling over her clit in a well-practiced motion that already has her holding her breath until her face feels hot.
Brittany chuckles at her struggle. "You can come, baby. We're not done." She punctuates with a fluid pump of her hips, grinding the strap-on into Santana's ass while simultaneously pressing her harder into her fingers.
The only response Santana can make is helpless, little high-pitched pants as Brittany rubs with intent. Brittany mouths at her skin wetly until she comes hard to the feel of Brittany's teeth nipping softly at her ear. It feels like all of her muscles lock tight, except her pussy, which contracts and relaxes and contracts again around the object that she desperately wishes were Brittany's fingers. Brittany's smug grin feels delicious against her skin, and she lets herself moan out loud in a way she normally doesn't. Her thighs shake as her body loosens, her whole torso slumping forward until her chest presses to the towels.
Behind her, Brittany settles onto her heels and kisses the bow of her spine. The blonde's hands run over her, plucking at the waist of her underwear pointedly. "Take 'em off, Britt," Santana mumbles into the couch. Still drained from her orgasm, she wiggles her ass a little. Brittany needs little enticement, eagerly tugging the soft cotton over the swell of her ass and down her legs.
Once the panties are gone, there's more movement behind her, but she just lets Brittany do Brittany, whatever that entails. Right now, it's much easier to luxuriate in the feeling of not being in pain, of actually feeling little shudders of pleasure instead of being constantly tensed in anticipation of another cramp.
"Can I take your shirt off too?" Brittany asks, resting on top of her again. This time, her toned abdomen is naked and warm and so soft. Her thighs too, except the parts covered by the harness.
Santana wiggles her butt again, eliciting a fresh smattering of kisses up and down her spine. "You can do whatever you want, Britt-Britt," she sighs happily, magnanimous from the simple joy of not hurting for the first time in hours.
"I want to do what you want, San. If I do something you don't like, you have to tell me, okay?" There's seriousness in Brittany's voice, and Santana perks up a little to pay attention. "It's really important to me that you tell me what you don't like, babe. I like this, and I want to be able to do it again, but not if it makes you uncomfortable."
The effort it takes to flop onto her back feels enormous, but it's well worth it to see the way Brittany's eyes instantly lock on her tits, despite the no-nonsense tone she is using. "It's so hot when you talk like a responsible adult."
Brittany tears her eyes away from her boobs long enough to roll them. "This is just me loving my girlfriend and not wanting to take advantage of her trust." Her face is all open and guileless.
"You are so sweet and smart."
"Santana—"
She tugs Brittany down by the waist, nestling her body between her thighs and kissing her solidly. "I promise."
Brittany smiles exuberantly, kissing over her face with rapid pecks as her hands tug at her shirt. Santana shifts to help her pull it off. When Brittany plops back on top of her, they simply rest together for a few minutes, Brittany's head on her collarbone and hand gently thumbing over her nipple. She strokes her hand over Brittany's bare back and loves the muscle she can feel under her skin. Brittany's thighs flex against each other languidly, nudging the strap-on into her belly.
Suddenly, Santana's struck by the thought that she has very little clue how to have penetrative sex during her period. Mechanically, she assumes it works the same way, but that would mean she can't keep her tampon in. Is she supposed to have something to hold the blood back? Is she supposed to just…let it flow? Is there some kind of etiquette for this? Honestly, she's kind of pissed, because someone should have prepared her for this. "Britt, I don't know what to fucking do," she bites out, embarrassed by her ignorance.
Sitting up, Brittany straddles her low around her hips until she's settled right over her pubic bone. Snixx is easily distracted from her growing ragefit by Brittany's naked body, and she lays hands on the perfect curve of her waist. The new harness Brittany is wearing is worlds sexier than their clunky old one. They look like black and red boyshorts, and not even the glittery purple dildo sticking out from the front makes them look awkward.
Flipping her hair over one shoulder, Brittany leans down a little, and her hands brace themselves on either side of Santana's ribcage. "Well," she teases, "I'm pretty sure that's not true." Pointedly, she looks down to where Santana's hands have already made themselves at home over her breasts. "But baby, you don't have to worry about anything. I'm going to take such good care of you." Brittany seals the promise with a kiss.
Even though she still has no idea what's expected of her, Santana feels better. She trusts Brittany. That trust is tried like never before when she feels a tug on the string between her legs. Her girlfriend is watching her face closely, but all she can think is that it's…weird. Weird and intimate. Still, she trusts and nods, and Brittany kisses her lips hard before pulling away and grabbing a few tissues off the side table. Then, Brittany pulls the tampon out in one smooth, gentle motion, then wraps it up and throws it in the trash can.
"Still okay?" Brittany asks, pressing her lips to the knee she's resting her hand on.
Santana nods, and Brittany smiles winningly. Hands stroke from her knees to her inner thighs and back again, making Santana clench a little. Then, Brittany grips her ass and tugs Santana forward until her butt rests on the edge of the couch. Her gaze is curious as she watches Brittany sit back on her feet, then reach to the coffee table to pick up a box she didn't notice before. When Brittany pulls out a black latex glove, her head spins with questions.
