Summary: Santana is a famous singer, and Brittany is her backup dancer. Their sex tape gets leaked.
"So who's your boyfriend this week?" Brittany asks nonchalantly. She's sitting, mostly naked, on the couch in Santana's hotel suite, hunched over her knee and painting her toenails a bright turquoise, a bottle of yellow waiting next to her for polka-dotting purposes.
Santana loves it so much when Brittany's nails match her panties.
"Uh," she says. "I think his name is Sam. Quinn" — one of Santana's friends from before she became the musical phenomenon she is today — "recommended him to me."
"Do you think they ever get sad when you dump them really fast?" Brittany asks, looking a little sad. If it were anyone else asking, Santana would assume they were just implying that they were sad about the secrecy, but, well, Brittany is guileless. Santana's probably just projecting her own feelings of guilt.
"I'm pretty sure they expect it," she replies stiffly. "How much longer are your nails going to take? I wants to get my cuddle on."
Brittany looks up at her and grins. "Great art takes time, sweetie. Why don't you run through that choreography that's been tripping you up while I finish?"
Santana rolls her eyes at Brittany and sticks out her tongue for good measure, but she gets up off the bed, walks over to kiss her girlfriend, and then starts stretching in preparation of attempting the complicated turn for her newest song.
When she's running through it for the third time, Brittany has finished her nails and is wiggling her toes around to dry. She's watching Santana avidly now. "Try turning your toes out when you put your foot down," she suggests. "You won't lose your balance as easily then."
Santana does it once, to moderate success, then throws herself down on the couch next to Britt. "I'd rather dance with you," she says, picking up one of Brittany's feet to examine the polish job. "This is really cute."
"I know." Brittany beams, flexing her toes so that the polish catches the light. "If I weren't your favorite backup dancer slash secret girlfriend, I'd totally be your makeup person."
"As long as you're still in my life," Santana says. She doesn't even feel lame about the sappy shit she says to Brittany anymore. Sometimes she wonders how awful it would be if she just came out and told the world that she already found the love of her life years ago — an awesome, sexy, hot girl who just so happens to be really flexible. But Schuester, her main publicist, keeps insisting that coming out will wreck her demographic, and his work accounts for probably 33% of why she's so famous. Sure, she's talented, but saying and doing the right things are important too.
Santana has pointed out numerous times that being true to herself is also important, but no dice.
When Brittany kisses her, it's like coming home.
About 15 minutes after Santana gets back from her awful date with Sam (he's actually awesome in a dorky sort of way, but he doesn't realize exactly how far this isn't going, which is always awkward), she realizes she doesn't have her phone.
"Babe, have you seen my cell?" she asks Brittany, who is rummaging through the hotel room's minibar for those expensive half-bottles of wine that she loves.
"No, not since you left," Brittany calls back, and Santana allows herself half a minute to admire Brittany's fine ass.
"Kay," Santana responds, trying not to worry about it. Just to be on the safe side, she uses the room phone to call the restaurant she and Sam were at. They haven't seen it.
"You'll probably find it when the alarm starts going off at, like, seven tomorrow morning," Brittany points out, walking back over to the bed, holding two tiny bottles of Bombay Sapphire for Santana and a chardonnay for herself.
"You're right." Santana takes a calming breath. "Okay. Yeah. You're right. It'll show up in the morning."
"Of course I am," Brittany says, kissing Santana on the nose and handing her the gin. "Come on, I want to get tipsy and fuck you for so long that you sleep on the entire bus ride to Chicago tomorrow."
Completely on board with Brittany's suggestion, Santana laughs, unscrews the top of one of the tiny bottles, and downs it in a swallow.
One hour and a shared bottle of champagne later, Santana is feeling wonderfully floaty. Kissing Brittany while champagne-drunk is so much better than the high sex she used to have in college, back before Santana dropped out to pursue a singing career. Brittany's lips are soft underneath her own, and Brittany always rolls into her hand as Santana strokes her side, like the barest brush of Santana's fingertips is electrifying.
