Fic: You're Such a Square
Title: You're Such a Square
Fandom: Glee
Characters (Pairings): Kurt, Brittany, Santana, Puck; (Puck/Kurt/Santana/Brittany- Not an actual foursome, just a lot of combinations, past and present.)
Genre: ...Humor? But I'm terrible at humor so let's just call this Ridiculousness and be done with it. And also Future!Fic.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Sexual content
Spoilers: Nothing significant
Word Count: 2,059
Summary: Brittany is the first to notice that they're missing something, a very important connection.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.
Author's Note: So, this should offset the angst of the last oneshot I posted. That's how it works, right?
P.S. If I were capable of writing porn, that’s what this would’ve turned into. Alas.
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“We’re missing one,” Brittany says suddenly, swinging her legs down from where they’ve been propped against the back of the couch and spinning her body around until she’s sitting the right way up again, and she looks normal except for the flush of blood in her cheeks and the little bit of dust that’s managed to cling to the tips of her hair where it brushed against the floor.
No one responds, at first, both because they’re all a bit busy zoning out and because the level of nonsensicality of the comments that exit Brittany’s mouth has not at all decreased with the move to New York, and this one seems fairly reasonable compared to her earlier insistence that the dust bunnies under her bed have been getting extremely suspicious lately. Kurt suspects that the whispers she claims to have heard are more likely to have been due to the thin walls and floors of the apartment building, but it was far easier to give in and agree to help with a little spring cleaning.
It’s a fair trade, even, as his condition for sweeping up at Brittany and Santana’s place is that they repay the favor next weekend, and Puck had groaned only a little when he heard about it before dragging himself up and grabbing a jacket. After they’d cleaned to Brittany’s satisfaction, they found themselves collapsing onto various cushioned surfaces in the main room - or, because Santana and Puck apparently have some sort of aversion to furniture, sprawling down onto the floor - and heaving a collective sigh of relief.
Brittany’s voice pulls them back, and Kurt lifts his head from where it’s been leaning back against the armchair, tearing his thoughts away from the test he knows he has to study for and trying not to notice the dust that’s found its way into Brittany’s hair despite all their efforts at cleaning the floors. He’s been ignoring a lot since they sat down, and had to remind himself more than once that he could not admonish Brittany for putting her feet on the furniture because although the couch might be a very light blue that will not hide dirt, it is not, in fact, his.
After another moment or two - which Kurt spends debating whether to ask Brittany what she means or simply wait and see if she continues - Puck picks his head off of Kurt’s knees and Santana starts paying attention in time to be the first of them to think to ask, “Missing one what, Brittany?”
“One side,” Brittany says, shrugging as though it should be obvious. “Of the square, you know?” She gestures vaguely around the room, spinning her hand in a shape much more like a circle than whatever incomplete square she seems to be focused on. “Or, not just a square, because there’s an X through the middle, too, but it looks very nice and it’s only missing the one side.”
“A square of… what, of the room?” Santana asks, confused, and Kurt knows they’re really doomed when even Santana can’t understand her girlfriend’s non-sequiturs. Maybe this will end up being weirder than the dust bunnies, and Kurt just cannot deal with another round of cleaning right now. He really doesn’t have the energy.
“No, no.” Brittany shakes her head emphatically, sending a few flecks of dust spinning off into the still air. “Of us.”
There’s a moment of silence in which everyone considers, for the second time, whether it’s worth it to try to make sense of this.
Brittany solves the problem for them by continuing right along in her explanation.
“Because there’s four of us, right?” she says, pointing to each of them in turn. “And we make a square with all the lines in the middle, except for the one we’re missing.” She frowns in Kurt’s direction, and he feels suddenly, inexplicably guilty. “Kurt and Santana.”
“Huh?” Santana says. “What’s wrong with us?”
Kurt has to agree with that sentiment, even as Brittany rushes to assure her girlfriend that there’s nothing wrong, exactly, they’re just missing their side, and Kurt doesn’t know what to make of that. Are he and Santana somehow exempt from this bizarre shape Brittany has made up? Or, no, they couldn’t be, because then it would just be a solid line between Brittany and Puck and she wouldn’t be talking about a square at all. Plus they seem to have connections, if he’s thinking about the lines in the middle the right way, so they’re just missing the one between the two of them? God, Kurt has just never been that good with geometry.
“Brittany,” he says finally. “What, exactly, is missing between Santana and me? Why don’t we have a side in the… square?” With lines, and things. Maybe they should draw a diagram.
“It’s like a love triangle, see?” she explains carefully. “Only not, because there’s four of us instead of three and we all love each other, so it’s not a love triangle, it’s a kissing square.” She points two fingers accusingly, one each for Kurt and Santana. “You two haven’t kissed.”
Oh. Oh, God.
“Brittany that’s not-”
“She’s got a point,” Puck interrupts, and Kurt just barely restrains himself from smacking his boyfriend over the head.
“We’re all in pairs, now,” Brittany continues, “and you and I dated, and Puck’s kissed everyone-”
“And there was that threesome that one time, remember?” Santana says, gazing up at the ceiling and smiling at the view like the memory is playing on a screen up there that only she can see. Kurt finds himself glancing upwards to check before he realizes what he’s doing and snaps his head back down.
“Oh, right. So we’re all good. Like, really set. But you two are falling behind.”
