Fic: Let's Blame the Heat - (7/?) NC17
Title: Let's Blame the Heat
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: NC17/M
Summary: Santana would like to blame the heat, but it's much more than that; it's all Brittany.
Spoilers: None really, but it's a first-time fic so before they started doing the nasty or telling people about it on the phone.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no money from them.
So sorry for the delay. I suck. I really, really suck. On the bright side though, the slight angsty stuff will clear up over the next few chapters *hides*
Chapter Seven
The TV flickered as a bad horror movie spun silently in the dvd player. There was an endless stream of splattered blood, frightful screams and bad dialog, and neither Brittany nor Santana had the faintest idea what was going on in it, or why they were even still watching it. It was now Thursday night; the movie chosen by Brittany and the popcorn bought by Santana. This is what they did when they could. What they’d been doing since they’d first met. Both of them loved cheesy horror films and indulged as often as possible.
Brittany’s parents had gone out dancing - the dull, couples kind, not disco - leaving the girls to their own devices. They were quite happy staying in with a bad film and fattening snacks they’d never let Sue Sylvester know they even liked let alone ate. Having successfully avoided any topics of conversation with Brittany that might have given Santana a hear attack, they’d spent most of the week as normal, just being friends. Close friends obviously.
There was the odd occasion when Brittany would be much closer to Santana than was probably ever necessary; practically sitting in her lap some days. And Brittany kept smiling at her, even more so than usual, in a way that made Santana furrow her brow and try to ignore what that particular smile did to her. If Brittany knew how Santana felt then she wasn’t making it glaringly obvious, but Santana still felt wary and suspicious, and something was definitely different. Even though Brittany had been overly friendly with her lately, Santana was doing her damndest not to allow herself to get too comfortable with the close contact and the secret glances. She couldn’t dare to hope that they might be thinking and feeling the same things.
And anyway, even if Brittany did want more from Santana, Santana was pretty sure she couldn’t give it. She couldn’t let herself go against everything she thought was normal. Imagining the soft touch of another girl was one thing, actually having that was entirely another. Santana was quite happy pretending that she could stay completely straight if she set her mind to it - no kinks or curves - although it was getting harder every day.
“This movie is dumb,” Brittany said, shovelling popcorn into her mouth without taking her eyes from the screen.
Santana had to agree, but she didn’t. She hadn’t spoken for the last ten minutes, after Brittany had begun to sorely test her resolve by snuggling up to her side on the couch that could clearly seat at least three people. Currently, it seated only the two of them, right at one end with Santana practically looking like she wanted to escape over the cushioned armrest.
It wouldn’t have been fair on Brittany to ask her to move, however, as she was used to being able to drape herself over Santana in any way she wanted. Plus, when Santana allowed herself the slightest bit of enjoyment from it every few minutes she could accept that it was actually quite nice having Brittany pressing against her the way she was. It was entirely distracting, but the film wasn’t great anyway so Santana said nothing, for now.
“Next time, you should choose the movie,” Brittany mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn.
Santana chuckled slightly, not bothering to point out that Brittany always said that, yet every time they went to rent a movie it was Brittany who chose. She would pout otherwise and Santana had learned long ago not to do battle with Brittany’s pout.
“Ok, Brit,” Santana said as she smiled fondly at her friend.
They were quiet for a few minutes, watching some poor girl in the film run around screaming quite unnecessarily. Santana was getting too warm, what with the current heatwave and the fact Brittany was up against her side, her feet up on the cushions. Santana’s skin was beginning to feel sticky where it touched Brittany’s and she knew she should just ask Brittany to move, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to.
No, that wasn’t quite right; she wanted to ask Brittany to move, but couldn’t. All along her left side she felt Brittany’s body heat and her curves, the softness of her, the slight hint of firm muscles that had developed the more she trained for cheerleading, and the more she danced for Glee club. Santana was enjoying this far too much for her to move, even if that enjoyment came with a heavy dose of guilt and self-recrimination.
That guilt was beginning to eat away at her as she felt Brittany sigh in contentment.
“Aren’t you warm?” Santana asked, wriggling a little as she tried to ignore that Brittany’s breast was resting against her arm.
