Glee fic: Buckle Up (Baby, We're Going Places)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5, 264
Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine, and by this point, all I can say is "thank goodness" to that.
Pairings: Santana/Mercedes, refers to Brittany/Santana.
Notes: Thanks, as ever, to elva_barr for being such a wonderful beta (and human being in general). This fic is AU for the current season.
Summary: Lucky Santana -- she got to go from being trapped in a tiny, disgustingly hot car to being trapped in a tiny, disgustingly hot motel room. With only one bed.
It was one in the morning when Santana finally said screw it and went to get the vodka she’d bought while Mercedes had been using the restroom. Who knew gas stations sold liquor? She’d only gone in to buy some Twix for the road, but she’d come out with something even better. Dumb hick working the register hadn’t even IDed her. She’d gotten some cigars, too - had to get good and raspy in time for their recording gig.
Their recording gig. She could barely even think the words without shivering in anticipation. When Mercedes had told her she’d spoken to her new manager on Santana’s behalf, Santana had nearly keeled over. Sure, it was just background stuff, but they were just getting started. Her and Mercedes? They were going to take the world by storm.
She glanced around their tiny-ass motel room. The lights flickered above her head, illuminating the cracked mirror on the desk in front of her, the threadbare curtains, and the one bed in the room. The best they could afford. If Santana’d had her way, they’d be lounging in some kind of Gossip Girl-style penthouse, complete with a jacuzzi and well-stocked minibar, but that was impossible for two very good reasons: first off, this motel - the only one they’d come across for the past ten miles - was a complete piece of shit; second, Mercedes was being all stupid and reasonable, insisting that they hoard every penny of their savings for L.A.
Stupid Mercedes. Stupid motel.
It’s not that Santana was scared or anything. So the room was a little dark? Whatever. She could deal. It was just - they were a hella long way from home, that was all. Farther than she’d ever been. And Quinn, and Sam, and Brittany - God, Brittany - they were all back there, so damn far away.
Not that Brittany gave a damn or anything. What was it she’d said? Oh, yeah - “It’s time for you to go be you, Santana. I can’t hold you back. It’s like in Hercules, and you’re Hercules and you’re going to 'Go The Distance' and stuff, except I’m not your foster mom or anything because that’d be weird. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re not Ancient Greek. I could be wrong, though.” She’d said some other stuff, too, but the underlying point had been we’re done. Since this was Brittany, the underlying point was more of a huge, obvious hammer to the face.
So, vodka. And lots of it.
There was the sudden silence that follows a shower being turned off. Santana unscrewed the bottle and took a gulp, then lowered it with a grimace. God, that was nasty. A moment later, Mercedes stepped into the room. Her hair was damp and hung limply, dripping water down onto her shoulders. Santana watched her make her way to the suitcase by the bed, the towel clinging to the softness of her body.
God, Santana was lonely. She took another gulp from the bottle, and coughed a little at the burn. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle her liquor or anything, okay, she was just tired.
Mercedes turned at the noise, and grinned. “Santana, are you drinking what I think you’re drinking? At this hour, all alone? If your momma could see you now, I bet she’d be shocked.”
“Please, Mercedes. She switched me straight from breast milk to boozy, boozy eggnog when I was four months old. That’s how we does it in Lima Heights.”
“Yeah, sure.” Mercedes groped through the bag one-handed for her pajamas. The towel slipped a little.
The silence stretched while Mercedes returned to the washroom, pajamas in hand. Meanwhile, Santana drank. It seemed like as good a way to pass the time as any. The heat in the room was stifling, despite the late hour; they were well into the first heat wave of the summer and it was basically hell. Lucky Santana -- she got to go from being trapped in a tiny, disgustingly hot car to being trapped in a tiny, disgustingly hot motel room. With only one bed.
Mercedes came out, dressed in teensy pajama shorts and an equally teensy tank top, and she settled herself down on the bed. Her boobs looked fantastic, Santana couldn’t help but notice. What? It wasn’t like the outfit was leaving anything much to the imagination. She frowned to herself. Had to be the booze speaking, because no way did she want to tap that or anything.