“Yes,” Kurt says, final exasperated enough to break into the string of remembered hook-ups. “It’s such a shame I didn’t engage in more heterosexual experimentation before settling down; our sexual history could have been even more bizarrely intertwined than it already is.”
“Mm,” Santana hums, tilting her head away from the invisible ceiling-screen to look at him. “Shame.”
“Ookay.” Kurt rolls his eyes, heaving his body up from the chair despite his protesting muscles (Brittany had insisted on an extremely thorough cleaning job before she could be certain that the dirt wouldn’t mutiny). “And on that very, very odd note, it’s time for us to go. We’ll be expecting to see the two of you next Saturday with rubber gloves and plenty of energy. Puck?”
Puck hasn’t moved from his spot on the floor, and for a moment Kurt thinks it’s just because he’s tired after the long day, but then Puck turns to him slowly and it could never have been that simple. “I dunno, Kurt. Kinda seems wrong, don’t you think?”
“No,” Kurt says flatly, wondering when this conversation went from Brittany’s usual brand of ridiculous commentary to a serious discussion.
“Kinda seems like we’re not pulling our weight,” Santana adds, picking herself up off the floor.
“You guys should totally make out,” Brittany says, and Kurt’s not exactly surprised that she’s the first to drop the implications and just say it straight-out, but the phrase jolts something in his stomach when he realizes for the second time that, yeah, serious discussion.
“I assume you realize that you are actively encouraging your girlfriend to kiss someone who isn’t you?”
“It’s not cheating if I ask her to do it,” Brittany says, and Puck just shrugs his agreement when Kurt glances his way for support. Some boyfriend.
There’s about a foot of space between him and a rapidly-approaching Santana when Kurt finally hits the ‘acceptance’ stage, but if there’s one thing he’s not going to be, it’s trapped between Santana and a wall, so he takes that last second to push himself forward and meet her halfway, pivoting just enough to avoid having his back to the wall.
So. Not really how he expected his day to turn out but, yeah, lips. Or, rather, he kind of figured there might be lips at some point; it’s a fairly safe assumption considering his living arrangements. He just didn’t plan on these lips in particular.
But Santana's kissing him like she's trying to prove a point, and Kurt's always been a little bit competitive.
He shoves them, gently, just a little closer to the center of the room when Santana makes a motion like she's going to try getting him up against the wall again - seriously, no - and tightens his hold. It's a little weird having to work around this much hair, but it doesn't take long to push enough of it out of the way to get a solid grip on her neck and tilt her head to the side for better access. She matches the motions a moment late, trying her best to shift his head in the other direction and mostly succeeding when she distracts him with the sudden addition of tongue.
The next minute or so is filled with activity that is possibly a bit too aggressive to be called proper kissing.
The official consensus, though, is that it counts. It definitely counts, Brittany assures them when they pull away, Kurt remembering at the last second that girl lips come with something he doesn’t usually have to deal with and turning to a mirror to wipe away the lipstick that’s found its way onto too many areas of his face, and when was she by his ear?
“Where the hell did you learn to do that with your tongue?” Santana asks him after a moment. “Damn, Puck. I’m kinda jealous. I bet he gives amazing blowjobs.”
“Um.”
“That was awesome,” Brittany squeaks, and moves in toward Santana with such determination that Kurt thinks, if he’d still been anywhere in the girl’s general vicinity at the time, he would’ve wound up shoved to the side rather violently. If Santana’s reaction is anything to go by, she enjoys her girlfriend’s tongue much more than Kurt’s.
“Okay, so we’re all done with that now, right?” Kurt says, just to be sure. “Everyone’s kissed everyone.”
“Yeah,” Puck says. “Hey, let’s go home. Like, now.”
“What?” Kurt turns to him, taking in his flushed cheeks and odd posture. “Oh, God. You’re kidding me, right?”
Puck shrugs.
“It was hot,” Brittany tells him, leaning just far enough away from Santana to make the words coherent. “You didn’t think it was hot?”
Kurt thinks about it, thinks about the feeling of a confident tongue against his own and a hand massaging the side of his neck, thinks just as much about the way her breasts pressed oddly against his chest and how he was legitimately worried she might actually start to eat his face for a moment or two in the middle of it all. “Well,” he says, finally, “nothing overtly challenging to my sexuality, at least.”
“What the hell? I am challenging to everyone’s sexuality. You-” The rest of her words are muffled by the mouth clamped tight over hers, and a moment later Brittany loses her balance and takes Santana with her onto the couch.
“Fine. It was very challenging. Let’s go home so you can force me back to the other side, Puck.” Kurt winces at the sounds coming from the sofa. “Yeah, right now. It has been a very trying afternoon and I have no desire to finish it off as an unwitting observer of our friends’ sex life.”
“Hey, we’re a square now,” Santana says, though it’s punctuated by a short moan that Kurt does not want to know the source of. “No secrets, no shame.”
“Goodbye!” he calls, tugging Puck swiftly out of the apartment and slamming the door behind him. “Hey, so let’s not go around telling people about this, okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Puck says. “Brittany was taking pictures.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking it’ll be up on Facebook as soon as they’re done in there.”
For a moment, Kurt considers the possibility of barging back in there to delete the pictures off Brittany’s phone, but he shudders at the mental images. ‘Not worth it.’ He sighs. “At least my dad doesn’t have an account.”
“Babe, maybe don’t bring up your dad right before we have sex, okay?”
“It’s still a twenty minute walk back to our apartment!”
Puck groans. “Let’s run.”