(Glee) Interlude
Title: Interlude
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1090
Notes: For a prompt at the Third Annual Femslash Kink Meme.
A/N: Set some unspecified time during the second half of season one, before the bigger Santana/Brittany storyline got underway.
Summary: Sometimes Santana needs a little something-something to get through the day.
Spanish isn’t the most boring class in school, but considering how boring Santana finds school in general, that’s not much of compliment. It used to be more tolerable back before she joined the Glee Club, when she could still look at Mr Schuester and find him hot.
Now she’s spent more time with him, she’s seen how weirdly earnest and kind and caring he can be.
It’s a total turn-off.
The problem is that after Spanish comes Math, and that definitely is the most boring class in school. It’s also the hardest to ditch, because the teacher, Miss Finkle, penalises grades for any absence without a good excuse.
And Miss Finkle doesn’t think any excuse is a good excuse.
Santana would know, because she’s tried them all. Period cramps, death in the family, pregnancy scare (she got the idea for that from Quinn, of course). Once, she walked into the classroom with a mouthful of porridge and pretended to throw up all over her desk.
Miss Finkle just sneered and then made her clean it all up.
The bitch.
She can’t even lie about having emergency Cheerios practice, because Miss Finkle always checks with Coach Sylvester.
Santana’s pretty sure the hard-ass approach to attendance is from one too many years of students showing up late, claiming “I had to tinkle, Miss Finkle!”
Santana’s used that one, too.
If Santana’s going to get through Math, she’s going to need something to keep her distracted. Something to put a smile on her face. Something she really, really likes.
And there are few things Santana likes more than sex.
Brittany is her first choice. Brittany is always her first choice.
It’s not a case of ‘will Brittany want it too?’ so much as ‘where is Brittany and how soon can I get her against a wall?’
Santana will always turn to Brittany and Brittany will always want to be turned to. And turned on.
Which she is, the second their eyes meet across the hall. Santana can always tell. This tiny, secret smile tugs gently at the corner of Brittany’s mouth, her eyes darkening as she looks up at Santana through lowered lashes. Hip cocked to one side as she sways slightly on the spot, toying almost coyly with the strap of her bag.
God, Santana wants her.
They meet halfway across the hall, and sometimes Santana wonders which students have figured them out, can't imagine who could possibly miss the way they look at each other. But it’s her business, nobody else’s, and she tries not to think about it as she and Brittany link their pinkie fingers and head into the nearest bathroom together.
There are a couple of dweebs inside, fussing over their dollar store lipgloss in the mirror, but Santana’s glare is enough to have them all but running out the door. She’s glad that joining Glee Club didn’t dampen her reputation for being vicious - she’d miss being able to inspire that kind of fear.
Brittany locks the door from the inside (Coach Sylvester gave them keys for every room she considers Cheerios’ property, which includes all bathrooms) and then it’s just a matter of getting what they need before the last bell for next period.
Thankfully, they’ve become experts at being efficient.
Santana crowds up against Brittany, one hand firm on the bottom of her back, urging her closer. But Brittany doesn’t need to be urged, is already mouthing at Santana’s ear as she crushes their chests together. Wedging a thigh between each other’s legs, instantly grinding down, best kind of friction.
And, yeah, Santana needs to find time to get Brittany naked and soon, needs to have her properly because it’s been way too long (probably something to do with the fact she and Puck have managed to go a whole two weeks without breaking up). But right now they don’t have time to be losing clothes, and they don’t really need to. They can do this still completely dressed - they’ve had plenty of practice.
Santana leans back until the sink is pressing against the base of her spine. Lets Brittany lean into her, more and more of her weight pressing down on Santana’s thigh as it rubs her through the spanky pants. Brittany’s making those soft whimpering noises that always drive Santana insane, that make her want to lose control and make Brittany scream.
But they don’t have time for that. They will, and soon, Santana promises herself, but right now she’s already wet and throbbing and when she groans, Brittany echoes the sound and shifts harder against her. Her hands roam Santana’s torso, squeezing at her waist, palming her breasts through the Cheerios uniform, and Santana knows she’s going to spend Math smelling like sex and Brittany’s perfume. She lets her head fall back, and Brittany’s mouth is instantly at her throat, soft butterfly kisses that clash so beautifully with the determined roll of her hips.
Santana’s so close, can feel it, trembling and yearning and moaning, and that’s when the warning bell rings.
Brittany doesn’t stop, but it gives them both an excuse to be a little rougher. Gives Santana an excuse to slide her hand down, grab at Brittany’s ass and encourage her, harder, faster. Brittany gasps and presses her lips to Santana’s cheek, and Santana just can’t help herself. Getting a hold of the material there, pulling the waistband of Brittany’s spanky pants higher up so the material is pulled taut between her legs, sudden added friction.
She loves the sound Brittany makes when she comes, high and breathy and always a little awed.
She lets Brittany kiss her hard enough that there’ll probably be a bruise from the sink at the bottom of her spine. And that’s what sends Santana over the edge, growling and biting at Brittany’s bottom lip - the thought of being marked by this, the thought of wearing the evidence of how Brittany makes her crazy like a badge of honour.
They take a moment to just lean against each other, sharing the same breath. It’s tempting, so tempting, to just get swept away by the moment, to spend the entire period holding each other. But Santana’s already getting dangerously close to flunking Math, and she knows Brittany’s probably got it even worse than her.
When they emerge from the bathroom, nobody would able to tell from looking at their immaculate uniforms just what they’ve been doing. But Santana knows and, yeah, that’s enough to get her through Math with a smile on her face.