“It is so damn hot in here,” Mercedes complained. Santana rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, and bitching about it will totally fix that. Stop talking, okay? You’re just adding more hot air to the room.”
Mercedes raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s a little testy.”
“Whatever.” Santana took another sip. She spun around in the desk chair, twice, just for kicks.
The silence stretched.
It’d never really been just her and Mercedes, alone. Well, briefly when they were working on ‘River Deep, Mountain High,’ but even then, there’d been Mercedes’ mom coming up every once in a while to offer them water with little lemon slices on the rims of the glasses to soothe their throats, or her dad coming up to listen. Now that they were there, in the heat and the silence of the motel room with no other friends to keep up the chatter, Santana didn’t have a clue what to say. All she knew was that Mercedes was all she had left. So, as a sort of apology, Santana held out the bottle. “Drink?”
Mercedes crossed her arms, but something in her face told Santana it was more a curious move than an angry one. “And why should I?”
“To celebrate our imminent fame? To take the edge off the heat? To make this room seem less like something out of a horror movie?” Santana rolled her eyes. “Take your pick.”
For a moment, Mercedes hesitated, but then she reached across to Santana and accepted the bottle, lifting it to her lips and taking a healthy chug. Then she grimaced, and said, “That is seriously awful.”
“Well, someone in this room is anti-splurge, and it sure as hell ain’t me, so. Whose fault is that?”
She wasn’t being fair. She knew she wasn’t being fair; she was ragging on Mercedes even more than usual, good intentions be damned. But, God, sometimes a girl just needs to lash out, and Mercedes was right there. She was the only one there.
Whatever. Now Mercedes would ignore her for the rest of the night, and in the morning Santana would blame the whole episode on Snix. Problem solved, right?
She glanced at Mercedes to see if the silent treatment had begun yet, to find Mercedes watching her. Mercedes shook her head at Santana, and took another, more moderate sip. “So,” she said, after, her tone perfectly mild, “what’s got you down, Santana?”
Santana frowned. She shrugged, but it felt stiff. “Nothing,” she tried. “Everything’s just peachy.”
“Right,” Mercedes said. “It have anything to do with a certain girl we left back in Lima? Because you know I miss her too, I miss all of them. Even Rachel. So if you want to talk or anything, I’m here.”
Santana opened her mouth to snap off a retort, something already all lined up about ugly little garden gnomes and burning her bridges behind her, but it dried up in her mouth in the face of Mercedes’ steady, expectant gaze. Santana swallowed. After a moment, she glanced away, and said quietly, “Just - can you tell me the plan again?”
A small smile spread across Mercedes’ face. “Sure,” she said, and she patted the bed beside her. Santana obeyed, moving from the desk to sink down onto the lumpy mattress, and she took the bottle from Mercedes. Once Santana had taken a good swallow, Mercedes began. “We’re going to arrive in LA, and settle into our teensy little apartment. We’re going to squabble over who gets what room. We’re going to meet up with the guy holding our contract, and he’ll introduce us to the lady we’re going to be singing for.” She reached over and took Santana’s hand. “We’ll go out there into the real world and show ‘em what we’re made of. And eventually someone will notice us. Someone big.” She took the bottle from Santana, took a swig, then finished, “And then it’s all uphill from there.”
For a second, all Santana could do was stare at Mercedes, who returned her gaze with a small, confident smile. It was the smile of someone who knew their dreams were going to come true. Both their dreams.
Santana leaned in and pressed her lips to Mercedes’.
It only lasted a second, and then Mercedes was pulling away, eyes wide. “Santana -“
“No,” Santana said, raising a hand, her heart pounding, “just hear me out.”
And Mercedes, she paused and she raised her eyebrows and she indicated that she would. Santana couldn’t remember the last time someone really, truly listened to her. Jesus.
“Actually, no, I don’t have anything to say,” it all came out in a rush, “you’re just really freaking hot and basically the most talented person I know and I really, really wanted to kiss you.” Mercedes was staring at her, so Santana just scowled and said, “Your move, Wheezy,” and raised the vodka to her lips to drown her sorrows and hide her blush.