It feels like bubbles are popping inside Santana, too, as Brittany flips them over, brushes Santana's hair back, and moves her hand down to push her short skirt up higher. Then, when Brittany crooks a finger under Santana's thong against her pussy, it's less like bubbles and more like firecrackers. Santana knows from experience that this will only get better.
Brittany's moving her finger against Santana's clit now in sharp, sure circles, the kind that always turn Santana into a moaning puddle of arousal on the bed. Santana lets her legs fall open, then slips one up between Britt's legs, pushing up until she can feel the heat of Brittany through her panties, which still match Britt's nail polish except they're totally damper than her nails now.
Brittany gasps, moving her finger faster. When it slips through the slick folds of Santana's pussy, Santana bites her lip hard, staring up at Brittany, eyes wide open. "Babe," she whispers. "Britt-Britt. Please."
"I've got you, San," Brittany says, grinning and shifting against Santana's leg, the damp spot on her panties growing as she does so. She slips a finger into Santana slowly, deliberately, waiting until Santana's hips jerk against her hand before slipping in another finger, thrusting gently. Santana moans, burrowing her face into Brittany's neck, biting at the skin between her neck and shoulder. It's Santana's signature tell that she wants more, and she manages a grin against Britt's skin when the other girl starts pushing harder and faster, adding a third finger at Santana's second moan.
"Babe, I need—" Santana bites out, and Brittany nods, curling her fingers so they hit against Santana's g-spot repeatedly.
"Come for me, sweetie," Brittany whispers. Her hips are still moving against Santana's leg, and Santana wants to taste her so badly, but she literally can't concentrate on anything but the fingers moving — slowly, then quickly, then twisting — inside of her.
She pushes her hips down on Brittany's hand, eyes falling shut as Brittany pinches one of Santana's nipples with her free hand. Then, Brittany twists her nipple, and Santana comes, hard.
When she comes down from her orgasm, Brittany is sitting back and touching herself leisurely, but Santana isn't having any of that. "My turn," she says, knocking Britt's hand aside and settling down between her legs. She pushes her tongue against Britt's underwear, tasting Brittany through the cotton. "Mine," she whispers, licking over the underwear, then pulling it aside so she can taste Britt properly. "All mine."
With that, she flicks her tongue against Britt's clit. Brittany doesn't like it as hard as Santana does, but she likes it faster, and Santana easily finds a rhythm that has Brittany groaning her name. When she is shuddering, her entire body tense with approaching climax, Santana licks her way lower, gently pushing her tongue into Brittany so she can get the rush of wet liquid as Brittany comes.
They wake up to the phone — room phone, not Santana's missing cell phone — ringing. "Don't answer it," Santana groans at Brittany, who just giggles.
"Yeah, okay, but we should probably start heading out, sweetie," she says. "We overslept a little."
Santana squints at the clock. 7:23. That means her phone really is missing. "Fuck," she says, and reaches over to answer the still-ringing room phone. "Lopez."
It's Schuester. "We have to go," he tells her, tightly. "Don't talk to any reporters."
"Okay," Santana says slowly, but before she can ask why, he hangs up. Well.
"Our stuff is all packed," Brittany informs her. "Except the fancy underwear."
"Don't you dare forget that underwear," Santana says, groaning as she rolls out of bed and starts hunting down a change of clothes.
When they finally get outside 40 minutes later, there is a whole crew of paparazzi lying in wait, as well as some reporters. What the fuck?
Someone sticks a microphone in Santana's face. "Is it true that this woman is your lesbian lover?" she shouts.
Santana doesn't know what she'd do without Brittany, who just rolls her eyes at the woman, says, "No comment," and drags Santana into the tour bus. She especially doesn't know what she'd do without Brittany once they get away from the media, because Schuester is waiting in the bus, and he looks livid.
"What happened?" he demands. His hair looks like he's been raking his hands through it all morning.
"What's going on?" Santana asks. She's pretty sure she knows, but she really, really hopes she's wrong.
