Fic: Shock Me (With Your Electric Feel) 1/3 (Brittany/Santana)
Title: Shock Me (With Your Electric Feel) 1/3
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Spoilers: None
Summary: Britt confesses her deepest fantasies.
Disclaimer: Very, very brief mention of rape. Trigger warning. Future!Brittana.
“Forget it,” Britt whimpers, angry at her own mind, “I don’t even know why I brought it up, it’s stupid; it’s horrible, I feel horrible, San-”
“No, no. Baby,” Santana scoots tentatively closer before Britt has a chance to leave, and places her hands on top of Brittany’s own in her lap, squeezing them gently, reassuring her, “don’t, shh, come on. It’s not stupid. It’s not. Hey, look at me.”
She watches Britt carefully; her downcast eyes and red cheeks giving way to full-blown embarrassment.
That breaks Santana’s heart, even if it is hammering in her chest a little.
“It’s okay, I promise. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
She reaches up to toy with a loose strand of Britt’s hair, coaxing her, twisting it around her fingers and using the ends to tickle over her jaw. That doesn’t get her to smile so Santana leans in and kisses her hairline.
“I love you Britt-Britt, with all my heart. You’re the only one for me,” Santana whispers like it’s still a secret even though it’s not; like she’s still hiding even though she’s not, even though she’s used to this new, old thing between them. “I feel so comfortable around you, I know I can tell you anything, and you can too.”
Brittany sniffs, brushing a finger under her right eye before daring to look up, a scared bunny rabbit, shifting and shuffling under Santana’s unwavering gaze.
“H-how can you love me when-” she chokes, shaking her head furiously.
Santana strokes her fingers, chest tightening.
“I do. And it’s okay, really. Listen to me Brittany,” she smiles kindly.
Bitt nods.
She takes a deep breath to steel herself, “We’ve never kept things from each other, right?”
Brittany nods again.
“And I adore you, completely. Everything you are is so special to me, every part of you, even things you don’t like about yourself or don’t want to show me. I love you and respect you. The last thing I would ever dream of is making you feel ashamed or unaccepted.”
Santana pauses, waiting for Britt to give her some kind of sign that she’s following. So when Brittany frowns hesitantly, Santana goes on.
“I’m in love with you. Nothing you ever say or do is going to change that. You understand that don’t you?”
“Yeah San. It’s just, it’s awful of me to…I didn’t mean to…I know how hard it is for you to…” Brittany sighs, blinking fast before the tears have a chance to pool.
But they do, and they fall so rapidly, flooding her cheeks and the collar of her sleep shirt in seconds.
Santana wraps her up in her arms, hugging her so close she can feel very breath Britt takes. She can feel her trembling body, shaking with sobs and wracked with guilt, and she cradles her, rocking her, holding her.
Because twenty minutes ago, spooning in the middle of their bed, Santana had feathered soft kisses up to behind Brittany’s ear and quietly asked to know all her deepest fantasies, all the things she yearned for but maybe never considered admitting until that moment.
Brittany didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She’d closed her eyes and pretended Santana wasn’t there at all. But she could feel her, so sturdy and warm against her back, a gentle reminder that she was patiently waiting.
Hesitant, she’d managed to mumble a half-hearted I um, I guess I’ve always really, kind of wanted to…you know, uh and then stopped.
And Santana hadn’t known, so she’d insisted, nuzzling closer, soothing her with more whispering flicks of her tongue and a calm hand on her tummy, It’s okay baby, tell me. Anything.
After a little more cajoling, Britt had stumbled through a confession of how she’d always thought about really having Santana, taking her and dominating her, (maybe with the strap, maybe from behind, maybe roughly), having her give up any and all control completely. Then, when she’d heard herself out loud and instantly realised how very much it sort of bordered on rape (she knows how much Santana needs to be in charge) and how very much she didn’t want that and how terrible she was at expressing herself, she’d pulled away from Santana’s circling arms and refused to look in her direction, let alone directly at her.
She was furious with herself. Her hands were shaking.
“Baby, come on,” Santana coos, shifting to kiss Britt’s cheek, “don’t cry. I know exactly what you meant, I do. I know you’d never hurt me.”
She seeks out Britt’s glazed blue eyes and cups her face so they have to look at each other, so Brittany can’t escape. She’s greeted with the biggest, saddest pout she’s ever seen.
“If it’s something you want,” she touches Britt’s mouth, smoothing until it goes lax, “I think it’s something I could consider. I trust you,” she moves in, glacially, afraid she might scare Britt away again, “I just want to make you happy.”
Truth be told, she’s terrified, of course she is. Despite trying really hard not to let it, Santana’s need to always be on top in whatever she does, always diplomatic and meticulous, had slowly blended into the life she leads behind closed doors.
Brittany accepts it whole-heartedly and without question.
Sometimes Santana can tell Britt’s doing everything to encourage her to let go, to look at her and yield, to really, really put all her faith in them; all the way.
But she knows Britt never doubts the trust between them, not for a second. She’s certain- as certain that the sky is blue or that she’ll wake up to Brittany’s face- that she’d follow Britt to the end of the earth.
When it comes to making love however, to being the vulnerable one, Santana struggles and Brittany knows that part of her fantasy stems from a deep-rooted need to liberate Santana, to crack her and fill her with love and courage and then when she breaks apart, to gather her and put her together stronger than before.
She so much wants, more than anything, for Santana to understand, regardless of whether they go through with it or not.
“I’m going to be happy whatever we do. We don’t have to talk about this ever again. I want both of us to be one-hundred-perfect comfortable. If y-you do think it’s something you might want…to try, I need to stress that I would never ever, do anything to hurt or humiliate you.”
Santana nods, mulling it over. And then it hits her.
“Britt?”
“Yes?”
“Is this,” she sighs, swallowing back her insecurities, “is it something you’ve wanted for a while?”
Brittany shrugs, “On some subconscious level, maybe?” Her bottom lip stays anchored between her teeth, worried and chewed at until it blossoms red. “But I haven’t really thought about it since a few weeks ago.”
“Is it, I mean, are you…do I not…are you satisfied? Am I not doing something that…” She scratches at the cool sheets beneath them. There’s sweat prickling at the back of her neck, nervous, scared sweat, fear-of-abandonment-I’m-not-good-enough sweat.
“No. That’s not it at all. You satisfy me more than anyone else ever could, San, you know that! You are more than enough for me,” Brittany says firmly, looking directly into Santana’s eyes now.
“Okay.” Santana’s not convinced.
“Baby, you make me come so hard sometimes I forget my own name,” Britt runs her fingertips over the lines of Santana’s collar bone, down between her breasts, “you challenge me intellectually and fulfil me spiritually. You totally complete me San.”
Santana manages a small, purse-lipped smile, rubbing at the base of her skull.
“You complete me too.”
“Okay, good,” she breathes out, chuckling.
They’re both still tense as all hell, muscles twitching from straining so hard.
Santana’s the first to break, wrapping her arms around Britt’s neck and burying into her shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Is it okay if I think about it?”
Brittany kisses her temple, scooting them up the bed so they can lay back, “Take as long as you need. Take all the time in the world.”