When she finally risked another glance at Mercedes, the girl in question was staring down at her hands, frowning. Santana didn’t know what to make of that, but she figured it couldn’t be good. “Well?” she asked sharply.
“I --,” Mercedes began, but she cut herself off, cheeks flushing dark. There was a look in her eye that Santana couldn’t read and it made her nervous. It looked like rejection, and Santana Lopez didn’t do rejection.
“What?” she demanded, crossing her arms and lifting her chin. Mercedes looked up, met her eyes, hesitated. “If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out and get it over with.”
Mercedes stayed silent. She just sat there, with her brow slightly furrowed and her eyes searching Santana’s face. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, and Santana watched dazedly before growling and throwing up her hands. No way was she going to be let down easy by Mercedes freaking Jones.
“No, you know what, this is stupid. This is the booze talking, not me. Like I would ever want to -“
Mercedes cut her off with a kiss of her own, a gentle one placed right on the corner of Santana’s mouth. That one was immediately followed by another, and then another. They were all fairly innocent, but Santana was basically the Love Guru that Mike Myers could only dream of being and those innocent little kisses were promising more, in the slide of soft skin on soft skin and the way Mercedes tugged lightly on Santana’s bottom lip.
Mercedes pulled away. She was smiling the same kind of grin she’d had after they kicked serious ass on ‘River Deep, Mountain High’; it was exhilarated, nervous, and just the tiniest bit predatory. Santana liked that in a girl. “Santana,” Mercedes said, “you are really, really talented, really, really hot, and you are one of the best friends I have ever had, weird as that is. And I kind of want to kiss you too. Maybe I have for a while, I don’t know.”
Uh. Well then.
“Awesome,” Santana said. She screwed the cap back onto the bottle with hands that were absolutely not shaking, and set it down on the floor, then tangled a hand in Mercedes’ hair and kissed her. A real kiss this time. A kiss so dirty, so hot, that Santana’s toes curled a little in her itty-bitty socks. She teased Mercedes with her tongue, swiping it along Mercedes’ lower lip and then playfully running it along the roof of her mouth. Mercedes moaned into the kiss, nipping at Santana’s lower lip and worrying it lightly. Her far hand came up to trail up and down Santana’s hip. After a breath, her hand rose cautiously further up. Her fingers barely brushed the curve of Santana’s breast, but Santana arched into it all the same.
Mercedes didn’t make any move to go any further than that, though, her hands staying in mostly respectable places, satisfying herself with trailing admittedly-awesome kisses along Santana’s jaw and down the side of her neck. Not that that wasn’t great, but Santana was all riled up and ready to go and she was totally down to take this shit past PG-13, if Mercedes was. It wasn’t like she could just up and ask, but luckily, as mentioned before, Santana was the freaking Love Guru and the smoothest customer ever to hit McKinley High. Without releasing Mercedes’ lips, she reached behind her own back and deftly unsnapped her bra clasp. Like the expert she totally was, she had it off and on the floor in two seconds flat, slipping the straps off her arms and yanking it out from under her shirt.
Mercedes stilled, her hands falling away from Santana and down into her lap. She exhaled shakily and pulled back. For a moment, her lips parted like she had something to say before pursing together, and Santana had to stop and just stare, because, damn, Mercedes’ lips were fantastic. Especially all swollen and spit-slick like that. Then Mercedes smiled shyly, and said with a bit of a self-deprecating laugh, “I should warn you, I’ve never really done any of this,” and she gestured vaguely at Santana’s chest, “before. Well -- not to someone else, I mean.”
That triggered another moment of glazed staring from Santana as she pictured Mercedes, lying in bed, touching herself. Mercedes’ rack was awesome. If Santana had a rack like that, she’d never have even gone to school; she’d have stayed home all day, every day, touching her boobs. Swallowing dryly, she said as off-handedly as she possibly could, “Look, you’d have to try really hard to screw up touching another girls’ boobs, okay. It’s literally no different, except you can actually see what you’re doing, which is a bonus. Unless you’ve got, like, a mirror over your bed or something, but I’ve got the strangest feeling you’re not into that.” She paused, for a second, then continued, “But if you are, tell me now, because we could totally do that in our new place. Just putting it out there.”
