Forget About The World Outside Our Windowpane
Title: Forget About The World Outside Our Windowpane
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, no profit gained.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: For this prompt: "Santana comes home really late due to a flight delayed, after spending a week in some sort of work travel, to find Brittany (only in her underwear) asleep after hours waiting for her to come back. She wakes her up and promises to make up for the waiting. Brittany already has some ideas in mind."
A/N: Title from Toby Lightman's "Lazy."
The problem with planes, Santana thinks wearily as she drags ass down the hallway leading to her front door, is that they never, ever do what they’re supposed to. There is no semblance of time when you’re in the air-at least, not for the pilots. Which is a giant pain in the butt for people with busy schedules to keep.
Especially schedules that involve finally getting home to a beautiful woman after a week of ball-busting in New York. Not that ball-busting doesn’t have certain perks, but seriously; a week of overpriced sushi and taxicabs trying to run her down was a week too long.
Fumbling with two bags and a key that seems entirely too small for her clumsy fingers, Santana finally works the lock open and shoulders her way into the apartment. It’s clean, which isn’t surprising; Brittany, for all her absent-minded ways, is something of a minimalist, not caring enough about belongings to make any significant mess. It’s one of the endless array of things Santana loves about her girlfriend.
Her girlfriend who is, at this very moment, sprawled out on their sofa, one leg splayed over the back cushions. Her hair-which looks suspiciously done-up, as if Brittany had gone out of her way for at least an hour, armed with a curler and an impressive amount of hairspray-drifts across her peacefully sleeping face and into her mouth. She is, though Santana knows she hates to admit it, snoring.
Ladylike snores, but still.
She smiles sadly, quietly nudging the door back into place and setting her keys in their turtle-shaped bowl. Brittany expected her home three hours ago, safe and sound and ready to play catch-up for the last seven days. Brittany expected to greet her with something of a hero’s welcome, judging by the carefully-arranged Chinese take-out on the table and-
That underwear is new.
Bright blue and offset by an old Superman t-shirt, they look mouth-wateringly stunning on Brittany’s lithe frame. Santana wishes desperately that she had chosen an airline with some ability to actually fly. It just doesn’t seem fair, to have gone through this whole week and then miss out on awesome welcome home sex.
Although...
Truthfully, the missing out part isn’t utterly necessary. Santana’s pretty lucky; Brittany is one of those rare-breed individuals who can be woken out of a dead sleep and persuaded almost instantly to make with the sexy times. Which is technically how they got started, although Santana is still marginally embarrassed about the whole rolling over at a sleepover and mauling her best friend thing. It doesn’t help much that she herself was half-asleep at the time.
Not important right now, she reminds herself, settling on the edge of the couch and gently brushing a hand against Brittany’s cheek. Pink lips curve on pure instinct, eyelashes still firmly locked over baby blues.
“Mornin’,” Brittany mumbles without opening her eyes. Santana smiles.
“Not quite. How’d you know it was me, and not some serial girlfriend stealer?”
“Girlfriend stealers don’t smell like my deodorant,” Brittany observes, nuzzling into Santana’s palm. “You could buy your own, by the way.”
“Shopping isn’t fun when you’re in the bathroom aisle,” Santana dismisses. Brittany cracks open one eye and smirks.
“You’re not doing it right. Welcome home, San. I was getting worried.”
“Obviously,” Santana drawls, eyes lingering on the teasing line of skin between her girlfriend’s shirt hem and waistband. “What with all the snoring.”
Were she more awake, Brittany might actually smack her for that one. Instead, she narrows her eyes and sticks out her tongue, arms stretching above her head. “Just for that, I’m eating your eggroll.”
Santana laughs, leaning in to swipe a kiss across Brittany’s cheek. “Fair game, babe. I really am sorry, though. I wanted to call, but-“
“Phone signals confuse birds into crashing the plane,” Brittany finishes for her wisely. Santana shakes her head in amusement.
“Something like that, yeah. I’m sorry I worried you.”
Brittany sits up at last, swinging a long leg over Santana’s lap and clasping her arms around her neck. “S’okay. You can make it up to me.”
Santana grins hopefully up at her, shifting to lean back against the cushions. “Oh yeah? Make up how?”
“Well,” Brittany drawls, leaning in close and nipping at a soft earlobe. “You’ve been gone a really long time. Like, crazy long. I’ve missed you a lot.”
“How much?” Santana fights to keep her eyes from rolling back as Brittany nibbles down her jawline, soothing each light bite with a tiny lick. What she even thinking, agreeing to a week-long trip? A day away from this is way too fucking long.
