Fic: Bottom
“Pathetic!” Sue’s loudspeaker blares across the field. Santana winces, and fumbles her hold on Brittany again; the blonde nearly tumbles off her shoulders, but realigns herself in time. Her leg muscles quiver, and she holds back a groan when Coach Sylvester’s eyes move like a hawk to the movement. “Use those muscles like you mean it! I want to see the sweat evaporating off your skin before it even has the chance to ooze from your pores and infect your uniforms!”
Santana bites her lip to hold back an angry huff, tensing her muscles and holding her position, even though every fiber is screaming at her to stop. She feels Brittany’s eyes on her, but keeps her gaze averted.
A few seconds later, Sue yells, “Disgraceful! Hit the showers before the stench of your dismal mediocrity permeates my outfit and I’m forced to suspend the tanning privileges of every one of you to pay for a custom track suit weaved of spider silk!”
Santana’s heart skips a beat when Sue mentions the tanning privileges, but she sighs in relief and stretches her shoulders when Brittany jumps down and is caught by the spotters. She’s at her side immediately.
“That was mean, wasn’t it?” she asks.
“Whatever,” Santana huffs, and starts to walk to the locker room. Brittany follows close behind.
“I bet she didn’t mean it. Spider’s silk is only used for bulletproof vests, not track suits,” she quips, and Santana raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.
They pass Sue on the way to the locker rooms and Santana slows down, looking back at their coach. Maybe… Just maybe…
“Coach,” she calls quickly, before she can lose her courage. Sue looks up with a scowl.
“Stacks,” she says by way of acknowledgement, disinterestedly perusing her clipboard, and Santana trots up to stand at attention in front of her.
“I was wondering if…” she starts, but Sue interrupts her.
“Whatever it is, I’m just going to save you some embarrassment and say no right now,” she barks.
“But - “ Santana tries again.
“You’re still bottom of the pyramid,” she says gruffly, and marks something on her clipboard.
“Coach - ”
“Your alien implants clearly haven’t acclimatized to the gravity on this planet, and they are pulling you down.”
“But I did flawlessly today!”
Sue grunts. “You call that flawless? Your moves today would have made my grandmother cringe - and she doesn’t cringe easy. She chewed off her own foot when she got caught in a bear trap hunting grizzlies in the Rocky Mountains in 1912.”
Santana frowns at the image, but then snaps, “Well, what the hell do I need to do then?”
Sue narrows her eyes at Santana’s insolent tone, and takes a menacing step forward. Santana cowers. “What you need to do… is to work until the heat radiating off your muscles melts the silicone in your synthetic double window displays. I want moves so hot those repulsive mammary cannons to start giving evaporated milk. Do you understand me?”
Santana gulps and nods.
“Good. Until then, you will stay right where you belong: bottom.”
With that, Sue shoulders her megaphone, snaps her fingers to bring Becky to her side, and walks away squarely, leaving Santana fuming in silence. She turns around furiously and nearly knocks Brittany down.
“San,” Brittany mutters pityingly, but Santana’s glare shuts her up.
“Don’t. Let’s go,” she snaps, and drags Brittany to the locker room. It’s deserted already, and Santana sighs in relief. “Come on,” she mutters, and pulls off her skirt and top quickly. She grabs Brittany’s hand again and tightens her grip to pull her to the showers. As soon as she rounds the corner to privacy, she spins around and pulls Brittany against her, pushing her lips against her neck and smirking satisfyingly when Brittany lets out a surprised gasp.
“San,” Brittany repeats, but it’s anything but pityingly this time. Santana’s smirk widens. This is what she needs, the power, the thrill, the knowledge that one person still admires her every move - especially when those moves elicit anything from appreciative gasps to high-pitches moans.
“San… here?” Brittany asks distractedly, even while her hands are sliding over Santana’s back and she’s arching her neck to give her better access.
“Why not?” Santana mutters back.
“Because coach - and I - forbade you to,” a voice suddenly snaps from behind them, and Santana and Brittany jump apart in surprise to find Quinn with her hands on her hips and a petulant frown on her face. She doesn’t even bother to avert her eyes when she notices Santana is only in her unmentionables.
“Jesus, Quinn, what the hell are you doing here?” Santana snaps.
“Locking up. Brittany breathes… and moans… really loudly,” she says matter-of-factly.
Brittany blushes and takes a step behind Santana, hiding herself from Quinn’s glare. Santana rolls her eyes at the fact that Brittany is hiding behind her, when she’s the one who’s half-naked under Quinn’s gaze. She lifts her chin and gets ready to tell Quinn to kindly fuck off, but the blonde beats her to it.
“Get dressed and get out before I report you.”
“Screw you,” Santana snaps back, and turns slightly to pull Brittany into a shower stall.
Quinn raises her eyebrows and tilts her head, putting on a calculating expression. “You’re already bottom, Santana. One more misstep and you’re out.” Santana freezes. “I’d hate it if this little escapade got back to Sue somehow,” Quinn continues dangerously, and Santana fumes. She takes a quick, menacing step forward, but Brittany puts a hand on her stomach to hold her back.
“We’ll find somewhere else,” she whispers in her ear so only Santana can hear, and part of her anger turns instantly into remembered arousal. The rest of her is still shaking in outrage, but she bites her tongue, squares her shoulders, and grabs Brittany’s hand.
“Fine. Enjoy your captaincy while you can,” she hisses, and stalks past Quinn, shoving her shoulder against her as she goes. She drags Brittany to the lockers, quickly dresses, and then urges her out the door. Quinn glares at them as they pass, but Santana ignores her.
“Can I get dressed too?” Brittany squeaks.