Mercedes huffed a laugh. “No, no mirror.”
“Damn,” Santana said, mock-disappointed, before reaching forward to wind her fingers in the hair at the nape of Mercedes’ neck and pull her back into a kiss.
Mercedes’ hand found its way to Santana’s waist again, and this time slipped under the hem of her T-shirt to touch bare skin. Mercedes felt her way up slowly, fingers trailing lazy patterns up Santana’s ribs that had Santana making a noise that, embarrassingly, was probably a giggle, before finally reaching their destination. At first she was still, fingers cupping Santana’s breast, but as the kiss became more heated her thumb found Santana’s nipple, circling slowly and lightly over it until Santana was panting audibly into her mouth.
“Damn,” Santana said again, and this time, murmured hotly against Mercedes’ lips, there was no mockery in it. “Not bad for a first-timer.”
Mercedes chuckled. A moment later, she nipped playfully at Santana’s lower lip before saying, quietly, “Wanna show me how it’s done, then?”
Santana licked her lips, meeting Mercedes’ eyes. “Sure you can take it?”
Mercedes laughed. “I can take whatever you can throw at me, Santana Lopez. Don’t you ever go forgetting that.”
“Whatever,” Santana said, done with talking and ready to get down to biz-niz. Wasting no time, she pushed Mercedes’ tanktop up to her armpits, giving herself full access to what was, hands down, the finest rack at McKinley. She shifted on the bed, balancing herself with one hand on the mattress and moving in closer to string biting kisses down Mercedes’ neck as she worried Mercedes’ nipple between the soft part of two fingertips, rolling it and pinching it lightly as Mercedes panted. She could literally feel Mercedes’ pulse race beneath her lips.
“Santana, oh, more, please,” Mercedes said, pushing her chest up towards her. Santana grinned. That was one request she was totally willing to fulfill, free of charge. She grabbed Mercedes’ tanktop and pulled it up and off. Then she was dipping her head, settling her hands on Mercedes’ hips, and pressing her lips to the swell of Mercedes’ breast, below her collarbone.
Mercedes trembled under her hands as Santana set to work, worrying and teasing her breast with her lips and tongue. Santana flicked the tip of the nipple with her tongue, mouthed her way around the inner curve of her breast, nuzzled the crease between her boobs. A quick glance up showed that Mercedes’ eyes were clenched shut. She was nibbling on her lip in an effort to calm her ragged breathing.
It wasn’t enough. Santana wanted more. Santana wanted to take Mercedes down a notch, raise her up to the best she could be. She wanted to make Mercedes moan her name into the hot summer night.
She raised her head to nip at Mercedes’ ear. “Is that good?” she asked. “’Cause I could stop now. We could call it quits for the night, have us a nice cup of tea and go to bed at a nice, decent hour.”
“Don’t you dare, Santana,” Mercedes said. Her voice was rough and her eyes were dark. Santana loved it.
“Well, if you insist,” she said with a shrug, lowering one hand to Mercedes’ waist. From there, Santana ran it down, past Mercedes’ stomach and the elastic of her pajama shorts to trail her fingers lightly down the crease between those gorgeous thighs.
Mercedes’ fingers tightened on her waist. She stuttered out Santana’s name.
“What’s that, Mercedes?”
Mercedes met Santana’s eyes. Santana saw the exact moment she recognized the challenge there, because the next second Mercedes lifted her chin and said, “Touch me. There.”
Santana wiggled her fingers, pressing them in and circling them along the seam of the crotch. “Just there?”
Mercedes gasped, but gritted her teeth and managed, “It’ll do, for starters.”
Santana smiled.
While she rubbed her fingertips gently up and down the line of Mercedes’ pussy through her pajamas, Mercedes pulled her in for another kiss with a hand around her neck. With each new touch Santana gave her, Mercedes’ rewarded her with a kiss, each dirtier and wetter than the last. Finally, Santana gave in and just ground her palm down where she knew Mercedes’ clit would be, and Mercedes’ groaned into her mouth, loose and uncontrolled, before biting down hard on Santana’s lower lip then slicking it up softly with her tongue.