“Lots,” Brittany replies calmly, squeezing her thighs around Santana’s hips and grinding slowly down. “Too much. You shouldn’t go away anymore, San.”
“No,” Santana agrees hastily, resisting the urge to let her hips lurch clumsily upwards. “No going away. Going away is very bad.”
“The worst,” Brittany agrees. Her lips rest softly against Santana’s, barely touching, her body rocking in smooth, gentle waves. Santana’s fingers tighten around her waist, skimming up the back of that t-shirt.
“Baby.”
“Hm?” Remarkably awake-and decidedly evil-blue eyes dance an inch from her own. Santana’s lips twist, equal parts amused and desperate.
“Less teasing, more pleasing?”
For a second, she’s sure Brittany is going to leave her hanging, dragging out the not-so-punishing rebuke for her tardiness as long as she can. If she hadn’t dozed off, she would likely do exactly that, making Santana twist and beg in every corner of their comfortable little apartment before finally delivering. It’s one of her very favorite games, especially when Santana’s late for something-even when it isn’t her fault.
But the sleep still hasn’t edged completely from her husky voice, and it’s been seven whole days since they’ve last touched, and Santana is pretty sure that’s what saves her. Brittany can play games with the best of them, but they haven’t been apart for that long in a year-too long to prevent a heated yearning from creeping in on day two, taking up unpleasant residence in both of them for the remainder of the week.
A very long week.
The kiss is warm, like digging restless toes into sun-kissed sand, and Santana allows herself to melt into it without thought. She loves the way Brittany tastes, the sharp kick of cinnamon swirled around Diet Pepsi that has been her trademark since high school. It’s sensations like this one, savoring Brittany’s tang on her tongue, that never get old.
The fingers creeping into her hair, undoing the severe bun and threading out the knots, make her stomach tighten. Short nails scritch back and forth against her scalp in time with the brief forays Brittany’s tongue keeps making into her mouth-and the rocking motion of her hips-and the clutch of her legs around Santana-
She groans as Brittany deepens the kiss, pressing down harder with every bit of her toned body as if she wants nothing more than to sink down into Santana-through Santana-and bind them both with the couch cushions. The perfect comfort, tied together for the rest of time, kissing and rocking, hands drawing familiar paths across neglected skin.
She slips her hands all the way under Brittany’s shirt, guiding it up over her head and grinning at the lack of bra. Welcome home. It’s as if Brittany knows there’s no way her exhausted hands could finagle a clasp right now. She’s too tired, too wound up, too desperate to be remotely agile-which is fine. Brittany tends to have the agility down for the both of them.
Santana bends her head, licking and sucking in randomized patterns across Brittany’s chest, heat welling in her belly when Brittany arches her back and rears up to give her better access. It’s been so long, and there is so much to remember, to draw back in and claim all over again. The spot just below Brittany jaw, the one that makes her gasp without fail; the gentle jut of collarbone, where she likes being bitten; the space between her breasts, where Santana is content to bury her face and just breathe, relishing the sheer home of Brittany’s hands against the back of her skull.
She slips lower, pelvis thrusting up to meet Brittany’s next move even as her lips trace across one breast-soft, delicate, the skin sliding in and out of her mouth-and then the other. Hard nipples press insistently to her tongue as Brittany’s fingers clutch in her hair, shoulders winding backwards as her chest pushes out.
Hands splayed across the small of Brittany’s back, smoothing up along her spine, Santana closes her eyes and runs her teeth across the puckered skin. Her tongue follows, alternating rough and light strokes, until she feels Brittany trembling against her. Their hips move in unison, faster and wilder, bordering on reckless. Less teasing, more pleasing. There will be time for drawing this out later.
Santana raises her head and slides a hand between Brittany’s legs, cupping the crotch of her bright blue underwear. Eyes the same color flutter as a well-trained fingertip trails up and down, testing. Brittany half-whimpers.
Good, Santana thinks with a surge of possessive energy. Flipping Brittany onto her back, she slides between her legs and thumbs down the elastic of those underwear, teeth bared in a growl. Brittany bucks up without coaxing into her hand, allowing two fingers to slip in easily, deep and wanting. Following the panting breaths, Santana thrusts, bracing herself with her free hand propped on the armrest. Brittany’s legs spread further, bending and bowing in a mad attempt to drag Santana deeper.