"There are pictures of the two of you," Schuester says flatly. "Holding hands, hugging, even kissing. This is horrible for your image! Sales are going to go way down."
"My phone," Santana replies glumly. "I lost it. On my date with Sam, I might add. Clearly, dating boys is hurting my reputation at this point."
Schuester just rolls his eyes. "I need to go fix this," he says pointedly. "Try not to fuck things up even further."
"I could fire you," Santana threatens, not entirely seriously. Apart from his insistence on perpetuating the myth of Santana's heterosexuality, he's quite good at what he does, and she's pretty sure that hiring anyone else with his level of experience would cost more than she's willing to pay at this point in her potentially shortened career.
Then again, maybe she's outgrowing him and doesn't want to admit it to herself, since he's been with her since the beginning.
Whatever.
His lips thin, and he turns and walks down the aisle of the bus, taking out his phone and hitting a speed dial. Pulling Santana down onto a couch with her, Brittany also takes out her phone. "Want to check out the damage?"
"I guess." Santana isn't sure how she feels about all of this. Everything is apparently out in the open, which is simultaneously freeing, yet terrifying. Honestly, it's all so sudden that she's mostly just confused.
Brittany just nods, her fingers flying over her phone's keypad, pulling up all the gossip site standards: Perez, TMZ, ONTD, and so on. "The pictures aren't that bad," she concludes after a moment. "Actually, they're some of my favorites. See?"
She holds up the phone, and yeah, most of them are fucking adorable. Still, though. "What are the comments like?" Santana asks tentatively.
Britt scrolls down until she reaches the comments. "Hm, most people seem to think it's a hoax," she says after reading a bunch of them. "Something to raise publicity right before Going Stereo drops." She scrolls further. "A bunch of people think it's totally cute." She looks up and winks at Santana. "For the record, I do too, except we're more totally hot than cute."
"Yeah," Santana says. Her mouth is dry. Would it actually be so bad if people knew it was for real?
"Oh," Brittany says, suddenly sounding disappointed. "There are a few people — not many, but a few — that keep going on about how you're a sinner destined for hell and stuff."
"Fuck." Santana covers her face with her hands. She's not really sure whether she means it more as a "fuck them" or a "fuck my life."
Looking nervous, Brittany puts her hand on Santana's knee. "If you want to stop—" She breaks off, probably due to the completely stricken expression on Santana's face, then hurriedly adds, "I mean, just until this all blows over. We can do that, if you want."
Santana blinks. Then blinks again. For a while, her mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out until: "You aren't getting away from me that easily."
She slides a hand around Brittany's neck, up along the base of her skull, tangling her fingers in Brittany's long hair. And then, even though Schuester is still totally in the bus and will probably have a conniption, she pulls Brittany in closer and fits her mouth over hers and kisses her, soft and close-mouthed at first, then slowly nudging Britt's lips open with her tongue until she is totally and completely pouring all of her love out at the other girl through the kiss.
When she finally pulls away, Brittany makes as if to move back in, then slumps against the back of the couch instead. "Okay," she relents, grinning at Santana. "I believe you. Just…hold off on those kisses until we're alone, okay? Because I really don't have that much self-control, and we all know you definitely don't."
"Oh, fuck you," Santana responds, but she's laughing as she hooks their pinkies together.
At the Chicago show, after Santana's second encore, she decides that her "fuck" earlier is more of a "fuck it" than anything, so she picks up a microphone and drags a chair to the center of the stage. "What's up, Chicago?" she shouts into the mic. "How would you like to hear me try something new that I've never done before?"
The cheers have it, and even though she knows it will get her into monumental amounts of trouble, she starts belting out a song that's been on her iPod since Brittany joined her legion of backup dancers three years ago. It's not traditionally a ballad, but she's singing it like one.