Santana may have moaned at that. A little. Nothing like Mercedes had, though, obviously. Obviously. What? It was hot.
It also gave her an idea.
She pressed on Mercedes’ shoulders with her free hand, but Mercedes’ seemed a little slow to get with the program. That, or she just really didn’t want to lose Santana’s lips, which was totally understandable. Puck had once suggested, during one of their “on” phases, that she get her name changed to Santana Lipsez. Simply put, her lips are magic.
“Down, Mercedes,” she said, pushing again on her shoulders, and this time Mercedes went. She lay back on the bed with her knees hanging over the edge. Santana stayed sitting where she was beside her, one hand resting on Mercedes’ thigh. She stared down at Mercedes for a moment. Her other hand was lazily brushing through Mercedes’ curls.
After a few seconds of this, Mercedes frowned quizzically. “Uh, Santana?”
Santana startled. “Right, yeah,” she said, and she slipped off the bed onto her knees. With one hand, she spread Mercedes’ legs, and she shuffled into the space between them. Mercedes sat up a little to meet her eyes. “So, Mercedes,” Santana said, arching an eyebrow and trailing her thumb along the waistband of Mercedes’ pajama shorts, “You still want me to touch you? There? Or do you maybe want a little more Lopez up in your business? If you follow me.” She ran her knuckles lightly down the seam of Mercedes’ pajamas to illustrate the point, and Mercedes’ eyes fluttered closed.
“More would be - good, yes,” Mercedes said.
Santana grinned. She stopped touching Mercedes altogether, and totally relished the quiet, unhappy noise Mercedes made when she pulled her hand away. She only did it in order to grab the waist of Mercedes’ pajama shorts and pull them down, though, tugging until they were all the way down around Mercedes’ ankles and then off. Mercedes was wearing practical white cotton underwear. “Ugh, granny panties,” Santana said, wrinkling her nose.
“Like you really care,” Mercedes said, smirking a little. “You’re just going to take them off anyway.”
“True dat,” Santana said, reaching up to grip the sides of the panties. She paused, though, and leaned in close. “Not right away, though.” Then she pressed up and nosed at the crotch of Mercedes’ panties, nuzzling and dropping light kisses here and there while Mercedes gasped above her.
Santana tongued at the white fabric until it was damp and warm and Mercedes was panting. “Like that, do you?” she said, not pulling away even an inch. Mercedes made a throaty mmm sound, which Santana took as a ‘hell yes, Santana, you are rocking my world in a way Trouty Mouth never did and never could.’ She rewarded that kind of enthusiasm with a kiss to the inside of Mercedes’ thigh as she yanked Mercedes’ panties down to join her shorts on the floor.
Finally, Mercedes was completely bare. Spread open and gorgeous in front of her. Santana smiled like a shark, trailing her fingers lightly and haphazardly over Mercedes’ pussy. Her fingertips caught on the lips and dragged lightly before she drew away and back up, tickling over Mercedes’ clit and then dipping shallowly into her. It wasn’t intended to please, just to rile her up a bit, and it was working in a major way.
“Damn it, Santana, if you don’t stop messing around and start actually doing something in the next few seconds, so help me -“
“What’ll you do, Mercedes?” Santana said, rubbing her thumb down Mercedes’ slit. “Turn me over on my stomach and spank me? I didn’t picture you as being into that kind of shit, Mercedes - isn’t that a little kinky for a good Christian girl like you?”
“What I’ll do is dump your ass outside and finish myself off,” Mercedes growled. Santana laughed.
“I’m surprised, Wheezy. Not even going to threaten to leave me behind, cut me out of the contract? Sorry, Santana, I’m better off on my own so I’m going to dump you and I won’t even care or really try hard to pretend to because you’re totally disposable?”
“First off, ow,” Mercedes said. She’d gone still under Santana’s hands, and now she reached down to her leg and gently took Santana’s hand in her own, pulling it away from where it had begun digging into her thigh like a talon. “Second - I wouldn’t ditch you. Santana, I wouldn’t do that, okay? You and I, we’re in this together. Undisputed top bitches, girl, remember?” Her thumb rubbed Santana’s knuckle. She didn’t seem to care at all that this was totally killing the mood.