Santana grins as she pulls her down the hallway, turning and grabbing the handle of a janitor’s closet as she brushes Brittany’s lips with hers. “Kind of pointless since I’m going to undress you,” she purrs seductively, and feels Brittany suddenly return her kiss with ardor, pushing her up against the door.
Santana turns the handle and stumbles backward. Brittany follows after her, pouting her lips and attempting to recapture Santana’s as the brunette steps out of her reach. Santana smiles at the adorably needy expression on her face as Brittany opens her eyes to aim her kiss, but the expression quickly turns to frozen horror when Brittany looks past her. Santana follows her gaze and jumps back against Brittany at what she sees.
A giant something is pushing Puck up against the cupboards, shoving its body against his insistently as he lets out repetitive squeaks - of pleasure or of pain, Santana can’t decide. Its legs are planted shoulder-width apart, and it’s pushing so hard the cupboard creaks and squeaks in protest and rolls of toilet paper tumble down and litter the floor. She scrutinizes the attacker. Lauren, she realizes with a horrified jolt. Puck reaches his arms around her and runs his hands over whatever he can reach, but Lauren lets out a low warning growl, and Puck squeals at the sound and lets his hands fall to his side as Lauren continues her relentless kissing.
Santana gags and stumbles back at the sight. Brittany touches her on the shoulder and slowly backs both of them out of the closet before the bestial couple can realize they were caught. Brittany closes the janitor closet door softly, and turns to look at Santana with a horror-struck expression.
“Was that - ”
“Yeah.”
“Were they - ”
“Yeah.” Santana gulps when the realization sets in, and she shivers in disgust.
“Gross.” Brittany scrunches up her face, and Santana has to smile at the endearing way her nose turns crooked, her dimples deepen, and her eyes crinkle. She shakes herself to clear the mental image that she never wishes she’d seen, and grabs Brittany’s hand again, leading her down the hallways to the next door. It’s locked. She tries the next one, but it’s occupied by Quinn and her Chastity Club as she makes the opening speech. Santana peers in and gives Quinn the finger when the blonde spots her. She’s happy to see she stops mid-speech and only continues on after being prompted, completely flustered and jaded.
The next rooms are filled with the AV club, the chess club, and after-school Spanish. Santana rolls her eyes when yet another door is locked.
“Damn it, are there no free classrooms?” she mutters as Brittany sidles up behind her and kisses her neck unhurriedly. She slides her hands across her stomach and pulls her closer, and any residual memory of Puck and Lauren going at it is banished from her mind, replaced by a pressing need to find a place to get Brittany undressed.
“How about right here?” Brittany murmurs against her skin as though she read Santana’s mind. Santana leans against her and lets out a sigh of appreciation. Still, she shakes her head ‘no’ at Brittany’s suggestion. Brittany’s hand inches under Santana’s top and brushes across her abs, fingers splaying and kneading over her skin as goosebumps raise under her touch.
“Are you sure?”
“Damn it, Brittany,” Santana mutters with a shudder, and turns herself around to push Brittany almost roughly against the glass outside Figgins’ office and kiss her fiercely. She pins her against the glass with a quick thrust of her hips and feels Brittany let out a sharp breath against her kiss. Screw finding a classroom. I need this. Nobody’s here, Figgins’ office is empty -
Santana freezes mid-kiss at the thought. Figgins’ office is empty. Brittany tries to kiss her again with eyebrows knit in confusion at Santana’s unresponsiveness, and Santana looks over Brittany’s shoulder. Couch. Score.
“Come on,” she whispers eagerly, and urges Brittany into the office, closing the door behind them and flicking the lock with a grin.
“Are we going to - ”
“Yup,” Santana states simply and plops down on the couch, patting the empty spot on the green leather for Brittany. The blonde grins mischievously and hops on Santana’s lap instead, straddling her hips. She leans down and kisses her fiercely, and Santana’s neck bends over the edge of the couch. Her hands settle on Brittany’s hips and push up her Cheerio’s skirt. Brittany presses up against her, her breasts brushing Santana’s neck, but it breaks the kiss and she whines in disapproval (Santana smiles affectionately at the expression). Suddenly, Brittany grins, and wastes no time in pressing her body down onto Santana’s, twisting them both around, and pushing Santana’s shoulders up against the armrest as she hovers over her.
“I always wanted to make out on the principle’s couch,” Brittany mutters as she places kisses along Santana’s jaw, and then adds, “and on a trampoline.”
Santana lets out a laugh. “A trampoline?”
Brittany pulls back and smiles. “Yup.”
Santana’s mind briefly wanders, and it’s suddenly filled with images of Brittany jumping naked on the trampoline, rolling around with her, and the springs creaking in rhythm to their movements. Even while she laughs at the thought (and the fact that somehow ‘making out on a trampoline’ turned into ‘going at it on a trampoline’), she’s strangely turned on.
“Later,” she promises eagerly, and Brittany kisses her again. She presses her body down onto Santana, looping her arms around her neck and deepening the kiss as Santana raises one of her legs and nestles it between Brittany’s. She runs her hands over the blonde’s back, loving the way the fabric of her Cheerio’s uniform pulls up at the touch, letting her tease her fingers across Brittany’s bare skin, and the way Brittany squirms at the movements. She smiles into the kiss, and Brittany mirrors it, and then they’re both smiling and not kissing anymore, and Santana catches the laughter in Brittany’s eyes at the situation. But a few seconds pass and Santana scrapes her throat at the lack of action and Brittany giggles.