Schuester is going to kill her, and it's really not that great, because, well, arranging a song while she sings it isn't Santana's strongest suit, but she just really loves Jill Sobule's "I Kissed A Girl." If it were pre-planned, she totally would have worked out a mashup with Katy Perry's song too, but whatever. Seriously, fuck it.
When she's done, the entire arena is silent for all of 10 seconds, and she wonders briefly how many people are already uploading their recordings to Tumblr, tweeting about what she just sang and why she might have sung it, or posting on Facebook about how out there that song is. Then suddenly, everyone is cheering, so she stands up, does a little bow, and shouts "Thank you, good night!" before dashing off the stage.
As expected, Schuester is waiting for her, and he is livid. After the longest disappointed look she's ever gotten from him, he tells her, "You have an interview with Ellen next week. Conan too."
Santana just shrugs at him, and his gaze darkens before he storms off.
Whatever. She needs cuddle time with her best girl, so she takes Brittany's hand and leads her to the bunks in the bus, where she pulls Brittany into hers, closes the curtains around them, slips her hand down Brittany's sweats, and strokes her until Brittany comes, shuddering, burying her face in Santana's pillow to muffle her moans.
Almost a week after the leak, Brittany comes across something while they're in another hotel room, this time in LA for her interview with Ellen the next day. She glances up at Santana, her expression a comical combination of arousal and horror.
"Babe, are you okay?" Santana asks. They're lying in bed, under the sheets, with the blanket pushed off to the side, their strap-on waiting on the nightstand to be cleaned off.
"Yeah." Brittany blinks and shakes her head a bit. "Do you remember that, um, video of ours? Did you have it on your phone?"
"I don't remember," Santana says, biting her lip. "Surely it'd be out by now, though, right?"
Brittany exhales loudly. "Well…I found a link to watch it."
"Well, fuck."
Brittany looks at Santana sympathetically…then clicks the link. "Might as well make the most of it," she says and shrugs as Santana sputters.
They watch it pretty often, actually — maybe once or twice a month. Watching porn featuring herself and her best girl is better than any other porn out there. But this is different, because Santana can see the hit count, and she knows that there are hundreds of pervs on the internet right now, watching the video and probably rubbing one out while they do so.
Brittany hits play.
The video starts with Santana's swinging breasts right up in the camera as she sets it down, then adjusts it so that it focuses on the bed. Her dark nipple is on one edge of the frame, while a pink nipple that is obviously rock-hard with arousal is visible at the very corner of the other side. The curves of her breasts blur as she turns. Then, as she retreats, more of her body becomes visible: first, her upper back, then more of the small of her back, and then her fantastic (if she does say so herself) rounded ass. She joins Brittany, who is already naked, on the bed.
The blonde giggles as she twists up to kiss Santana, drawing her down slowly on top of her, running a deliberate hand down Santana's side and giggling harder when Santana squirms at the touch.
The video is erotic in a sensual way, obviously suffused with love, but it's clearly not intended to be titillating. There are no close-ups of Santana's breasts bouncing (after the first few seconds, anyway) while Brittany runs her hand over them, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger deliberately, twisting both of them, then moving down Santana's body to replace her fingers with her mouth. It's more implied than shown that Brittany is sucking gently at Santana's nipple, tongue swirling over the tip in tantalizingly concentric circles. You can't see the wetness between Santana's legs that first gushes, then seeps, as Brittany moves her hands lower, first cupping them against the mound of Santana's crotch, then teasing the tips of her fingers against Santana's clit.
However, you can see Santana's teeth as she takes Brittany's earlobe in her mouth, tugging on it with light, nipping bites, swirling her tongue in the shell of her ear, then sucking on the lobe until a moan — somewhat muted, but that's due more to the audio quality on the camera than anything else — rips free from Brittany's mouth.
Brittany is now stroking Santana's clit, and Santana's mouth falls open and away from Britt's ear, working silently at first, and then with low, hitching gasps. Her free hand slips around, stroking down from the small of Santana's back to her ass, where it kneads gently. The pale skin of her hand stands in sharp contrast to Santana's tanned ass, which only serves to accentuate the push and pull of the flesh on Santana's backside as Brittany moves her hand toward Santana's most secret sweet spot: right where her butt cheek meets her left thigh.
