Fifty First Times: Brittana Style
Easy As A-B-C
Pairing(s): Brittany/Santana, minimal reference to Santana/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: All episodes (Just covering my ass).
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Just borrowing. (Again, covering my ass.)
Summary: In any universe, regardless of the circumstances, Brittany and Santana are inevitable. Watch me prove it.
--
Santana’s life looked perfect.
She’d married the perfect guy, given birth to the perfect son, and lived in the perfect neighborhood, in the perfect house, with the perfect front lawn surrounded by the perfect white picket fence.
And just last year she gave it all up.
Why, you ask?
Santana Lopez was G-A-Y.
Yeah, she was pretty shocked about it too.
--
The television is still on mute and Shane is going down on Carmen in the studio when the activities under the covers come to a sudden halt.
Santana lifts up the sheets and peeks down at Sam, a single brow raised in question. “What?” she asks.
He looks pensive, and surprisingly not as horny as one should look when getting it on with someone like her. “This is kind of gay, Santana.”
Her cheeks, already flushed in arousal, redden further. “It’s not. Sexuality isn’t black and white and just because I like to watch The L Word while you eat me out doesn’t mean that I’m gay.”
“No,” Sam agrees, crawling back up slowly. “It just means that you’re a lesbian.”
Santana frowns, pushing him off of her and turning on her side, and taking all of the blankets with her.
She’s pissed now, and sexually frustrated, and is probably going to have to sleep with a massive lady-boner.
Stupid Sam.
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
--
Well, as it turns out, Sam was kind of (all the way) right about her being a lesbian.
A stiletto-wearing, camo-jacket toting, L Word-watching lesbian.
Sam took it surprisingly well…for a guy who was losing his wife to a bunch of sparkle-snatchers, that is.
--
This was starting to become embarrassing.
Sam honks into his handkerchief again, sniffling loudly with red-rimmed eyes.
“Is it me?” he chokes out, his breath stuttering. “Is it because I’m not circumcised because I told you-”
“For the last time, no. Sam it is not you. It’s me,” she says, idly rubbing his back. “I’m attracted to women. It has nothing to do with you.”
“It doesn’t?”
And while Santana is not the nicest of people, she had her good points. “No, you’re an awesome guy and an even better fuck. Any woman with two eyes and an inclination for being pounded would be all over you.” She had to toss the guy a bone, right?
“Really?”
“Actually, your penis is kind of small.”
Fuck it.
Being nice is for pussies.
Sam starts crying again.
--
Anyway, that was two years ago.
And in those two years Sam has remarried (a nice Christian girl named Quinn or something) and she’s dated more women than should be legal (sue her, alright, it’s called making up for lost time) and they’ve somehow managed to come out of it even closer than before, co-parenting and co-existing effortlessly in one another’s lives.
S.J. - Sam Junior - would alternate weeks at his parents’ houses, but they still managed to shuffle their schedules around enough that they both got to see him for some amount of time every day.
Santana would pick him up and enjoy a nice breakfast out - because, no, this right here does not cook - and drop him off at school, earlier than the other kids. And Sam would pick him up in the evenings, take him to the park or something - to burn off some of that excess energy because the kid has his mother’s stamina - and then home to whose ever house he was staying at for the week.
And so it went, every day, until unexpectedly, little S.J. decided he wanted his mother to start picking him up from school.
--
“Please Mama?”
“Nino, why do want me to pick you up all of a sudden?”
S.J. shrugs, kicking his legs out under the counter, nursing his glass of strawberry-flavored milk.
“So you don’t have a reason?”
The boy puts his glass down, a light pink milk-mustache on his upper lip. “I just want my mom to pick me up sometimes. The other kids don’t think I have one.”
Santana still looks skeptical. Call him cute all you want, but S.J. was his mother’s son and manipulation was a skill they’d both worked to perfection.
“Please?” the boy pleads again, his adorable grin made even more adorable by the absence of two front teeth.
“Okay. I’ll call your dad and tell him I’m picking you up this afternoon.”
--
And so today, Santana is waiting outside in her car for S.J. to get out of school.