“Uhuh,” Brittany replied with a nod, though didn’t move away; placing a hand on Santana’s thigh instead.
“It’s too warm,” Santana huffed, her breath coming quicker as panic started taking hold.
If she didn’t move soon she’d be in serious danger of just forgetting all about pretending she was the straightest girl that ever was, and she’d acknowledge the tingle of desire currently working its way between her legs.
“We have ice-cream if you want,” Brittany said, brushing her fingertips up and down Santana’s thigh where her hand had strayed.
Ice-cream was both a great idea and a very, very bad one. On the one hand Santana knew it would mean she could actually move away from Brittany to fetch it, and the thought of ice cold vanilla in her mouth was not a horrible one. But she also couldn’t help imagining what else she could do with that ice-cream. Where she could drip it and lick it from; Brittany’s hard abs coming to mind before she could stop it.
“No,” Santana said, feeling more and more flustered by the minute.
“No?” Brittany asked, giving Santana a confused look as she placed the last of the popcorn between her lips.
“No ice-cream,” Santana clarified, absentmindedly watching as Brittany’s lips closed around the popcorn.
If she didn’t know better she’d think that Brittany was holding her gaze on purpose, as a challenge, as she began to chew slowly. Brittany’s pink tongue flicked out at her bottom lip, cleaning it of the butter that the popcorn had been drowning in. It took all of Santana’s will power not to bend forward and help with her own tongue.
She wanted to run it over Brittany’s lip, then slide it into her mouth and kiss her deeply, forcibly, so that Brittany was left in no doubt as to Santana’s intentions.
“Santana?” Brittany questioned, her voice soft, hesitant.
Blinking, Santana willed her heart to stop racing and her body to stop reacting to the desire she so clearly felt. She shook her head to clear it and hardened her features as she looked away, back to the TV screen.
“What?” she answered, acting as if she were annoyed; and really . . . she was. Though it was at herself and not at Brittany.
“I asked why you didn’t want ice-cream. You love ice-cream,” Brittany pointed out.
Santana wondered how she’d missed the question initially, almost laughing at herself as she realised she hadn’t been able to hear anything above the pounding of her own heart as she’d stared at Brittany’s mouth.
She didn’t answer; her mind unable to completely free itself from images of kissing Brittany and pushing her down onto the large couch, indulging, taking. Maybe the last straw had just come and gone. The last of Santana’s pretence that she didn’t really want Brittany in that way. There was no mistaking the way her stomach twisted in want, and the ache between her legs tugged away any hope that she’d been wrong about this.
“Are you ok?” Brittany asked, sounding concerned now as she leaned away just a little from Santana so she could see her more clearly.
Santana was far from ok, but she didn’t know what to say or how to explain herself.
“I’m just getting too hot,” she mumbled brusquely, knowing her excuse was wearing thin and sounded pathetic.
Shifting away from Brittany, Santana moved as if she were about to stand, but Brittany’s hand on her arm held her in place.
“Did I do something wrong again?” Brittany asked, her brow furrowed heavily, making Santana feel horrible.
Her best friend didn’t deserve this, but she couldn’t tell her what was really troubling her. Santana didn’t want to lose Brittany or what they already had. It was a risk too far.
Pulling free of Brittany’s hand, Santana stood up and lingered awkwardly by the couch, smoothing a hand over her pony tail.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she told Brittany, who was still sitting behind her as Santana refused to turn around and meet her eyes. “It’s just that . . . there’s . . .”
She felt more than heard Brittany stand and move close to her back, the warm air in the room shifting slightly. A hand rested on Santana’s shoulder and she almost let loose the grip on everything she wanted; a brief notion of spinning around and pulling Brittany’s body to her own.
“Why are things different now?” Brittany questioned, the worry in her voice evident, piercing Santana in places she didn’t want to feel the guilt. “I don’t understand. You used to like being around me.”
Closing her eyes, Santana’s gut twisted and her hands gripped at the material of her skirt as she fought to hold her tongue, and the truth. The truth could only damage them more than they were already being damaged.
The hand on her shoulder felt heavy, accusing, desperate. Santana wanted to shrug away from it but she held still, hoping Brittany would drop this.
