Drabbletag - Hair
Title: Blonde
Prompt: Drabbletag 5 - Hair
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 250
Santana watches the flash of gold under the bright stage lights, Brittany’s hair fanning out as she spins. She’s smiling, laughing, feet tapping out rhythms, hips undulating and arms drawing patterns in the air.
Rachel’s bickering with Mr Schue, as per usual. Probably demanding that her solo be longer, or that everybody should just sit quietly on the sidelines while she sings everything, or wanting them to wear sweaters with Rachel’s face emblazoned across the front; Santana doesn’t know, she’s long since tuned Rachel out.
Whatever it is that’s crawled up Rachel’s ass, the whole group has learned to take these arguments as an impromptu break. Santana’s found herself a seat towards the back of the auditorium, fiddling absentmindedly with her phone, but her attention is solely on Brittany.
Mike has one hand on Brittany’s waist, and he twirls her out, catches her wrist and twirls her back in. Her hair flutters around her like a halo, and Santana lets herself get lost in watching the movement, in the hypnotic sway of all that blonde hair.
Santana knows from experience how good it feels, hair falling over her thighs as Brittany licks between her legs. She knows how soft it is when she tangles her fingers in it, guiding Brittany to fuck her harder, rocking into every thrust of Brittany’s tongue.
Santana loves that hair. Especially when Brittany pirouettes a little too far to the left of the stage, and her hair whips Rachel right across her big fat mouth.
Prompt: Drabbletag 5 - Hair
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 250
Santana watches the flash of gold under the bright stage lights, Brittany’s hair fanning out as she spins. She’s smiling, laughing, feet tapping out rhythms, hips undulating and arms drawing patterns in the air.
Rachel’s bickering with Mr Schue, as per usual. Probably demanding that her solo be longer, or that everybody should just sit quietly on the sidelines while she sings everything, or wanting them to wear sweaters with Rachel’s face emblazoned across the front; Santana doesn’t know, she’s long since tuned Rachel out.
Whatever it is that’s crawled up Rachel’s ass, the whole group has learned to take these arguments as an impromptu break. Santana’s found herself a seat towards the back of the auditorium, fiddling absentmindedly with her phone, but her attention is solely on Brittany.
Mike has one hand on Brittany’s waist, and he twirls her out, catches her wrist and twirls her back in. Her hair flutters around her like a halo, and Santana lets herself get lost in watching the movement, in the hypnotic sway of all that blonde hair.
Santana knows from experience how good it feels, hair falling over her thighs as Brittany licks between her legs. She knows how soft it is when she tangles her fingers in it, guiding Brittany to fuck her harder, rocking into every thrust of Brittany’s tongue.
Santana loves that hair. Especially when Brittany pirouettes a little too far to the left of the stage, and her hair whips Rachel right across her big fat mouth.