With a snap, Brittany pulls the glove over her right hand. "I know it looks funky, but I tried it yesterday, and it definitely still feels good."
There are a lot of things in that sentence that Santana wants to unpack, but all that comes out is, "Wait, you masturbated wearing disposable gloves?"
Brittany smirks, flexing her fingers slowly. "I had to test it to make sure I could provide high-quality orgasms with them on. I have a reputation, you know."
Then, she turns a little shy and nervous, and Santana is smitten again.
"After you called from the train, I looked some stuff up, just in case. This is safer for you."
Grabbing Brittany's bare hand, Santana presses her lips to the palm and each knuckle in turn. Slowly, she leads her hand down, resting it over her navel before letting go again. "Well then, show me your moves," she drawls, more excited than she thought she would be. Brittany's enthusiasm is catching.
The way Brittany touches her thighs has her tightening unconsciously, and she knows it's only a matter of time. Her left leg wraps limp around Brittany's waist while Brittany lifts her right and drapes it over the back of the couch. Spread open, she can't help but shiver at how much more intense everything feels.
The glove feels foreign against her skin. It drags over her mound until Brittany presses into her folds, but once it slides through her, it feels smoother than anything she's ever felt before. Her breath comes out in a shudder of surprise, and Brittany's smile splits her face. "I know, right?"
Santana's still flushed from their last tryst, and Brittany just rubs her slowly at first. Her pussy feels sensitive, but not overly so; it mostly just feels hot and flush and wet. Brittany runs two fingers over her clit before dragging down and just barely pressing at her entrance with one fingertip.
She nods before Brittany even asks, throwing one hand behind her to keep steady. Every part of her just wants Brittany to fucking go for it — she aches for the feel of Brittany inside her — but when Brittany presses in with her middle finger, she's really glad that her girlfriend clearly has better sense than she does. Just the one finger two knuckles deep inside is a stretch.
Brittany draws out, then presses back in slowly, a little bit more each time, twisting and curling her finger just a bit to drag against her inside with each upstroke. She goes so carefully, and the rapt expression on her face makes Santana even wetter. "You feel so different, San. Like…fuller. So tight," Brittany shares, her voice a low rumble in the back of her throat. "You're so hot and wet. You're squeezing so tight."
Naked as Brittany is, Santana can see how turned on she's getting. Her light skin is flushed, and she might as well be sitting on a furnace for all the heat radiating off her right now. It's a rush to know that she can turn Brittany on without doing anything at all.
For long moments, Brittany drags in and out at a measured pace. Her finger twists and flexes with slick, wet noises, working her open purposefully. Indolently, she rocks up and down into Brittany's guiding hands. Her toes curl with every slow thrust, a steady build until she feels like she can take more.
When she catches Brittany's eye, she doesn't even have to voice the request. She can see the flare in Brittany's gaze and feels her slowly pull her finger out completely. A trickle of liquid accompanies the motion, and her heel digs into Brittany's ass reflexively as it tickles south.
Brittany sighs raggedly as she gently plays her middle and ring fingers against Santana's pussy. She licks her lips, and her eyes dart up to watch Santana's face as she starts to slide inside with a slow twisting motion. Letting her mouth fall open, Santana doesn't hold back her tiny, high noises and breathless pants. Her hand grips harder onto the couch arm as Brittany slips deeper, watching her face while she focuses on the feel of Brittany inside her.
Carefully, Brittany shuffles onto her knees, then straddles Santana's right leg and slips her left hand behind her head to cradle it. The new position is a plus; Santana is struck by how much hotter she feels now, with Brittany's chest against hers and her face so much closer. Brittany starts moving again, slowly, scissoring her fingers and making Santana gasp.
She's so full that Brittany's fingers are a constant pressure on her g-spot even though the blonde isn't even aiming for it yet. There's a rolling pulse all up and down her body that only gets more satisfying as she clenches and squeezes against Brittany inside her. She can feel echoes of it in the tightening of Brittany's thighs around her leg, and she reaches down to take a firm grip of the blonde's ass under the harness. The husky "Fuck, San!" that follows has her panting like a dog and so much closer to coming.
They move together, rocking back and forth and trading sloppy kisses. It's like an echo chamber; every fevered grunt from Brittany makes Santana's nails scrape over her skin, and every moan from Santana makes Brittany's thrusts more determined. The blonde's hips grind down on her leg to the same rhythm her fingers touch, and Santana encourages her with the hand on her ass, squeezing and scratching. It gets faster and faster, and she's holding her breath, waiting for it to break. Heat flares between her legs, in her chest, up her throat, behind her eyelids.
Suddenly, Brittany's hand stops, her fingers rigid and curled roughly upwards into the spot that makes Santana want to throw her head back and watch the colors burst behind her eyes. But then, there's no follow-up, and Santana can feel her orgasm receding, and — it's not something she's proud of — she gets pissed. "Brittany, what the fuck?!" she groans out, spitefully clawing down Brittany's arm. Brittany gasps but doesn't reply, too busy panting out heavy breaths and burying her face in Santana's neck and quaking, almost collapsed on top of the woman beneath her. "Oh my god, Britt. Did you just—"
Brittany groans into her clavicle, hips rolling into the leg she's still straddling with all the strength in her dancer thighs. Quickly, Santana lets go of the couch and slides her fingers into Brittany's shorts, two inside and her thumb on her clit. Moaning, Brittany greedily bounces on her fingers in short, jerky bursts, riding out the last of her orgasm before she collapses, burying Santana under her dense, sweaty weight.