“I still like being around you,” Brittany all but whispered, her fingers moving slightly so they brushed against Santana’s neck, leaving Santana trembling like a fool.
“It’s not that I don’t . . .”
The fingers on Santana’s neck were distracting and she dropped her head forward a little in quiet surrender as the words slipped away from her. Another tremble betrayed her as Brittany’s hand grew bolder across her skin; fingers moving further, practically kneading away the tension from the back of Santana’s neck.
She almost didn’t notice that Brittany had moved closer, but as she felt the soft brush of a tall body against her own - so close, yet maddeningly just shy of what she needed - Santana heard the sigh fall from her own lips before she could stop it. For a moment she wondered how bad it would really be to just step back a little into Brittany; to feel Brittany’s curves against her right then when it would be so much more than just two friends being familiar with each other. When it would be obvious what it meant, what it indicated, what Santana really wanted from her.
“Brittany,” Santana uttered in warning, her voice rough, tainted with the first flickers of arousal.
Brittany’s other hand drifted to Santana’s waist, resting there lightly as a warm breath blew over her neck from behind. Swallowing hard, Santana told herself to run, to get away, to break this before it was too late to deny what Brittany did to her. She didn’t move, however, waiting as if trapped. Tormented by her own weakness. As if reading her mind, Brittany stepped even closer, bringing them together.
The sensation of soft breasts against her back, long legs whispering against her own, and the bold hands - one at her shoulder and one at her hip - had Santana wanting to cry out in defiance of how it made her body tense in its need to be possessed. The ache between her legs was now an annoying throb and she became aware that she was breathing quicker, harder.
Her hands twisted at her skirt, needing something to cling on to as she felt Brittany lean in further, her breath spilling over Santana’s ear.
“Don’t worry,” Brittany said, the closeness of her words, her proximity, her fingers as they squeezed a little making Santana barely able to suppress the moan that bubbled up from her throat. “I think I understand.”
Santana’s pulse pumped hard, her lips parting slightly as she allowed herself this moment of indulgence before she had to warn Brittany that there was probably more to this than what she’d guessed. Before she had to move away and tell Brittany she was mistaken, and save them both from something that would only break what they were and what they had together.
For a brief, tense minute or two Santana thought that Brittany wasn’t going to continue, wasn’t going to tell her what she imagined she understood. But then she felt lips even closer to her and her legs grew embarrassingly weak and shaky.
“I want you too,” Brittany said softly, her lips brushing against Santana’s ear.
This time a small moan did escape Santana’s grasp and she felt like she had an octopus in her stomach, threatening to overwhelm her with need. When the tip of Brittany’s tongue flicked out at her earlobe, making Santana shudder and feel decidedly out of control she knew she either had to admit her failure to deny what she felt, or succumb to its temptation without reserve. She wasn’t sure which prospect scared her more.
She wasn’t even sure if Brittany knew exactly what she was saying, or how it would change everything. How it would make them different. How it would be impossible to go back to what they were.
“Will you stay with me?” Brittany implored as Santana tensed, feeling the need to run. “Stay tonight?”
There was need in Brittany’s voice; need and expectation, and a clarity that Brittany rarely possessed. It terrified Santana.
She pulled away from Brittany abruptly, turning towards her, her face contorted in anger.
“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Santana exclaimed bluntly. “You’ve got it wrong.”
Brittany just stared at her, confusion in her features and a sadness to her eyes.
Santana almost broke then; almost reached out to Brittany to sink into her arms. But she couldn’t do this.
“San?” Brittany whispered; disappointment obvious in the way she looked at Santana.
She stepped forward slightly and Santana moved backwards, towards the door.
“Don’t touch me,” Santana warned. “Don’t . . .”
The words died on her lips and she shook her head angrily, hating that she was weak for wanting, and hating that she was even weaker for not allowing it.
She rushed out of the door before Brittany could say anything more, her face red with embarrassment and tears in her eyes. This was not how she’d envisioned her life; desperately wanting more from a girl that was too sweet, too kind to fully comprehend what it would mean. Falling for a friend who trusted her implicitly.
Falling for her and only just realising it as she slammed the door to her car and got away as fast as she could, her heart aching with its sudden awareness.