“Oh, right,” she murmurs, and kisses Santana again. She’s still smiling though, and Santana can feel it in the kiss, so she pushes her leg up between Brittany’s to get her to focus. It has the desired effect: Brittany lets out a sharp breath against her lips, and presses down more forcefully. She probes her tongue forward and flicks it over Santana’s top lip experimentally. Santana gives her access immediately, and strains her neck forward to increase the pressure.
Her hands find their way behind Brittany’s neck to knead and brush the skin there. She trails her fingers over her shoulder, across her upper arm, and then, with a smirk, dips her fingers under Brittany’s arm brushes along her armpit. Santana nearly breaks out laughing at the instant reaction: Brittany gasps onto her lips and whimpers her approval.
“San,” she murmurs, and grinds her body down. Santana gasps in turn and pulls Brittany against her harder. She kisses her forcefully and slides her tongue between her lips. Brittany hums on her lips, the vibration sending shivers across Santana’s neck, and reaches up and cups Santana’s face so that two of her fingers nestle behind Santana’s ear and brush past her earlobe softly. Santana almost wishes it could be her lips instead, but then Brittany bites down playfully on her bottom lip and she loses the thought.
“Mmm,” she hums in liking, and Brittany bites down again, drawing and sucking her lip into her mouth and nearly pulling out a hickey on the skin below the edge of her lip before letting it slip out and be dried by Santana’s ragged breathing.
Santana sighs as she moves her kisses lower, along her jaw, her neck, the edge of her shirt. Brittany hooks a finger into the hem of her top and pulls until the edge of her bra peeks out. She teases her fingers along the edge, and peppers kisses over her breast. Santana tightens her hold on the back of Brittany’s neck and arches herself off the couch as Brittany sucks on her skin and dips her fingers under the edge of her bra, reaching ever closer for her nipple but never quite brushing past it. She turns her neck when Brittany kisses her throat and flicks her tongue past her earlobe, and lets out a contented sigh. Brittany moves her weight forward and slides up against her again, Santana’s knee still pressed between her legs.
“More,” Santana whispers, and Brittany kisses the words from her lips, exploring her mouth with an eager tongue when Santana lets her lips go loose and lazy. Brittany pushes her tongue forward, urging Santana to respond, to work, and whines when Santana just runs her hands absentmindedly over the back of her neck and kisses back with minimal effort.
“Santana…” she murmurs querulously, but Santana just pulls her back to her lips. Brittany moves away, and frowns at her disapprovingly until Santana opens her eyes when her urging hands have no effect, and tilts her head at Brittany’s expression.
“What?”
“You’re so lazy. I know you’re usually on top, but you gotta put in at least some effort when you’re bottom.”
As soon as the words leave Brittany’s mouth, she bites her lips in regret. Santana narrows her eyes and squares her shoulders acrimoniously as thoughts of their coach’s words float in automatically.
“You too, huh?” she snaps, sliding her hands off the back of Brittany’s neck. Brittany pouts.
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Whatever,” Santana grumbles gruffly, and shifts under Brittany. The blonde lifts herself up on her arms, but doesn’t let Santana go anywhere.
“San, come on. Don’t be like that.”
“I’m not like anything,” she snaps, and then rolls her eyes at her lame response. She doesn’t try to escape from Brittany’s hold, though, and Brittany grins deviously at the small victory, and leans down a little bit, letting her lips brush across Santana jaw when Santana pulls her face away angrily at the movement.
“You know you secretly like being bottom,” she murmurs seductively.
“Yeah, right,” Santana huffs, but inadvertently tenses her fingers on Brittany’s hips as Brittany continues to kiss her jaw and neck. Brittany smirks and flicks her tongue over Santana’s skin.
“Come on. Show me what you got,” she mumbles, and bites on Santana’s neck before pulling away to hover over her lips. Santana narrows her eyes at Brittany’s testing tone. First Sue, and now Brittany. What is it with everyone today? she thinks, annoyed, but Brittany twitches her hips and breathes out against her lips. It’s a challenge, and Santana never backs down from a challenge. Fine. They want effort? They want hot? I’ll show them hot.
With that, she leans up and captures Brittany’s lips with hers. She grabs the back of her neck and pulls her down. The collision makes Brittany let out a pronounced gasp, and she cries out softly when Santana’s forceful kiss keeps her from sucking in the breath she needs as her heartbeat increases. Santana feels it beneath her fingertips on her neck, and relents enough to let the blonde breathe, but only because it gives her a chance to focus her hands as she drags her nails across Brittany’s neck. One slides underneath her Cheerio’s top, and she squeezes her breast as Brittany pants against her lips. She rests her forehead against Santana’s and breathes out hotly, but Santana doesn’t let up, and tilts her head to dislodge Brittany’s resting weight and kiss her again. She squeezes her breast as she dips her tongue into her mouth, and Brittany moans at the sensations, too caught up to even kiss back.
“Now who’s not putting in effort, huh?” Santana mumbles suggestively around the kiss, and Brittany lets out a shuddering breath before she manages to reply.
“I… I…”
“Never mind,” Santana says with a grin, and pulls Brittany’s tongue into her mouth. Their lips slide wetly across each other, and Brittany grinds down against Santana with a small whimper.
“Oh my G - ” she whispers, but Santana stops her words with another heated kiss. She grips Brittany’s neck more forcefully and squeezes Brittany’s breast underneath her top simultaneously. Brittany lets out another aroused cry.
After a few minutes of fiery kissing and touching, Santana surrenders Brittany’s lips and pulls back with a smile. Her face is flushed, the tips of her ears tinged with heat, and her lips sticky and swollen. Her eyelids flutter open when nothing else happens, and Santana quickly squeezes her breast so that she closes her eyes again and arches into her hand. The movement grinds her hips against Santana’s leg, and she lets out a small groan. Santana smirks and raises her knee, pressing up between her legs and on her soaked Cheerio’s spanks.