Santana found that she didn’t much care either. She was getting soft. Who preferred talking to getting their dirty on?
“I’m not going to ditch you,” Mercedes repeated. “I need you with me on this.” The confession didn’t sound forced, or anything, like it would have if Santana tried to echo the sentiment. Mercedes was smiling softly, with that damn understanding look she’d perfected back when they were doing the Troubletones -- Santana would pitch a fit, give it her all, be as nasty and vicious as she possibly could, but Mercedes would see right through her, and know Santana was just doing it because she was hurting. It’d been damn irritating, and it still was. Really.
“And,” Mercedes finished, “I don’t know anything specific - just putting two and two together here - but I’m pretty sure Brittany wouldn’t ever think you’re disposable. And neither do I, like I said. Okay?”
Santana dropped her eyes, nodded her head. Mercedes just continued holding her hand. After a minute of silence, Santana cleared her throat and said, “So, are we going to talk all night or what? Because I can think of a way better way to pass the time.”
Mercedes smiled. “Bring it on, Santana.”
“You got it,” Santana said, smirking, and she crawled up on the bed for a moment to press her lips to Mercedes’, enjoying the slow drag and pull of the kiss. Mercedes’ hands slid down her sides to squeeze her ass, and Santana moaned into her mouth. She’d almost be totally happy staying right there, grinding her hips slowly down into Mercedes’, but no. There were better and wetter things ahead for her, make no mistake. Besides, it really was too damn hot to be pressed all up chest to chest like that. Santana could feel the sweat on Mercedes’ breasts and stomach dampening her own shirt, and why was she fully dressed, again? That was stupid. That should be fixed.
Santana broke the kiss to yank her shirt over her head, then dropped down again to lick her way up Mercedes’ neck. Mercedes’ took full advantage of all the skin now within reach, rubbing her hands up and down Santana’s back, scratching lightly with her nails and digging in a little harder whenever Santana hit a good spot in her exploration of Mercedes’ jaw. Then, with one final, sloppy kiss laden with as much tongue as Santana could possibly put into it, Santana slithered back down Mercedes’ body to the floor.
Thank god for carpeting, she thought; even though it only added to the heat, at least her knees wouldn’t be bruised in the morning. Hardwood is such a little bitch.
She started off slow: running the tips of her fingers around and around Mercedes’ pussy, spreading the lips to drag the pad of her thumb along the inner dips and folds, circling her clit with her fingers. Light touches, coaxing soft noises from Mercedes. She slid her index finger in to the first knuckle, and then the further, massaging Mercedes’ clit with her thumb. Slowly, she began to thrust, just with the one finger.
Mercedes’ hips started to shift in front of her, canting up to lure Santana in deeper. Her quiet, uneven panting reached Santana’s ears, and it was one hell of a turn-on, seriously. The next time Santana pulled out, she added a second finger, working them both in, relishing the way Mercedes moaned. She slid her free hand down to her own cunt, rubbing softly.
“Santana, I - I need -”
“What? What do you need?” Santana said, playing dumb. Remember the love guru thing? She totally knew exactly what Mercedes needed. Didn’t exactly take a genius to work that out. But half the fun was drawing out the torture, so she played dumb a little longer. “Words, Mercedes. Use them. Or you could try, like, singing what you need, if that’s easier for you, but it’ll weird me out a little, just saying.”
“Bitch,” Mercedes said, but there was no bite there, only fondness. For that, Santana crooked her fingers upwards on her next thrust, pressing into Mercedes’ in all the right ways, if the moan that tore out of her was any indication. “Santana, I need - my clit, please -“
Santana smiled. How could she say no to manners like that? So she leaned in and pressed her lips to Mercedes’ clit, massaging it with her lips and tongue even as she continued to thrust into her. Mercedes moaned again. Santana rubbed at her own clit harder, feeling a tightness building up in her belly.
Like hell was she going to come before Mercedes, though.