This couldn’t be her life.
TBC...
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: NC17/M
Summary: Santana would like to blame the heat, but it's much more than that; it's all Brittany.
Spoilers: None really, but it's a first-time fic so before they started doing the nasty or telling people about it on the phone.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no money from them.
So sorry for the delay. I suck. I really, really suck. On the bright side though, the slight angsty stuff will clear up over the next few chapters *hides*
Chapter Seven
The TV flickered as a bad horror movie spun silently in the dvd player. There was an endless stream of splattered blood, frightful screams and bad dialog, and neither Brittany nor Santana had the faintest idea what was going on in it, or why they were even still watching it. It was now Thursday night; the movie chosen by Brittany and the popcorn bought by Santana. This is what they did when they could. What they’d been doing since they’d first met. Both of them loved cheesy horror films and indulged as often as possible.
Brittany’s parents had gone out dancing - the dull, couples kind, not disco - leaving the girls to their own devices. They were quite happy staying in with a bad film and fattening snacks they’d never let Sue Sylvester know they even liked let alone ate. Having successfully avoided any topics of conversation with Brittany that might have given Santana a hear attack, they’d spent most of the week as normal, just being friends. Close friends obviously.
There was the odd occasion when Brittany would be much closer to Santana than was probably ever necessary; practically sitting in her lap some days. And Brittany kept smiling at her, even more so than usual, in a way that made Santana furrow her brow and try to ignore what that particular smile did to her. If Brittany knew how Santana felt then she wasn’t making it glaringly obvious, but Santana still felt wary and suspicious, and something was definitely different. Even though Brittany had been overly friendly with her lately, Santana was doing her damndest not to allow herself to get too comfortable with the close contact and the secret glances. She couldn’t dare to hope that they might be thinking and feeling the same things.
And anyway, even if Brittany did want more from Santana, Santana was pretty sure she couldn’t give it. She couldn’t let herself go against everything she thought was normal. Imagining the soft touch of another girl was one thing, actually having that was entirely another. Santana was quite happy pretending that she could stay completely straight if she set her mind to it - no kinks or curves - although it was getting harder every day.
“This movie is dumb,” Brittany said, shovelling popcorn into her mouth without taking her eyes from the screen.
Santana had to agree, but she didn’t. She hadn’t spoken for the last ten minutes, after Brittany had begun to sorely test her resolve by snuggling up to her side on the couch that could clearly seat at least three people. Currently, it seated only the two of them, right at one end with Santana practically looking like she wanted to escape over the cushioned armrest.
It wouldn’t have been fair on Brittany to ask her to move, however, as she was used to being able to drape herself over Santana in any way she wanted. Plus, when Santana allowed herself the slightest bit of enjoyment from it every few minutes she could accept that it was actually quite nice having Brittany pressing against her the way she was. It was entirely distracting, but the film wasn’t great anyway so Santana said nothing, for now.
“Next time, you should choose the movie,” Brittany mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn.
Santana chuckled slightly, not bothering to point out that Brittany always said that, yet every time they went to rent a movie it was Brittany who chose. She would pout otherwise and Santana had learned long ago not to do battle with Brittany’s pout.
“Ok, Brit,” Santana said as she smiled fondly at her friend.
They were quiet for a few minutes, watching some poor girl in the film run around screaming quite unnecessarily. Santana was getting too warm, what with the current heatwave and the fact Brittany was up against her side, her feet up on the cushions. Santana’s skin was beginning to feel sticky where it touched Brittany’s and she knew she should just ask Brittany to move, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to.
No, that wasn’t quite right; she wanted to ask Brittany to move, but couldn’t. All along her left side she felt Brittany’s body heat and her curves, the softness of her, the slight hint of firm muscles that had developed the more she trained for cheerleading, and the more she danced for Glee club. Santana was enjoying this far too much for her to move, even if that enjoyment came with a heavy dose of guilt and self-recrimination.
That guilt was beginning to eat away at her as she felt Brittany sigh in contentment.
“Aren’t you warm?” Santana asked, wriggling a little as she tried to ignore that Brittany’s breast was resting against her arm.
“Uhuh,” Brittany replied with a nod, though didn’t move away; placing a hand on Santana’s thigh instead.