“Santana…” Brittany whimpers, and grinds herself down again. Santana reaches up and kisses her fiercely as Brittany works up a rhythm. She quickly grabs Brittany’s hand and presses it between her legs, working her fingers for her across the fabric of her jeans. Brittany takes her hint and rubs across Santana as she grinds down, setting the rhythm with her hips as Santana scratches thin tracks of fire on the skin above her breast and in her neck. Brittany’s other hand comes up and pushes herself off Santana slightly to grind her hips down more insistently. Santana gasps as the pressure between her own legs increases as well. She pushes her head back onto the armrest and tenses her shoulders as the pleasure builds, her hand at Brittany’s neck moving to her hips, dragging Brittany’s pleated skirt up past her butt and grabbing a handful of her ass.
She lets out a soft moan when Brittany fumbles the rhythm and presses down particularly hard with her hand (she’s not complaining, obviously), and doesn’t notice a small knock on the glass wall of Figgins’ office. Brittany does, however, and stops her movements to look over her shoulder. Sue is knocking on the window, peering intently through the glass - and she’s not the only one. Gathered around the glass wall is what she can only suspect to be - the Chastity club, the AV club, the remaining Cheerios, the after-school Spanish class, and the chess club. Brittany gasps and presses herself onto Santana as though she’s trying to hide into her body.
“Brittany!” Santana growls, and bucks her hips up keenly. She was so close!
“Everyone’s watching!” Brittany hisses, and presses herself down further. Santana groans when the movement pulls her hand away from the moist heat soaking through her jeans.
“I don’t care!” she hisses back, and pushes Brittany up with a heave of her chest, grabbing her hand and guiding her fingers against the heat between her legs while she brings up her knee to press similarly between Brittany’s. “Just don’t stop!”
“Are you - “
“Yes!” Santana groans, bucking her hips up to search for friction and not let her pleasure die. Any shame is driven out of her mind by the overwhelming need to feel Brittany grinding, pushing, groaning against her, leaving whimpers by her ear and soaking her jeans through her spanks.
Brittany looks at her uncertainly, taking in her writhing figure and desperate expression as she presses her hand back down. But Santana is asking…
“Okay,” she says finally, and without looking back over her shoulder, she drives their audience from the mind and raises herself up to grind across Santana’s leg and press her palm and fingers urgently on the fabric on her jeans. Santana instantly lets out a breathless yes as Brittany reestablishes the rhythm, and soon she’s right back where she left off, and her gasps are mingling with Brittany’s as they push each other closer to the edge.
“Almost,” Santana whimpers, and arches her back against Brittany, trapping her hand between them and unintentionally pulling up her shirt to expose her abs. Brittany brushes her wrist past her bare skin as she moves, and Santana lets out a soft moan at the small touch as it mingles with the pleasure her hand is giving her. Brittany echoes her moan as Santana follows her rhythm more insistently, grinding up against Brittany as the blonde grinds down, and then Santana’s fingers tense on Brittany’s breast and butt, and Brittany presses down harder than ever as Santana arches up, and they both fall hard and fast over the edge, their gasps and moans turning high-pitched and bouncing off the walls and looking-glass for their audience to pick up.
They shudder against each other, the vibrations of their bodies sustaining the pleasure longer than normal. Brittany’s hand tenses and her fingers curl, and the pressure of her knuckles increases the pleasure even more to make Santana cry out again, a breathless mantra of Brittany’s name. Slowly, they both come down, and Brittany gives in to the shaking exhaustion of her arm and lets herself melt across Santana, nestling her face in her neck and breathing out raggedly. Santana’s chest heaves, bringing Brittany’s face up and down across the skin at her neck, and she smiles at the sensation. She wraps her arms around Brittany’s body, and sighs blissfully.
Then, she looks over Brittany’s body and spots their audience. Her breath catches for a moment before her beating heart resets its rhythm, and she shift underneath Brittany slightly: Sue has her eyes narrowed at her, scrutinizing the situation, and the rest of the faces display anything from shock to squirming arousal at the show. Santana can’t help but smirk at the effect her and Brittany have had on people, but pushes softly at Brittany shoulder anyway.
“Britt,” she whispers, and Brittany lifts herself off her, sitting up uncertainly and running a hand over her disheveled ponytail.
“Huh?”
“Let’s get out of here,” Santana whispers as she sits up as well, rearranging her shirt quickly. She leaves her hair in the mess Brittany’s made of it, proudly wearing the evidence of her pleasure as she stands up and sends a cocky look to their audience before pulling Brittany up and hooking an arm through hers to steady her as they make their way to the door. She sees Figgins peeking over the shoulder of a furiously flushing student, and grins audaciously, pouting her lips in a fake kiss. The principle nearly faints and stumbles against Puck, who’s wide-eyed horny expression is not lost on Lauren. She shoves him angrily; he’s nearly knocked down by the movement.
Santana clicks open the lock and steps out into utter silence as everyone stares at her. She squeezes Brittany’s hand reassuringly as she walks through the crowd, her head raised high and her blush only the effect of her orgasm, and not shame. She tucks her tongue out against the corner of her mouth as she walks past Quinn, bobbing her head in insolent recognition at Quinn’s disapproving and heated expression.
She stops as she walks past Sue, suddenly hit by an idea. She looks up at their coach, ignoring Brittany’s squeak of warning, and growls with a cheeky grin, “Hot enough for you?” before stalking on into the otherwise empty hallway.