She’s left work earlier than usual and is still dressed for it, pin-stripe black blazer and skirt, with a crisp white blouse underneath, the top buttons undone to show a very minimal but still effective amount of cleavage.
Just because she’s a mom doesn’t mean she can’t look hot, okay.
When the bell rings, announcing dismissal, Santana’s head snaps up, instantly scanning the school yard for her particular little blonde head of hair.
Then she realizes she’s not sure where exactly S.J. comes out at.
Pushing the notes she is working on away, Santana’s out of the car in a flash, turning heads as she dashes across the school yard in four-inch heels, never missing a beat.
Yep, she’s got it like that.
--
S.J. was not born yesterday.
He knows some stuff even though he probably shouldn’t.
Like, he knows his mom likes girls and not boys and even though Granddad thinks it’s all kinds of wrong - God didn’t make us that way, blah, blah, blah - he doesn’t think so at all. Besides, his mom is happy and when his mom is happy so is he because that always means Happy Meals and random trips to Toys R Us.
So, about a week ago, when Malcolm Jones got up the nerve to ask their teacher if she had a husband, his face redder than, well, something really red, and she said ‘No. I don’t have a husband. And, I’m going to be honest with you kids, I probably never will. You see, some people like girls and some people like boys. I happen to be in the group that likes girls,’ the light bulb above Sammy Junior’s seven year old little head burned bright.
He sees his mother coming and instantly turns away from her, marching straight over to his teacher and tugging on her hand.
The woman turns and smiles at him, and, out of the corner of his eye, S.J. sees his mother’s gait slow tremendously.
He smiles back.
--
“Hi,” Santana breathes out, finally finding S.J and, really, finally finding her voice. She’d been staring for a good twenty seconds or so.
“Hi,” his teacher replies brightly, her blue eyes dancing with mirth. “You must be S.J.’s mom,” she says, holding out a hand for her to shake.
“That would be me,” Santana answers, shaking her hand and marveling in how soft they are. She reluctantly lets go. “How’d you know?”
“He looks like you,” the woman says and Santana raises an eyebrow at that because aside from the brown eyes they both share, S.J. is Sam’s mini-me. His teacher laughs and the sound is pure sweetness. “I meant he’s a beautiful boy so it’s only fitting his mother be beautiful, too.”
Santana’s cheeks redden and she ducks her head a little, brushing some hair behind her ear. She clears her throat. “Thanks.”
“Mama, guess what?” S.J. says, making his presence known again. “Miss Brittany isn’t going to marry a boy either.”
It’s the teachers turn to blush now and she smiles embarrassingly, tousling S.J.’s towhead gently, feeling Santana’s eyes on her. “Um, one of the little ones asked if I had a husband.”
“Oh,” Santana nods. “So you’re…?”
“Yes,” the woman says, catching Santana’s eye. “That’s not a problem is it? I mean, I usually try to keep my personal life and professional life separate but when Malcolm asked I didn’t want to lie-”
“It’s fine,” Santana dismisses easily, stopping the rambling woman with a slight brush of her hand against the other woman’s forearm. “It’s more than fine.”
“Oh yeah?” Brittany asks, a raised eyebrow looking more flirtatious than questioning.
“Definitely.”
--
“C’mon S.J. get a move on! We’re gonna be late!” Santana calls upstairs before grabbing her keys off the kitchen counter and bee-lining to the garage.
She hears S.J.’s hurried footsteps behind her and grins, hopping into the driver’s side of the car.
He jumps into the back, buckling up before even having to be prompted to.
“Okay, everybody have everything?” Santana asks, starting up the car.
S.J. shouts out ‘yes’.
“Actually, I am missing something…”
Santana looks over at Brittany, her brow creased in confusion. “What?”
Brittany leans over the armrest and presses her lips against the other woman’s, Santana smiling into the embrace. It’s soft and gentle yet heated enough to send Santana’s mind into a whirlwind of illicit activities - most of which should not even come to mind in the presence of the little guy in the backseat.
‘Okay,” Brittany breathes, pulling away, her eyes sparkling. “I’m good now,” she winks, settling back into her own seat.
Santana grins. “Good.”