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1090
Notes: For a prompt at the Third Annual Femslash Kink Meme.
A/N: Set some unspecified time during the second half of season one, before the bigger Santana/Brittany storyline got underway.
Summary: Sometimes Santana needs a little something-something to get through the day.
Spanish isn’t the most boring class in school, but considering how boring Santana finds school in general, that’s not much of compliment. It used to be more tolerable back before she joined the Glee Club, when she could still look at Mr Schuester and find him hot.
Now she’s spent more time with him, she’s seen how weirdly earnest and kind and caring he can be.
It’s a total turn-off.
The problem is that after Spanish comes Math, and that definitely is the most boring class in school. It’s also the hardest to ditch, because the teacher, Miss Finkle, penalises grades for any absence without a good excuse.
And Miss Finkle doesn’t think any excuse is a good excuse.
Santana would know, because she’s tried them all. Period cramps, death in the family, pregnancy scare (she got the idea for that from Quinn, of course). Once, she walked into the classroom with a mouthful of porridge and pretended to throw up all over her desk.
Miss Finkle just sneered and then made her clean it all up.
The bitch.
She can’t even lie about having emergency Cheerios practice, because Miss Finkle always checks with Coach Sylvester.
Santana’s pretty sure the hard-ass approach to attendance is from one too many years of students showing up late, claiming “I had to tinkle, Miss Finkle!”
Santana’s used that one, too.
If Santana’s going to get through Math, she’s going to need something to keep her distracted. Something to put a smile on her face. Something she really, really likes.
And there are few things Santana likes more than sex.
Brittany is her first choice. Brittany is always her first choice.
It’s not a case of ‘will Brittany want it too?’ so much as ‘where is Brittany and how soon can I get her against a wall?’
Santana will always turn to Brittany and Brittany will always want to be turned to. And turned on.
Which she is, the second their eyes meet across the hall. Santana can always tell. This tiny, secret smile tugs gently at the corner of Brittany’s mouth, her eyes darkening as she looks up at Santana through lowered lashes. Hip cocked to one side as she sways slightly on the spot, toying almost coyly with the strap of her bag.
God, Santana wants her.
They meet halfway across the hall, and sometimes Santana wonders which students have figured them out, can't imagine who could possibly miss the way they look at each other. But it’s her business, nobody else’s, and she tries not to think about it as she and Brittany link their pinkie fingers and head into the nearest bathroom together.
There are a couple of dweebs inside, fussing over their dollar store lipgloss in the mirror, but Santana’s glare is enough to have them all but running out the door. She’s glad that joining Glee Club didn’t dampen her reputation for being vicious - she’d miss being able to inspire that kind of fear.
Brittany locks the door from the inside (Coach Sylvester gave them keys for every room she considers Cheerios’ property, which includes all bathrooms) and then it’s just a matter of getting what they need before the last bell for next period.
Thankfully, they’ve become experts at being efficient.
Santana crowds up against Brittany, one hand firm on the bottom of her back, urging her closer. But Brittany doesn’t need to be urged, is already mouthing at Santana’s ear as she crushes their chests together. Wedging a thigh between each other’s legs, instantly grinding down, best kind of friction.
And, yeah, Santana needs to find time to get Brittany naked and soon, needs to have her properly because it’s been way too long (probably something to do with the fact she and Puck have managed to go a whole two weeks without breaking up). But right now they don’t have time to be losing clothes, and they don’t really need to. They can do this still completely dressed - they’ve had plenty of practice.
Santana leans back until the sink is pressing against the base of her spine. Lets Brittany lean into her, more and more of her weight pressing down on Santana’s thigh as it rubs her through the spanky pants. Brittany’s making those soft whimpering noises that always drive Santana insane, that make her want to lose control and make Brittany scream.
But they don’t have time for that. They will, and soon, Santana promises herself, but right now she’s already wet and throbbing and when she groans, Brittany echoes the sound and shifts harder against her. Her hands roam Santana’s torso, squeezing at her waist, palming her breasts through the Cheerios uniform, and Santana knows she’s going to spend Math smelling like sex and Brittany’s perfume. She lets her head fall back, and Brittany’s mouth is instantly at her throat, soft butterfly kisses that clash so beautifully with the determined roll of her hips.
Santana’s so close, can feel it, trembling and yearning and moaning, and that’s when the warning bell rings.
Brittany doesn’t stop, but it gives them both an excuse to be a little rougher. Gives Santana an excuse to slide her hand down, grab at Brittany’s ass and encourage her, harder, faster. Brittany gasps and presses her lips to Santana’s cheek, and Santana just can’t help herself. Getting a hold of the material there, pulling the waistband of Brittany’s spanky pants higher up so the material is pulled taut between her legs, sudden added friction.
She loves the sound Brittany makes when she comes, high and breathy and always a little awed.
She lets Brittany kiss her hard enough that there’ll probably be a bruise from the sink at the bottom of her spine. And that’s what sends Santana over the edge, growling and biting at Brittany’s bottom lip - the thought of being marked by this, the thought of wearing the evidence of how Brittany makes her crazy like a badge of honour.
They take a moment to just lean against each other, sharing the same breath. It’s tempting, so tempting, to just get swept away by the moment, to spend the entire period holding each other. But Santana’s already getting dangerously close to flunking Math, and she knows Brittany’s probably got it even worse than her.
When they emerge from the bathroom, nobody would able to tell from looking at their immaculate uniforms just what they’ve been doing. But Santana knows and, yeah, that’s enough to get her through Math with a smile on her face.