Despite the fact that she knows that probably thousands of other people are seeing it right now — or perhaps because of that fact, which is a thought that Santana doesn't particularly want to entertain right now — Santana is getting fucking hot watching the video, so she pushes her hand between Brittany's legs, where she's still stretched out from Santana fucking her with their biggest strap-on, immediately slips her middle finger into Brittany, and slowly strokes her g-spot. Brittany moans, pushing a leg between both of Santana's, and Santana rolls her hips against her thigh, first slowly, then more quickly as the video starts to heat up.
In the video, Santana remembers herself and moves a hand to cover one of Brittany's breasts, cupping and squeezing before pinching and twisting her nipple hard, so hard that Brittany shouts loudly enough to make the audio on the film break and screech briefly.
While inaudible to viewers, Santana vividly remembers saying, in a soft, marveling tone, "You like it so rough, babe, my god."
And then Brittany's nodding and adding another finger to the one working Santana's clit. Santana gasps, pushing her hips forward into Brittany's hand, but Brittany pulls away. "Hold on. I want…" Brittany says. This time, the camera picks up her words, softly but distinctly, as she pulls her hand away from Santana's ass and pushes the girl fully onto her back.
Santana, watching and knowing what comes next, shudders, grinding down against Britt's thigh harder, moaning at the feel of her cunt slipping over Britt's skin, the feel of Brittany tightening around her fingers.
Brittany moves down the bed, the light of the room glinting against the sweat on her back as she settles between Santana's legs. The video barely picks up the way she presses two fingers slowly into Santana, and definitely doesn't display the feel of Santana's slick folds and tight hole as Brittany gets slowly deeper, knuckle by knuckle, then spreads her fingers apart and gently twists them. Her arm is now positioned in just the right way to allow her to move her head in and taste Santana's juices gathering at the base of her fingers, then lick up to Santana's clit, where she fits her lips around it and sucks, first gently, then harder as Santana's hips continue to roll encouragingly into Brittany's mouth.
The video only picks up the back of Brittany's head, bobbing slightly with the undulation of Santana's body, which is honestly a relief. Santana doesn't want everyone to know exactly what her girl does to make her come so fucking undone. Besides, she can remember each lick, each suck, each press of Brittany's fingers throughout that entire night.
Santana's orgasm is mounting, and Brittany pulls her fingers away, using both hands to push Santana's hips into the bed so she can lap against Santana's clit and then her opening, tasting Santana as she comes hard, crying, "Oh Brittany! God, the things you — holy fuck, babe, shit, YES. Baby, I love you" as she does.
And then Brittany is pulling away, murmuring, "Mine. All mine. I love you. Let's see if we can make you come again" just loudly enough for the microphone in the camera to pick up. She's now sitting up, slipping a leg under one of Santana's, pulling Santana's hips so that their pussies are lined up, slipping against each other as Brittany rolls her hips, and Santana, coming down from her orgasm, starts to do the same.
"You're soaking my leg," Brittany whispers, her voice full of wonder, as Santana thrusts deeper and starts rubbing her clit, intent on making her come before Brittany in the video does. Santana moans as she clenches her muscles just enough to make the next push against Brittany's leg cause her to practically spasm with the sensation.
They don't stay in the position long, because Brittany is wound so tight with arousal that she's losing the rhythm. Santana pulls free and slinks down her body, first pushing a tit against Britt's cunt (it's not obvious in the video, but Santana loves being able to feel and smell Brittany everywhere) and then moving lower, pushing the tip of her tongue hard against it and simply holding it there, allowing Brittany to set the pace with the thrusting of her hips up against it.