“It’s too warm,” Santana huffed, her breath coming quicker as panic started taking hold.
If she didn’t move soon she’d be in serious danger of just forgetting all about pretending she was the straightest girl that ever was, and she’d acknowledge the tingle of desire currently working its way between her legs.
“We have ice-cream if you want,” Brittany said, brushing her fingertips up and down Santana’s thigh where her hand had strayed.
Ice-cream was both a great idea and a very, very bad one. On the one hand Santana knew it would mean she could actually move away from Brittany to fetch it, and the thought of ice cold vanilla in her mouth was not a horrible one. But she also couldn’t help imagining what else she could do with that ice-cream. Where she could drip it and lick it from; Brittany’s hard abs coming to mind before she could stop it.
“No,” Santana said, feeling more and more flustered by the minute.
“No?” Brittany asked, giving Santana a confused look as she placed the last of the popcorn between her lips.
“No ice-cream,” Santana clarified, absentmindedly watching as Brittany’s lips closed around the popcorn.
If she didn’t know better she’d think that Brittany was holding her gaze on purpose, as a challenge, as she began to chew slowly. Brittany’s pink tongue flicked out at her bottom lip, cleaning it of the butter that the popcorn had been drowning in. It took all of Santana’s will power not to bend forward and help with her own tongue.
She wanted to run it over Brittany’s lip, then slide it into her mouth and kiss her deeply, forcibly, so that Brittany was left in no doubt as to Santana’s intentions.
“Santana?” Brittany questioned, her voice soft, hesitant.
Blinking, Santana willed her heart to stop racing and her body to stop reacting to the desire she so clearly felt. She shook her head to clear it and hardened her features as she looked away, back to the TV screen.
“What?” she answered, acting as if she were annoyed; and really . . . she was. Though it was at herself and not at Brittany.
“I asked why you didn’t want ice-cream. You love ice-cream,” Brittany pointed out.
Santana wondered how she’d missed the question initially, almost laughing at herself as she realised she hadn’t been able to hear anything above the pounding of her own heart as she’d stared at Brittany’s mouth.
She didn’t answer; her mind unable to completely free itself from images of kissing Brittany and pushing her down onto the large couch, indulging, taking. Maybe the last straw had just come and gone. The last of Santana’s pretence that she didn’t really want Brittany in that way. There was no mistaking the way her stomach twisted in want, and the ache between her legs tugged away any hope that she’d been wrong about this.
“Are you ok?” Brittany asked, sounding concerned now as she leaned away just a little from Santana so she could see her more clearly.
Santana was far from ok, but she didn’t know what to say or how to explain herself.
“I’m just getting too hot,” she mumbled brusquely, knowing her excuse was wearing thin and sounded pathetic.
Shifting away from Brittany, Santana moved as if she were about to stand, but Brittany’s hand on her arm held her in place.
“Did I do something wrong again?” Brittany asked, her brow furrowed heavily, making Santana feel horrible.
Her best friend didn’t deserve this, but she couldn’t tell her what was really troubling her. Santana didn’t want to lose Brittany or what they already had. It was a risk too far.
Pulling free of Brittany’s hand, Santana stood up and lingered awkwardly by the couch, smoothing a hand over her pony tail.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she told Brittany, who was still sitting behind her as Santana refused to turn around and meet her eyes. “It’s just that . . . there’s . . .”
She felt more than heard Brittany stand and move close to her back, the warm air in the room shifting slightly. A hand rested on Santana’s shoulder and she almost let loose the grip on everything she wanted; a brief notion of spinning around and pulling Brittany’s body to her own.
“Why are things different now?” Brittany questioned, the worry in her voice evident, piercing Santana in places she didn’t want to feel the guilt. “I don’t understand. You used to like being around me.”
Closing her eyes, Santana’s gut twisted and her hands gripped at the material of her skirt as she fought to hold her tongue, and the truth. The truth could only damage them more than they were already being damaged.
The hand on her shoulder felt heavy, accusing, desperate. Santana wanted to shrug away from it but she held still, hoping Brittany would drop this.