It’s been a week, leaving her just out of practice enough for the muscles in her wrist to burn all the way up her arm, but it’s a good burn, a delicious ache that makes her clench her jaw and hiss with pleasure. Brittany cries out as her fingers brush that perfect spot at her very core, fluttering against it too briefly to send her exploding off into oblivion.
Not yet, Santana thinks, alternating the angle of her hand and pressing her lips to Brittany’s. The tang is still there, as always, but this time it’s sweeter, hotter, edged with the clever desperation that comes from being this close. Brittany’s bottom lip glides between both of her own, soft and supple and allowing tiny gasps and sighs to slip through.
She can feel the humming stretch of Brittany’s body, tuned as finely as a violin’s strings as she rides along with every sharp thrust. In bare seconds, the stretch will grow into a snap, hungry and insane in the best possible fashion. All she has to do is touch there, a little harder, a little faster, press her fingers in again and again in the exact-same-spot-
Brittany comes undone beneath her, shuddering and clutching at her shoulders as Santana swallows her ecstasy. It is, forever, the most beautiful thing she has ever known.
As the orgasm clenches around her, the adrenaline seeps almost instantly from her body, her arms going limp and shivery. Santana collapses atop Brittany’s still-buzzing frame, face mashed between pale neck and brown couch.
“How’s that,” she gasps, grinning, “for making it up?”
“It’s-“ Brittany gulps a mouthful of air and tries again. “It’s a start.”
Santana dissolves into mad giggles, too drained to argue. “You’re addicted.”
“You’re worth it,” Brittany replies, kissing her head with fierce pride. “You want a round?”
“God, yes,” Santana says, but her body is sinking into Brittany’s contours, a sigh maneuvering past her lips without her consent. She settles in, arms wrapping around Brittany’s naked middle. “Break first? I didn’t exactly sleep on the plane.”
Brittany eases her face up, meeting her lips in a long, steady kiss. “Sleep. We’ll get back to business in the morning.”
“Business, huh?” Santana mumbles, eyes closing. “Are you going to close the deal?”
“Every time, baby,” Brittany laughs, rubbing her back tenderly. “And if you cooperate like a good girl, I might even make you waffles somewhere along the way.”
“That settles it,” Santana hears herself decide from a faraway, soft place. “Never leavin’ again.”
Brittany holds her closer, cheek against her hair, and releases a long, warm breath. “Works for me.”
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, no profit gained.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: For this prompt: "Santana comes home really late due to a flight delayed, after spending a week in some sort of work travel, to find Brittany (only in her underwear) asleep after hours waiting for her to come back. She wakes her up and promises to make up for the waiting. Brittany already has some ideas in mind."
A/N: Title from Toby Lightman's "Lazy."
The problem with planes, Santana thinks wearily as she drags ass down the hallway leading to her front door, is that they never, ever do what they’re supposed to. There is no semblance of time when you’re in the air-at least, not for the pilots. Which is a giant pain in the butt for people with busy schedules to keep.
Especially schedules that involve finally getting home to a beautiful woman after a week of ball-busting in New York. Not that ball-busting doesn’t have certain perks, but seriously; a week of overpriced sushi and taxicabs trying to run her down was a week too long.
Fumbling with two bags and a key that seems entirely too small for her clumsy fingers, Santana finally works the lock open and shoulders her way into the apartment. It’s clean, which isn’t surprising; Brittany, for all her absent-minded ways, is something of a minimalist, not caring enough about belongings to make any significant mess. It’s one of the endless array of things Santana loves about her girlfriend.
Her girlfriend who is, at this very moment, sprawled out on their sofa, one leg splayed over the back cushions. Her hair-which looks suspiciously done-up, as if Brittany had gone out of her way for at least an hour, armed with a curler and an impressive amount of hairspray-drifts across her peacefully sleeping face and into her mouth. She is, though Santana knows she hates to admit it, snoring.
Ladylike snores, but still.
She smiles sadly, quietly nudging the door back into place and setting her keys in their turtle-shaped bowl. Brittany expected her home three hours ago, safe and sound and ready to play catch-up for the last seven days. Brittany expected to greet her with something of a hero’s welcome, judging by the carefully-arranged Chinese take-out on the table and-
That underwear is new.
Bright blue and offset by an old Superman t-shirt, they look mouth-wateringly stunning on Brittany’s lithe frame. Santana wishes desperately that she had chosen an airline with some ability to actually fly. It just doesn’t seem fair, to have gone through this whole week and then miss out on awesome welcome home sex.
Although...