--
The Best of Friends
Pairing(s): Brittany/Santana, minimal reference to Santana/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: All episodes (Just covering my ass).
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Just borrowing. (Again, covering my ass.)
Summary: In any universe, regardless of the circumstances, Brittany and Santana are inevitable. Watch me prove it.
--
Santana’s life looked perfect.
She’d married the perfect guy, given birth to the perfect son, and lived in the perfect neighborhood, in the perfect house, with the perfect front lawn surrounded by the perfect white picket fence.
And just last year she gave it all up.
Why, you ask?
Santana Lopez was G-A-Y.
Yeah, she was pretty shocked about it too.
--
The television is still on mute and Shane is going down on Carmen in the studio when the activities under the covers come to a sudden halt.
Santana lifts up the sheets and peeks down at Sam, a single brow raised in question. “What?” she asks.
He looks pensive, and surprisingly not as horny as one should look when getting it on with someone like her. “This is kind of gay, Santana.”
Her cheeks, already flushed in arousal, redden further. “It’s not. Sexuality isn’t black and white and just because I like to watch The L Word while you eat me out doesn’t mean that I’m gay.”
“No,” Sam agrees, crawling back up slowly. “It just means that you’re a lesbian.”
Santana frowns, pushing him off of her and turning on her side, and taking all of the blankets with her.
She’s pissed now, and sexually frustrated, and is probably going to have to sleep with a massive lady-boner.
Stupid Sam.
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
--
Well, as it turns out, Sam was kind of (all the way) right about her being a lesbian.
A stiletto-wearing, camo-jacket toting, L Word-watching lesbian.
Sam took it surprisingly well…for a guy who was losing his wife to a bunch of sparkle-snatchers, that is.
--
This was starting to become embarrassing.
Sam honks into his handkerchief again, sniffling loudly with red-rimmed eyes.
“Is it me?” he chokes out, his breath stuttering. “Is it because I’m not circumcised because I told you-”
“For the last time, no. Sam it is not you. It’s me,” she says, idly rubbing his back. “I’m attracted to women. It has nothing to do with you.”
“It doesn’t?”
And while Santana is not the nicest of people, she had her good points. “No, you’re an awesome guy and an even better fuck. Any woman with two eyes and an inclination for being pounded would be all over you.” She had to toss the guy a bone, right?
“Really?”
“Actually, your penis is kind of small.”
Fuck it.
Being nice is for pussies.
Sam starts crying again.
--
Anyway, that was two years ago.
And in those two years Sam has remarried (a nice Christian girl named Quinn or something) and she’s dated more women than should be legal (sue her, alright, it’s called making up for lost time) and they’ve somehow managed to come out of it even closer than before, co-parenting and co-existing effortlessly in one another’s lives.
S.J. - Sam Junior - would alternate weeks at his parents’ houses, but they still managed to shuffle their schedules around enough that they both got to see him for some amount of time every day.
Santana would pick him up and enjoy a nice breakfast out - because, no, this right here does not cook - and drop him off at school, earlier than the other kids. And Sam would pick him up in the evenings, take him to the park or something - to burn off some of that excess energy because the kid has his mother’s stamina - and then home to whose ever house he was staying at for the week.
And so it went, every day, until unexpectedly, little S.J. decided he wanted his mother to start picking him up from school.
--
“Please Mama?”
“Nino, why do want me to pick you up all of a sudden?”
S.J. shrugs, kicking his legs out under the counter, nursing his glass of strawberry-flavored milk.
“So you don’t have a reason?”
The boy puts his glass down, a light pink milk-mustache on his upper lip. “I just want my mom to pick me up sometimes. The other kids don’t think I have one.”
Santana still looks skeptical. Call him cute all you want, but S.J. was his mother’s son and manipulation was a skill they’d both worked to perfection.
“Please?” the boy pleads again, his adorable grin made even more adorable by the absence of two front teeth.
“Okay. I’ll call your dad and tell him I’m picking you up this afternoon.”
--
And so today, Santana is waiting outside in her car for S.J. to get out of school.