As she turns around the corner of the hall, she swears she hears Sue reprimanding Quinn and saying something about channeling sexual confidence to perfect dance moves, and a change in captaincy… Brittany grins at her excitedly, and Santana knows her ears weren’t deceiving her.
Honestly though, with Brittany around, being bottom really isn’t so terrible…
Santana bites her lip to hold back an angry huff, tensing her muscles and holding her position, even though every fiber is screaming at her to stop. She feels Brittany’s eyes on her, but keeps her gaze averted.
A few seconds later, Sue yells, “Disgraceful! Hit the showers before the stench of your dismal mediocrity permeates my outfit and I’m forced to suspend the tanning privileges of every one of you to pay for a custom track suit weaved of spider silk!”
Santana’s heart skips a beat when Sue mentions the tanning privileges, but she sighs in relief and stretches her shoulders when Brittany jumps down and is caught by the spotters. She’s at her side immediately.
“That was mean, wasn’t it?” she asks.
“Whatever,” Santana huffs, and starts to walk to the locker room. Brittany follows close behind.
“I bet she didn’t mean it. Spider’s silk is only used for bulletproof vests, not track suits,” she quips, and Santana raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.
They pass Sue on the way to the locker rooms and Santana slows down, looking back at their coach. Maybe… Just maybe…
“Coach,” she calls quickly, before she can lose her courage. Sue looks up with a scowl.
“Stacks,” she says by way of acknowledgement, disinterestedly perusing her clipboard, and Santana trots up to stand at attention in front of her.
“I was wondering if…” she starts, but Sue interrupts her.
“Whatever it is, I’m just going to save you some embarrassment and say no right now,” she barks.
“But - “ Santana tries again.
“You’re still bottom of the pyramid,” she says gruffly, and marks something on her clipboard.
“Coach - ”
“Your alien implants clearly haven’t acclimatized to the gravity on this planet, and they are pulling you down.”
“But I did flawlessly today!”
Sue grunts. “You call that flawless? Your moves today would have made my grandmother cringe - and she doesn’t cringe easy. She chewed off her own foot when she got caught in a bear trap hunting grizzlies in the Rocky Mountains in 1912.”
Santana frowns at the image, but then snaps, “Well, what the hell do I need to do then?”
Sue narrows her eyes at Santana’s insolent tone, and takes a menacing step forward. Santana cowers. “What you need to do… is to work until the heat radiating off your muscles melts the silicone in your synthetic double window displays. I want moves so hot those repulsive mammary cannons to start giving evaporated milk. Do you understand me?”
Santana gulps and nods.
“Good. Until then, you will stay right where you belong: bottom.”
With that, Sue shoulders her megaphone, snaps her fingers to bring Becky to her side, and walks away squarely, leaving Santana fuming in silence. She turns around furiously and nearly knocks Brittany down.
“San,” Brittany mutters pityingly, but Santana’s glare shuts her up.
“Don’t. Let’s go,” she snaps, and drags Brittany to the locker room. It’s deserted already, and Santana sighs in relief. “Come on,” she mutters, and pulls off her skirt and top quickly. She grabs Brittany’s hand again and tightens her grip to pull her to the showers. As soon as she rounds the corner to privacy, she spins around and pulls Brittany against her, pushing her lips against her neck and smirking satisfyingly when Brittany lets out a surprised gasp.
“San,” Brittany repeats, but it’s anything but pityingly this time. Santana’s smirk widens. This is what she needs, the power, the thrill, the knowledge that one person still admires her every move - especially when those moves elicit anything from appreciative gasps to high-pitches moans.
“San… here?” Brittany asks distractedly, even while her hands are sliding over Santana’s back and she’s arching her neck to give her better access.
“Why not?” Santana mutters back.
“Because coach - and I - forbade you to,” a voice suddenly snaps from behind them, and Santana and Brittany jump apart in surprise to find Quinn with her hands on her hips and a petulant frown on her face. She doesn’t even bother to avert her eyes when she notices Santana is only in her unmentionables.
“Jesus, Quinn, what the hell are you doing here?” Santana snaps.
“Locking up. Brittany breathes… and moans… really loudly,” she says matter-of-factly.
Brittany blushes and takes a step behind Santana, hiding herself from Quinn’s glare. Santana rolls her eyes at the fact that Brittany is hiding behind her, when she’s the one who’s half-naked under Quinn’s gaze. She lifts her chin and gets ready to tell Quinn to kindly fuck off, but the blonde beats her to it.
“Get dressed and get out before I report you.”
“Screw you,” Santana snaps back, and turns slightly to pull Brittany into a shower stall.
Quinn raises her eyebrows and tilts her head, putting on a calculating expression. “You’re already bottom, Santana. One more misstep and you’re out.” Santana freezes. “I’d hate it if this little escapade got back to Sue somehow,” Quinn continues dangerously, and Santana fumes. She takes a quick, menacing step forward, but Brittany puts a hand on her stomach to hold her back.
“We’ll find somewhere else,” she whispers in her ear so only Santana can hear, and part of her anger turns instantly into remembered arousal. The rest of her is still shaking in outrage, but she bites her tongue, squares her shoulders, and grabs Brittany’s hand.
“Fine. Enjoy your captaincy while you can,” she hisses, and stalks past Quinn, shoving her shoulder against her as she goes. She drags Brittany to the lockers, quickly dresses, and then urges her out the door. Quinn glares at them as they pass, but Santana ignores her.
“Can I get dressed too?” Brittany squeaks.
Santana grins as she pulls her down the hallway, turning and grabbing the handle of a janitor’s closet as she brushes Brittany’s lips with hers. “Kind of pointless since I’m going to undress you,” she purrs seductively, and feels Brittany suddenly return her kiss with ardor, pushing her up against the door.