“I still like being around you,” Brittany all but whispered, her fingers moving slightly so they brushed against Santana’s neck, leaving Santana trembling like a fool.
“It’s not that I don’t . . .”
The fingers on Santana’s neck were distracting and she dropped her head forward a little in quiet surrender as the words slipped away from her. Another tremble betrayed her as Brittany’s hand grew bolder across her skin; fingers moving further, practically kneading away the tension from the back of Santana’s neck.
She almost didn’t notice that Brittany had moved closer, but as she felt the soft brush of a tall body against her own - so close, yet maddeningly just shy of what she needed - Santana heard the sigh fall from her own lips before she could stop it. For a moment she wondered how bad it would really be to just step back a little into Brittany; to feel Brittany’s curves against her right then when it would be so much more than just two friends being familiar with each other. When it would be obvious what it meant, what it indicated, what Santana really wanted from her.
“Brittany,” Santana uttered in warning, her voice rough, tainted with the first flickers of arousal.
Brittany’s other hand drifted to Santana’s waist, resting there lightly as a warm breath blew over her neck from behind. Swallowing hard, Santana told herself to run, to get away, to break this before it was too late to deny what Brittany did to her. She didn’t move, however, waiting as if trapped. Tormented by her own weakness. As if reading her mind, Brittany stepped even closer, bringing them together.
The sensation of soft breasts against her back, long legs whispering against her own, and the bold hands - one at her shoulder and one at her hip - had Santana wanting to cry out in defiance of how it made her body tense in its need to be possessed. The ache between her legs was now an annoying throb and she became aware that she was breathing quicker, harder.
Her hands twisted at her skirt, needing something to cling on to as she felt Brittany lean in further, her breath spilling over Santana’s ear.
“Don’t worry,” Brittany said, the closeness of her words, her proximity, her fingers as they squeezed a little making Santana barely able to suppress the moan that bubbled up from her throat. “I think I understand.”
Santana’s pulse pumped hard, her lips parting slightly as she allowed herself this moment of indulgence before she had to warn Brittany that there was probably more to this than what she’d guessed. Before she had to move away and tell Brittany she was mistaken, and save them both from something that would only break what they were and what they had together.
For a brief, tense minute or two Santana thought that Brittany wasn’t going to continue, wasn’t going to tell her what she imagined she understood. But then she felt lips even closer to her and her legs grew embarrassingly weak and shaky.
“I want you too,” Brittany said softly, her lips brushing against Santana’s ear.
This time a small moan did escape Santana’s grasp and she felt like she had an octopus in her stomach, threatening to overwhelm her with need. When the tip of Brittany’s tongue flicked out at her earlobe, making Santana shudder and feel decidedly out of control she knew she either had to admit her failure to deny what she felt, or succumb to its temptation without reserve. She wasn’t sure which prospect scared her more.
She wasn’t even sure if Brittany knew exactly what she was saying, or how it would change everything. How it would make them different. How it would be impossible to go back to what they were.
“Will you stay with me?” Brittany implored as Santana tensed, feeling the need to run. “Stay tonight?”
There was need in Brittany’s voice; need and expectation, and a clarity that Brittany rarely possessed. It terrified Santana.
She pulled away from Brittany abruptly, turning towards her, her face contorted in anger.
“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Santana exclaimed bluntly. “You’ve got it wrong.”
Brittany just stared at her, confusion in her features and a sadness to her eyes.
Santana almost broke then; almost reached out to Brittany to sink into her arms. But she couldn’t do this.
“San?” Brittany whispered; disappointment obvious in the way she looked at Santana.
She stepped forward slightly and Santana moved backwards, towards the door.
“Don’t touch me,” Santana warned. “Don’t . . .”
The words died on her lips and she shook her head angrily, hating that she was weak for wanting, and hating that she was even weaker for not allowing it.
She rushed out of the door before Brittany could say anything more, her face red with embarrassment and tears in her eyes. This was not how she’d envisioned her life; desperately wanting more from a girl that was too sweet, too kind to fully comprehend what it would mean. Falling for a friend who trusted her implicitly.
Falling for her and only just realising it as she slammed the door to her car and got away as fast as she could, her heart aching with its sudden awareness.
This couldn’t be her life.
TBC...