She’s left work earlier than usual and is still dressed for it, pin-stripe black blazer and skirt, with a crisp white blouse underneath, the top buttons undone to show a very minimal but still effective amount of cleavage.
Just because she’s a mom doesn’t mean she can’t look hot, okay.
When the bell rings, announcing dismissal, Santana’s head snaps up, instantly scanning the school yard for her particular little blonde head of hair.
Then she realizes she’s not sure where exactly S.J. comes out at.
Pushing the notes she is working on away, Santana’s out of the car in a flash, turning heads as she dashes across the school yard in four-inch heels, never missing a beat.
Yep, she’s got it like that.
--
S.J. was not born yesterday.
He knows some stuff even though he probably shouldn’t.
Like, he knows his mom likes girls and not boys and even though Granddad thinks it’s all kinds of wrong - God didn’t make us that way, blah, blah, blah - he doesn’t think so at all. Besides, his mom is happy and when his mom is happy so is he because that always means Happy Meals and random trips to Toys R Us.
So, about a week ago, when Malcolm Jones got up the nerve to ask their teacher if she had a husband, his face redder than, well, something really red, and she said ‘No. I don’t have a husband. And, I’m going to be honest with you kids, I probably never will. You see, some people like girls and some people like boys. I happen to be in the group that likes girls,’ the light bulb above Sammy Junior’s seven year old little head burned bright.
He sees his mother coming and instantly turns away from her, marching straight over to his teacher and tugging on her hand.
The woman turns and smiles at him, and, out of the corner of his eye, S.J. sees his mother’s gait slow tremendously.
He smiles back.
--
“Hi,” Santana breathes out, finally finding S.J and, really, finally finding her voice. She’d been staring for a good twenty seconds or so.
“Hi,” his teacher replies brightly, her blue eyes dancing with mirth. “You must be S.J.’s mom,” she says, holding out a hand for her to shake.
“That would be me,” Santana answers, shaking her hand and marveling in how soft they are. She reluctantly lets go. “How’d you know?”
“He looks like you,” the woman says and Santana raises an eyebrow at that because aside from the brown eyes they both share, S.J. is Sam’s mini-me. His teacher laughs and the sound is pure sweetness. “I meant he’s a beautiful boy so it’s only fitting his mother be beautiful, too.”
Santana’s cheeks redden and she ducks her head a little, brushing some hair behind her ear. She clears her throat. “Thanks.”
“Mama, guess what?” S.J. says, making his presence known again. “Miss Brittany isn’t going to marry a boy either.”
It’s the teachers turn to blush now and she smiles embarrassingly, tousling S.J.’s towhead gently, feeling Santana’s eyes on her. “Um, one of the little ones asked if I had a husband.”
“Oh,” Santana nods. “So you’re…?”
“Yes,” the woman says, catching Santana’s eye. “That’s not a problem is it? I mean, I usually try to keep my personal life and professional life separate but when Malcolm asked I didn’t want to lie-”
“It’s fine,” Santana dismisses easily, stopping the rambling woman with a slight brush of her hand against the other woman’s forearm. “It’s more than fine.”
“Oh yeah?” Brittany asks, a raised eyebrow looking more flirtatious than questioning.
“Definitely.”
--
“C’mon S.J. get a move on! We’re gonna be late!” Santana calls upstairs before grabbing her keys off the kitchen counter and bee-lining to the garage.
She hears S.J.’s hurried footsteps behind her and grins, hopping into the driver’s side of the car.
He jumps into the back, buckling up before even having to be prompted to.
“Okay, everybody have everything?” Santana asks, starting up the car.
S.J. shouts out ‘yes’.
“Actually, I am missing something…”
Santana looks over at Brittany, her brow creased in confusion. “What?”
Brittany leans over the armrest and presses her lips against the other woman’s, Santana smiling into the embrace. It’s soft and gentle yet heated enough to send Santana’s mind into a whirlwind of illicit activities - most of which should not even come to mind in the presence of the little guy in the backseat.
‘Okay,” Brittany breathes, pulling away, her eyes sparkling. “I’m good now,” she winks, settling back into her own seat.
Santana grins. “Good.”
--
The Best of Friends