Truthfully, the missing out part isn’t utterly necessary. Santana’s pretty lucky; Brittany is one of those rare-breed individuals who can be woken out of a dead sleep and persuaded almost instantly to make with the sexy times. Which is technically how they got started, although Santana is still marginally embarrassed about the whole rolling over at a sleepover and mauling her best friend thing. It doesn’t help much that she herself was half-asleep at the time.
Not important right now, she reminds herself, settling on the edge of the couch and gently brushing a hand against Brittany’s cheek. Pink lips curve on pure instinct, eyelashes still firmly locked over baby blues.
“Mornin’,” Brittany mumbles without opening her eyes. Santana smiles.
“Not quite. How’d you know it was me, and not some serial girlfriend stealer?”
“Girlfriend stealers don’t smell like my deodorant,” Brittany observes, nuzzling into Santana’s palm. “You could buy your own, by the way.”
“Shopping isn’t fun when you’re in the bathroom aisle,” Santana dismisses. Brittany cracks open one eye and smirks.
“You’re not doing it right. Welcome home, San. I was getting worried.”
“Obviously,” Santana drawls, eyes lingering on the teasing line of skin between her girlfriend’s shirt hem and waistband. “What with all the snoring.”
Were she more awake, Brittany might actually smack her for that one. Instead, she narrows her eyes and sticks out her tongue, arms stretching above her head. “Just for that, I’m eating your eggroll.”
Santana laughs, leaning in to swipe a kiss across Brittany’s cheek. “Fair game, babe. I really am sorry, though. I wanted to call, but-“
“Phone signals confuse birds into crashing the plane,” Brittany finishes for her wisely. Santana shakes her head in amusement.
“Something like that, yeah. I’m sorry I worried you.”
Brittany sits up at last, swinging a long leg over Santana’s lap and clasping her arms around her neck. “S’okay. You can make it up to me.”
Santana grins hopefully up at her, shifting to lean back against the cushions. “Oh yeah? Make up how?”
“Well,” Brittany drawls, leaning in close and nipping at a soft earlobe. “You’ve been gone a really long time. Like, crazy long. I’ve missed you a lot.”
“How much?” Santana fights to keep her eyes from rolling back as Brittany nibbles down her jawline, soothing each light bite with a tiny lick. What she even thinking, agreeing to a week-long trip? A day away from this is way too fucking long.
“Lots,” Brittany replies calmly, squeezing her thighs around Santana’s hips and grinding slowly down. “Too much. You shouldn’t go away anymore, San.”
“No,” Santana agrees hastily, resisting the urge to let her hips lurch clumsily upwards. “No going away. Going away is very bad.”
“The worst,” Brittany agrees. Her lips rest softly against Santana’s, barely touching, her body rocking in smooth, gentle waves. Santana’s fingers tighten around her waist, skimming up the back of that t-shirt.
“Baby.”
“Hm?” Remarkably awake-and decidedly evil-blue eyes dance an inch from her own. Santana’s lips twist, equal parts amused and desperate.
“Less teasing, more pleasing?”
For a second, she’s sure Brittany is going to leave her hanging, dragging out the not-so-punishing rebuke for her tardiness as long as she can. If she hadn’t dozed off, she would likely do exactly that, making Santana twist and beg in every corner of their comfortable little apartment before finally delivering. It’s one of her very favorite games, especially when Santana’s late for something-even when it isn’t her fault.
But the sleep still hasn’t edged completely from her husky voice, and it’s been seven whole days since they’ve last touched, and Santana is pretty sure that’s what saves her. Brittany can play games with the best of them, but they haven’t been apart for that long in a year-too long to prevent a heated yearning from creeping in on day two, taking up unpleasant residence in both of them for the remainder of the week.
A very long week.
The kiss is warm, like digging restless toes into sun-kissed sand, and Santana allows herself to melt into it without thought. She loves the way Brittany tastes, the sharp kick of cinnamon swirled around Diet Pepsi that has been her trademark since high school. It’s sensations like this one, savoring Brittany’s tang on her tongue, that never get old.
The fingers creeping into her hair, undoing the severe bun and threading out the knots, make her stomach tighten. Short nails scritch back and forth against her scalp in time with the brief forays Brittany’s tongue keeps making into her mouth-and the rocking motion of her hips-and the clutch of her legs around Santana-
She groans as Brittany deepens the kiss, pressing down harder with every bit of her toned body as if she wants nothing more than to sink down into Santana-through Santana-and bind them both with the couch cushions. The perfect comfort, tied together for the rest of time, kissing and rocking, hands drawing familiar paths across neglected skin.