Santana turns the handle and stumbles backward. Brittany follows after her, pouting her lips and attempting to recapture Santana’s as the brunette steps out of her reach. Santana smiles at the adorably needy expression on her face as Brittany opens her eyes to aim her kiss, but the expression quickly turns to frozen horror when Brittany looks past her. Santana follows her gaze and jumps back against Brittany at what she sees.
A giant something is pushing Puck up against the cupboards, shoving its body against his insistently as he lets out repetitive squeaks - of pleasure or of pain, Santana can’t decide. Its legs are planted shoulder-width apart, and it’s pushing so hard the cupboard creaks and squeaks in protest and rolls of toilet paper tumble down and litter the floor. She scrutinizes the attacker. Lauren, she realizes with a horrified jolt. Puck reaches his arms around her and runs his hands over whatever he can reach, but Lauren lets out a low warning growl, and Puck squeals at the sound and lets his hands fall to his side as Lauren continues her relentless kissing.
Santana gags and stumbles back at the sight. Brittany touches her on the shoulder and slowly backs both of them out of the closet before the bestial couple can realize they were caught. Brittany closes the janitor closet door softly, and turns to look at Santana with a horror-struck expression.
“Was that - ”
“Yeah.”
“Were they - ”
“Yeah.” Santana gulps when the realization sets in, and she shivers in disgust.
“Gross.” Brittany scrunches up her face, and Santana has to smile at the endearing way her nose turns crooked, her dimples deepen, and her eyes crinkle. She shakes herself to clear the mental image that she never wishes she’d seen, and grabs Brittany’s hand again, leading her down the hallways to the next door. It’s locked. She tries the next one, but it’s occupied by Quinn and her Chastity Club as she makes the opening speech. Santana peers in and gives Quinn the finger when the blonde spots her. She’s happy to see she stops mid-speech and only continues on after being prompted, completely flustered and jaded.
The next rooms are filled with the AV club, the chess club, and after-school Spanish. Santana rolls her eyes when yet another door is locked.
“Damn it, are there no free classrooms?” she mutters as Brittany sidles up behind her and kisses her neck unhurriedly. She slides her hands across her stomach and pulls her closer, and any residual memory of Puck and Lauren going at it is banished from her mind, replaced by a pressing need to find a place to get Brittany undressed.
“How about right here?” Brittany murmurs against her skin as though she read Santana’s mind. Santana leans against her and lets out a sigh of appreciation. Still, she shakes her head ‘no’ at Brittany’s suggestion. Brittany’s hand inches under Santana’s top and brushes across her abs, fingers splaying and kneading over her skin as goosebumps raise under her touch.
“Are you sure?”
“Damn it, Brittany,” Santana mutters with a shudder, and turns herself around to push Brittany almost roughly against the glass outside Figgins’ office and kiss her fiercely. She pins her against the glass with a quick thrust of her hips and feels Brittany let out a sharp breath against her kiss. Screw finding a classroom. I need this. Nobody’s here, Figgins’ office is empty -
Santana freezes mid-kiss at the thought. Figgins’ office is empty. Brittany tries to kiss her again with eyebrows knit in confusion at Santana’s unresponsiveness, and Santana looks over Brittany’s shoulder. Couch. Score.
“Come on,” she whispers eagerly, and urges Brittany into the office, closing the door behind them and flicking the lock with a grin.
“Are we going to - ”
“Yup,” Santana states simply and plops down on the couch, patting the empty spot on the green leather for Brittany. The blonde grins mischievously and hops on Santana’s lap instead, straddling her hips. She leans down and kisses her fiercely, and Santana’s neck bends over the edge of the couch. Her hands settle on Brittany’s hips and push up her Cheerio’s skirt. Brittany presses up against her, her breasts brushing Santana’s neck, but it breaks the kiss and she whines in disapproval (Santana smiles affectionately at the expression). Suddenly, Brittany grins, and wastes no time in pressing her body down onto Santana’s, twisting them both around, and pushing Santana’s shoulders up against the armrest as she hovers over her.
“I always wanted to make out on the principle’s couch,” Brittany mutters as she places kisses along Santana’s jaw, and then adds, “and on a trampoline.”
Santana lets out a laugh. “A trampoline?”
Brittany pulls back and smiles. “Yup.”
Santana’s mind briefly wanders, and it’s suddenly filled with images of Brittany jumping naked on the trampoline, rolling around with her, and the springs creaking in rhythm to their movements. Even while she laughs at the thought (and the fact that somehow ‘making out on a trampoline’ turned into ‘going at it on a trampoline’), she’s strangely turned on.
“Later,” she promises eagerly, and Brittany kisses her again. She presses her body down onto Santana, looping her arms around her neck and deepening the kiss as Santana raises one of her legs and nestles it between Brittany’s. She runs her hands over the blonde’s back, loving the way the fabric of her Cheerio’s uniform pulls up at the touch, letting her tease her fingers across Brittany’s bare skin, and the way Brittany squirms at the movements. She smiles into the kiss, and Brittany mirrors it, and then they’re both smiling and not kissing anymore, and Santana catches the laughter in Brittany’s eyes at the situation. But a few seconds pass and Santana scrapes her throat at the lack of action and Brittany giggles.
“Oh, right,” she murmurs, and kisses Santana again. She’s still smiling though, and Santana can feel it in the kiss, so she pushes her leg up between Brittany’s to get her to focus. It has the desired effect: Brittany lets out a sharp breath against her lips, and presses down more forcefully. She probes her tongue forward and flicks it over Santana’s top lip experimentally. Santana gives her access immediately, and strains her neck forward to increase the pressure.