"'M sorry. Need a min'te," Brittany mumbles into her shoulder. Completely forgetting her previously sour feelings, Santana laughs a little at the picture Brittany makes, all worn out and limp from coming. Brittany doesn't even open her eyes, just smiles lazily at the sound. "L've y'ur laugh," she slurs, pressing a clumsy, blind kiss to the top of the full breast under her cheek.
Chuckling, Santana tucks Brittany's messy hair behind her ear. Everything in her is fondness and love and frustrated arousal. "Is this 'a minute' like that time you had to pee after drinking all that tequila, and you ended up taking off your pants and hiding under a coffee table to sleep?"
The fingers inside her crook, and her legs jerk. The lazy smile on Brittany's face is thrillingly self-satisfied. "Mmm," she hums, "more like that time I drank all the tequila and made you dance naked with me in the sprinklers and then talked you into having sex in the mud."
She can't help her smile at the memory. "That was fun."
Brittany makes an affirmative noise, then heaves herself semi-upright. She pecks Santana with careless lips, more nuzzle than kiss. "You feel so good. I can feel you holding me in. It's so sexy and wet," she murmurs with her tongue super close. "You're so hot. It feels like you're burning me up, in a good way."
It's hard not to feel sexy when Brittany looks at her like that while saying those things in that kind of tone. Santana extracts her hand from inside the harness to the sound of Brittany's whining, quickly hushed by the indirect pressure on her clit as Santana jerks the dildo firmly. Santana raises an eyebrow pointedly, waiting for Brittany to make her next move.
Thankfully, that seems to help Brittany find her second wind. "Are you sure you can take it, baby?"
Nodding wordlessly, Santana settles back and spreads her legs further, giving herself up to Brittany, who slips her fingers out. Grasping the dildo, Brittany guides the tip inside. There's more than enough wetness to make the insertion painless, but Brittany goes slowly anyway. It's all incremental — short, smooth rolls of her hips that push just a little bit more inside with each thrust. It keeps Santana relaxed enough that the almost too full sensation is powerful but not overwhelming.
Once she's buried as deep as she can go, Brittany carefully peels off the glove, turning it inside out before absently tossing it in the general direction of the trash can. Santana appreciates the supplemental wetness between her legs now. Everything is silky and fluid, from the drag of Brittany inside her to the building, unbroken rhythm of Brittany's body between her thighs. She wraps her legs around Brittany and rests her hands at the smallest part of her waist. The way she can feel the supple strength in Brittany's motions makes her toes curl. "Feels so good, Britt," she sighs encouragingly.
Brittany nips at her lips affectionately as she works her back up. Normally, penetration alone doesn't get her very far, and not nearly as high as Brittany's mouth and fingers working in tandem, but this is definitely worlds away from normal. Everything feels more intense, more detailed. She can feel each of the ribs on Brittany's toy as it pulls out and pushes back in, her insides clutching and molding around every ridge.
Everything is quiet, the only sound the wet joining of their bodies. Soon, Santana can feel her pulse in her whole body, and her hands turn to claws around Brittany's waist, nails digging in as her orgasm gets closer. Brittany takes the opportunity to move just a little faster, a little harder. It makes Santana's arms and legs tighten, and she curls into the smothering body above her and buries her face in Brittany's damp skin, just holding on as ripples build into waves in her belly.
As soon as Brittany's thumb glances over her clit, the crest comes, and she rides it until it pulls her under. As she jerks and shudders with loud moans of pleasure, all she can feel is Brittany Brittany Brittany against her and inside her. The motion inside her doesn't stop, and she feels another wave roll through. Blindly, she anchors herself to Brittany as she's pulled under again. Her brain feels like it's floating away, and her face burns, and there are tingles in her fingers and toes.
Her orgasm seems to stretch out forever, going on and on until she's so wrung out that she can't even manage to grip onto Brittany anymore. She's limp and sated and absolutely giddy. Brittany is all sticky and solid on top of her, making these happy little hums that vibrate through her, and everything just feels slow and easy. Their breasts just barely graze where Brittany is propped up on her elbows.
"Hmm." Brittany smiles, rubbing their noses together gently. "We should shower, then eat leftovers and watch more girls in chains."
Still not completely lucid, Santana simply nods and watches with lazy hunger as Brittany heaves herself off the couch, naked and glorious with smears of red on her abs. It strikes her as strangely sexy, the bright swatches of something uniquely her painted on the canvas of Brittany. Brittany peels the harness off and throws it on the towels covering the last seat cushion.
Smiling, the blonde reaches down to take her hands and lift her to her feet, steadying her dazed footsteps with both hands around her waist. "I'm going to carry you, okay?" It's phrased like a question, but it's mostly just a warning as Brittany slips one arm behind the back of her knees and sweeps her off her feet. Santana just holds on.