She slips her hands all the way under Brittany’s shirt, guiding it up over her head and grinning at the lack of bra. Welcome home. It’s as if Brittany knows there’s no way her exhausted hands could finagle a clasp right now. She’s too tired, too wound up, too desperate to be remotely agile-which is fine. Brittany tends to have the agility down for the both of them.
Santana bends her head, licking and sucking in randomized patterns across Brittany’s chest, heat welling in her belly when Brittany arches her back and rears up to give her better access. It’s been so long, and there is so much to remember, to draw back in and claim all over again. The spot just below Brittany jaw, the one that makes her gasp without fail; the gentle jut of collarbone, where she likes being bitten; the space between her breasts, where Santana is content to bury her face and just breathe, relishing the sheer home of Brittany’s hands against the back of her skull.
She slips lower, pelvis thrusting up to meet Brittany’s next move even as her lips trace across one breast-soft, delicate, the skin sliding in and out of her mouth-and then the other. Hard nipples press insistently to her tongue as Brittany’s fingers clutch in her hair, shoulders winding backwards as her chest pushes out.
Hands splayed across the small of Brittany’s back, smoothing up along her spine, Santana closes her eyes and runs her teeth across the puckered skin. Her tongue follows, alternating rough and light strokes, until she feels Brittany trembling against her. Their hips move in unison, faster and wilder, bordering on reckless. Less teasing, more pleasing. There will be time for drawing this out later.
Santana raises her head and slides a hand between Brittany’s legs, cupping the crotch of her bright blue underwear. Eyes the same color flutter as a well-trained fingertip trails up and down, testing. Brittany half-whimpers.
Good, Santana thinks with a surge of possessive energy. Flipping Brittany onto her back, she slides between her legs and thumbs down the elastic of those underwear, teeth bared in a growl. Brittany bucks up without coaxing into her hand, allowing two fingers to slip in easily, deep and wanting. Following the panting breaths, Santana thrusts, bracing herself with her free hand propped on the armrest. Brittany’s legs spread further, bending and bowing in a mad attempt to drag Santana deeper.
It’s been a week, leaving her just out of practice enough for the muscles in her wrist to burn all the way up her arm, but it’s a good burn, a delicious ache that makes her clench her jaw and hiss with pleasure. Brittany cries out as her fingers brush that perfect spot at her very core, fluttering against it too briefly to send her exploding off into oblivion.
Not yet, Santana thinks, alternating the angle of her hand and pressing her lips to Brittany’s. The tang is still there, as always, but this time it’s sweeter, hotter, edged with the clever desperation that comes from being this close. Brittany’s bottom lip glides between both of her own, soft and supple and allowing tiny gasps and sighs to slip through.
She can feel the humming stretch of Brittany’s body, tuned as finely as a violin’s strings as she rides along with every sharp thrust. In bare seconds, the stretch will grow into a snap, hungry and insane in the best possible fashion. All she has to do is touch there, a little harder, a little faster, press her fingers in again and again in the exact-same-spot-
Brittany comes undone beneath her, shuddering and clutching at her shoulders as Santana swallows her ecstasy. It is, forever, the most beautiful thing she has ever known.
As the orgasm clenches around her, the adrenaline seeps almost instantly from her body, her arms going limp and shivery. Santana collapses atop Brittany’s still-buzzing frame, face mashed between pale neck and brown couch.
“How’s that,” she gasps, grinning, “for making it up?”
“It’s-“ Brittany gulps a mouthful of air and tries again. “It’s a start.”
Santana dissolves into mad giggles, too drained to argue. “You’re addicted.”
“You’re worth it,” Brittany replies, kissing her head with fierce pride. “You want a round?”
“God, yes,” Santana says, but her body is sinking into Brittany’s contours, a sigh maneuvering past her lips without her consent. She settles in, arms wrapping around Brittany’s naked middle. “Break first? I didn’t exactly sleep on the plane.”
Brittany eases her face up, meeting her lips in a long, steady kiss. “Sleep. We’ll get back to business in the morning.”
“Business, huh?” Santana mumbles, eyes closing. “Are you going to close the deal?”
“Every time, baby,” Brittany laughs, rubbing her back tenderly. “And if you cooperate like a good girl, I might even make you waffles somewhere along the way.”
“That settles it,” Santana hears herself decide from a faraway, soft place. “Never leavin’ again.”
Brittany holds her closer, cheek against her hair, and releases a long, warm breath. “Works for me.”