Her hands find their way behind Brittany’s neck to knead and brush the skin there. She trails her fingers over her shoulder, across her upper arm, and then, with a smirk, dips her fingers under Brittany’s arm brushes along her armpit. Santana nearly breaks out laughing at the instant reaction: Brittany gasps onto her lips and whimpers her approval.
“San,” she murmurs, and grinds her body down. Santana gasps in turn and pulls Brittany against her harder. She kisses her forcefully and slides her tongue between her lips. Brittany hums on her lips, the vibration sending shivers across Santana’s neck, and reaches up and cups Santana’s face so that two of her fingers nestle behind Santana’s ear and brush past her earlobe softly. Santana almost wishes it could be her lips instead, but then Brittany bites down playfully on her bottom lip and she loses the thought.
“Mmm,” she hums in liking, and Brittany bites down again, drawing and sucking her lip into her mouth and nearly pulling out a hickey on the skin below the edge of her lip before letting it slip out and be dried by Santana’s ragged breathing.
Santana sighs as she moves her kisses lower, along her jaw, her neck, the edge of her shirt. Brittany hooks a finger into the hem of her top and pulls until the edge of her bra peeks out. She teases her fingers along the edge, and peppers kisses over her breast. Santana tightens her hold on the back of Brittany’s neck and arches herself off the couch as Brittany sucks on her skin and dips her fingers under the edge of her bra, reaching ever closer for her nipple but never quite brushing past it. She turns her neck when Brittany kisses her throat and flicks her tongue past her earlobe, and lets out a contented sigh. Brittany moves her weight forward and slides up against her again, Santana’s knee still pressed between her legs.
“More,” Santana whispers, and Brittany kisses the words from her lips, exploring her mouth with an eager tongue when Santana lets her lips go loose and lazy. Brittany pushes her tongue forward, urging Santana to respond, to work, and whines when Santana just runs her hands absentmindedly over the back of her neck and kisses back with minimal effort.
“Santana…” she murmurs querulously, but Santana just pulls her back to her lips. Brittany moves away, and frowns at her disapprovingly until Santana opens her eyes when her urging hands have no effect, and tilts her head at Brittany’s expression.
“What?”
“You’re so lazy. I know you’re usually on top, but you gotta put in at least some effort when you’re bottom.”
As soon as the words leave Brittany’s mouth, she bites her lips in regret. Santana narrows her eyes and squares her shoulders acrimoniously as thoughts of their coach’s words float in automatically.
“You too, huh?” she snaps, sliding her hands off the back of Brittany’s neck. Brittany pouts.
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Whatever,” Santana grumbles gruffly, and shifts under Brittany. The blonde lifts herself up on her arms, but doesn’t let Santana go anywhere.
“San, come on. Don’t be like that.”
“I’m not like anything,” she snaps, and then rolls her eyes at her lame response. She doesn’t try to escape from Brittany’s hold, though, and Brittany grins deviously at the small victory, and leans down a little bit, letting her lips brush across Santana jaw when Santana pulls her face away angrily at the movement.
“You know you secretly like being bottom,” she murmurs seductively.
“Yeah, right,” Santana huffs, but inadvertently tenses her fingers on Brittany’s hips as Brittany continues to kiss her jaw and neck. Brittany smirks and flicks her tongue over Santana’s skin.
“Come on. Show me what you got,” she mumbles, and bites on Santana’s neck before pulling away to hover over her lips. Santana narrows her eyes at Brittany’s testing tone. First Sue, and now Brittany. What is it with everyone today? she thinks, annoyed, but Brittany twitches her hips and breathes out against her lips. It’s a challenge, and Santana never backs down from a challenge. Fine. They want effort? They want hot? I’ll show them hot.
With that, she leans up and captures Brittany’s lips with hers. She grabs the back of her neck and pulls her down. The collision makes Brittany let out a pronounced gasp, and she cries out softly when Santana’s forceful kiss keeps her from sucking in the breath she needs as her heartbeat increases. Santana feels it beneath her fingertips on her neck, and relents enough to let the blonde breathe, but only because it gives her a chance to focus her hands as she drags her nails across Brittany’s neck. One slides underneath her Cheerio’s top, and she squeezes her breast as Brittany pants against her lips. She rests her forehead against Santana’s and breathes out hotly, but Santana doesn’t let up, and tilts her head to dislodge Brittany’s resting weight and kiss her again. She squeezes her breast as she dips her tongue into her mouth, and Brittany moans at the sensations, too caught up to even kiss back.
“Now who’s not putting in effort, huh?” Santana mumbles suggestively around the kiss, and Brittany lets out a shuddering breath before she manages to reply.
“I… I…”
“Never mind,” Santana says with a grin, and pulls Brittany’s tongue into her mouth. Their lips slide wetly across each other, and Brittany grinds down against Santana with a small whimper.
“Oh my G - ” she whispers, but Santana stops her words with another heated kiss. She grips Brittany’s neck more forcefully and squeezes Brittany’s breast underneath her top simultaneously. Brittany lets out another aroused cry.
After a few minutes of fiery kissing and touching, Santana surrenders Brittany’s lips and pulls back with a smile. Her face is flushed, the tips of her ears tinged with heat, and her lips sticky and swollen. Her eyelids flutter open when nothing else happens, and Santana quickly squeezes her breast so that she closes her eyes again and arches into her hand. The movement grinds her hips against Santana’s leg, and she lets out a small groan. Santana smirks and raises her knee, pressing up between her legs and on her soaked Cheerio’s spanks.