The best part, in Santana's opinion, is coming. Although it certainly doesn't happen every time, it was during the making of this video that Santana learned that when Brittany comes especially hard, she squirts, just a little. She also gets really sensitive right before it happens; it's her tell, because when she just can't get enough, her orgasm is a little different. Santana's finger twitches, apparently in just the right way to make Brittany gasp and come, jerking her leg up and causing Santana to come too, as the moment in the film approaches.
Brittany pushes Santana's head lower slightly, her clit completely overstimulated, so that Santana's tongue pushes inside of her, and though nothing is clearly visible in the picture, Santana makes a surprised noise, then a pleased hum, as Brittany comes on her tongue and squirts.
"You taste so good, baby," she husks, moving back up Brittany's body for a full-on kiss, and the camera picks up the barest hint of tongues moving against each other before it runs out of battery, and the screen goes black.
"Fuck," Santana pants, rolling onto her back. She's trembling all over; this always happens when they watch it. "Babe, turn off your phone. I really don't want to talk to Schuester tonight."
Laughing, Brittany does so. They fall asleep with the lights still on, limbs still very much tangled together.
As a result, when Santana gets to Ellen's studio the next day, she has an awful crick in her neck. Totally worth it, though. She's been tuning Schuester out the entire way over; he's on the phone, not actually with her, so it's easier to fake paying attention. The only thing she gets from what he says (apart from the fact that she's caused him a PR nightmare, and it will take forever to clear this up) is that Ellen will probably bring this up and that Santana better have a damn good explanation for it.
Santana thinks the sex tape is pretty self-explanatory, but she doesn't say as much to Schuester. "Don't worry," she finally tells him. "I got this."
When she hangs up on him, she toys with her phone for a few minutes before adding "find new publicist" to her to-do list.
In the studio, Ellen talks about the imminent release of Going Stereo for a few minutes before folding her hands in her lap and saying, "Now, Santana. Last week, some pictures of you were leaked, and I hear that last night, a video was too. Your backup dancer, Brittany Pierce, plays a pretty significant role in the, uh, subject matter of these things. So I just want to ask: how are you feeling about all this?"
Goodbye, Schuester, Santana thinks, deliberately ignoring the lingering thought that if he quits, she won't have to fire him.
Taking a deep breath and twisting her hands together, she smiles pretty for the camera, then responds, "Well, Ellen…Brittany Pierce is not just my backup dancer. She is also my girlfriend, my soulmate, and the love of my life. She is the reason I write the songs I write and sing the songs I sing. She's the reason I wake up every morning with a smile on my face and the reason that I sleep so well at night." She smiles fondly. "Britt's my everything. I wish I could have let the world know that a little differently, but whatever. I'm not ashamed of what we have. I'm the luckiest girl in the world, having her, and I'm glad that now everyone else knows it too."
Santana doesn't remember the rest of the interview, she's trembling so hard.
A year later, she's back on Ellen, talking about a charity she started to help LGBTQ teens who have had a lot worse responses to coming out than she, with her still-rapidly-increasing fanbase and largely positive Tumblr tag, did, when Ellen pauses and grins.
"And now, we have a surprise for everyone watching tonight," she announces, and Santana pauses, having no idea what she's talking about. "A very special someone is here for a very important person. Brittany, why don't you come on out here?"
Santana doesn't know what's going on until Brittany is kneeling down in front of her, and oh God, her third most intimate moment is going to be public too.
Beaming up at her, Brittany says, "I am so happy that I became your backup dancer and then your girlfriend and that you came out on national TV to tell everyone about us. Even if the reason you did it was kind of based on…well, you know." She reaches into an inside pocket of her blazer and continues, "I was and am inspired by you, so I wanted to come onto national TV and ask if you, Santana Lopez, the light of my life and the cutest, hottest person ever, will marry me so that we can be doubly awesome in front of everyone? And I wanted to ask Ellen if she and Portia will come to our wedding if you say yes."
At this point, Santana is full-on sobbing. She pulls Brittany up and, because she might as well give the world one more show, tugs her into a deep kiss, long and soft and probing, before pulling back and saying, "Yes, Britt-Britt. I'll marry you."