“Santana…” Brittany whimpers, and grinds herself down again. Santana reaches up and kisses her fiercely as Brittany works up a rhythm. She quickly grabs Brittany’s hand and presses it between her legs, working her fingers for her across the fabric of her jeans. Brittany takes her hint and rubs across Santana as she grinds down, setting the rhythm with her hips as Santana scratches thin tracks of fire on the skin above her breast and in her neck. Brittany’s other hand comes up and pushes herself off Santana slightly to grind her hips down more insistently. Santana gasps as the pressure between her own legs increases as well. She pushes her head back onto the armrest and tenses her shoulders as the pleasure builds, her hand at Brittany’s neck moving to her hips, dragging Brittany’s pleated skirt up past her butt and grabbing a handful of her ass.
She lets out a soft moan when Brittany fumbles the rhythm and presses down particularly hard with her hand (she’s not complaining, obviously), and doesn’t notice a small knock on the glass wall of Figgins’ office. Brittany does, however, and stops her movements to look over her shoulder. Sue is knocking on the window, peering intently through the glass - and she’s not the only one. Gathered around the glass wall is what she can only suspect to be - the Chastity club, the AV club, the remaining Cheerios, the after-school Spanish class, and the chess club. Brittany gasps and presses herself onto Santana as though she’s trying to hide into her body.
“Brittany!” Santana growls, and bucks her hips up keenly. She was so close!
“Everyone’s watching!” Brittany hisses, and presses herself down further. Santana groans when the movement pulls her hand away from the moist heat soaking through her jeans.
“I don’t care!” she hisses back, and pushes Brittany up with a heave of her chest, grabbing her hand and guiding her fingers against the heat between her legs while she brings up her knee to press similarly between Brittany’s. “Just don’t stop!”
“Are you - “
“Yes!” Santana groans, bucking her hips up to search for friction and not let her pleasure die. Any shame is driven out of her mind by the overwhelming need to feel Brittany grinding, pushing, groaning against her, leaving whimpers by her ear and soaking her jeans through her spanks.
Brittany looks at her uncertainly, taking in her writhing figure and desperate expression as she presses her hand back down. But Santana is asking…
“Okay,” she says finally, and without looking back over her shoulder, she drives their audience from the mind and raises herself up to grind across Santana’s leg and press her palm and fingers urgently on the fabric on her jeans. Santana instantly lets out a breathless yes as Brittany reestablishes the rhythm, and soon she’s right back where she left off, and her gasps are mingling with Brittany’s as they push each other closer to the edge.
“Almost,” Santana whimpers, and arches her back against Brittany, trapping her hand between them and unintentionally pulling up her shirt to expose her abs. Brittany brushes her wrist past her bare skin as she moves, and Santana lets out a soft moan at the small touch as it mingles with the pleasure her hand is giving her. Brittany echoes her moan as Santana follows her rhythm more insistently, grinding up against Brittany as the blonde grinds down, and then Santana’s fingers tense on Brittany’s breast and butt, and Brittany presses down harder than ever as Santana arches up, and they both fall hard and fast over the edge, their gasps and moans turning high-pitched and bouncing off the walls and looking-glass for their audience to pick up.
They shudder against each other, the vibrations of their bodies sustaining the pleasure longer than normal. Brittany’s hand tenses and her fingers curl, and the pressure of her knuckles increases the pleasure even more to make Santana cry out again, a breathless mantra of Brittany’s name. Slowly, they both come down, and Brittany gives in to the shaking exhaustion of her arm and lets herself melt across Santana, nestling her face in her neck and breathing out raggedly. Santana’s chest heaves, bringing Brittany’s face up and down across the skin at her neck, and she smiles at the sensation. She wraps her arms around Brittany’s body, and sighs blissfully.
Then, she looks over Brittany’s body and spots their audience. Her breath catches for a moment before her beating heart resets its rhythm, and she shift underneath Brittany slightly: Sue has her eyes narrowed at her, scrutinizing the situation, and the rest of the faces display anything from shock to squirming arousal at the show. Santana can’t help but smirk at the effect her and Brittany have had on people, but pushes softly at Brittany shoulder anyway.
“Britt,” she whispers, and Brittany lifts herself off her, sitting up uncertainly and running a hand over her disheveled ponytail.
“Huh?”
“Let’s get out of here,” Santana whispers as she sits up as well, rearranging her shirt quickly. She leaves her hair in the mess Brittany’s made of it, proudly wearing the evidence of her pleasure as she stands up and sends a cocky look to their audience before pulling Brittany up and hooking an arm through hers to steady her as they make their way to the door. She sees Figgins peeking over the shoulder of a furiously flushing student, and grins audaciously, pouting her lips in a fake kiss. The principle nearly faints and stumbles against Puck, who’s wide-eyed horny expression is not lost on Lauren. She shoves him angrily; he’s nearly knocked down by the movement.
Santana clicks open the lock and steps out into utter silence as everyone stares at her. She squeezes Brittany’s hand reassuringly as she walks through the crowd, her head raised high and her blush only the effect of her orgasm, and not shame. She tucks her tongue out against the corner of her mouth as she walks past Quinn, bobbing her head in insolent recognition at Quinn’s disapproving and heated expression.
She stops as she walks past Sue, suddenly hit by an idea. She looks up at their coach, ignoring Brittany’s squeak of warning, and growls with a cheeky grin, “Hot enough for you?” before stalking on into the otherwise empty hallway.
As she turns around the corner of the hall, she swears she hears Sue reprimanding Quinn and saying something about channeling sexual confidence to perfect dance moves, and a change in captaincy… Brittany grins at her excitedly, and Santana knows her ears weren’t deceiving her.
Honestly though, with Brittany around, being bottom really isn’t so terrible…