Santana quickened her pace, licking and suckling at Mercedes’ clit. Mercedes’ thighs began to tighten around Santana’s head, so she stopped thrusting, ignoring Mercedes’ unhappy whine as she pulled her fingers out to brace her hand against Mercedes’ knee. It was stifling down there, trapped by Mercedes’ body and the humid air, but in the most awesome way possible. Sweat dripped down Santana’s neck even as she dipped her head to mouth at the lips of Mercedes’ cunt, before pressing in even closer to lick her way inside.
“Oh, Santana, Santana, yes -“
Her nose was pressed snug against Mercedes’ clit, and she nuzzled it even as she worked her tongue around and into Mercedes’ cunt. Mercedes’ thigh was trembling under her hand, and she dug her nails into Mercedes’ skin lightly. At that, one of Mercedes’ hands came down to tangle itself in Santana’s hair, holding her there while she pressed her hips down, grinding into Santana’s mouth. The cheap motel bed creaked under Mercedes as she moved to get more, harder, now.
With a ragged groan, Mercedes came, her hips bouncing under Santana’s lips. Santana dragged it out, continuing to lick and suck at Mercedes’ pussy, taking her hand off of Mercedes’ thigh to press down on Mercedes’ clit.
“Santana,” Mercedes moaned, her hand clenching into Santana’s hair as the bouncing of her hips petered out into tiny tremors. Santana wished she could see Mercedes’ face, see just how well she’d taken her apart. Even imagining how Mercedes must have looked, in conjunction with the shallow panting that came from above her, had Santana’s hand speeding up between her own legs. She pressed her forehead into Mercedes’ thigh as she rubbed her clit roughly, until the tension coiled in her stomach broke and she came, her hips stuttering into her own fingers to milk out every last drop of pleasure.
When she was done, she lifted her head, wiping sweat off her forehead with fingers that stank of sex. Mercedes had pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch her come, and now she offered Santana a hand, pulling Santana up onto the bed next to her. They lay side by side in silence for a minute, waiting for their heartbeats to diminish.
Finally, Santana smirked a little. “Praise?” she offered, nudging Mercedes with her shoulder.
Mercedes laughed. “Definitely,” she said. She leaned over and pressed a light kiss to Santana’s cheek.
Santana couldn’t help the soft little smile that formed on her lips. She turned her head slightly to meet Mercedes eyes, and Mercedes smiled back at her, equally soft.
After a moment, Mercedes reached down and tapped her fingers to Santana’s palm. “Let’s get some sleep,” she said. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“A big day of more driving,” Santana grumbled, but she yawned.
“Sure. And the first day of the rest of our lives,” Mercedes said. “If you’re nice I’ll even return the favor tomorrow night when we inevitably wind up in another crappy motel.”
“Damn straight,” Santana said. Her eyes began to flutter shut.
They fell asleep like that, naked and on top of the covers with just their fingertips slightly entangled, and dreamed big dreams of Los Angeles and fame until morning.
Word Count: 5, 264
Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine, and by this point, all I can say is "thank goodness" to that.
Pairings: Santana/Mercedes, refers to Brittany/Santana.
Notes: Thanks, as ever, to elva_barr for being such a wonderful beta (and human being in general). This fic is AU for the current season.
Summary: Lucky Santana -- she got to go from being trapped in a tiny, disgustingly hot car to being trapped in a tiny, disgustingly hot motel room. With only one bed.
It was one in the morning when Santana finally said screw it and went to get the vodka she’d bought while Mercedes had been using the restroom. Who knew gas stations sold liquor? She’d only gone in to buy some Twix for the road, but she’d come out with something even better. Dumb hick working the register hadn’t even IDed her. She’d gotten some cigars, too - had to get good and raspy in time for their recording gig.
Their recording gig. She could barely even think the words without shivering in anticipation. When Mercedes had told her she’d spoken to her new manager on Santana’s behalf, Santana had nearly keeled over. Sure, it was just background stuff, but they were just getting started. Her and Mercedes? They were going to take the world by storm.
She glanced around their tiny-ass motel room. The lights flickered above her head, illuminating the cracked mirror on the desk in front of her, the threadbare curtains, and the one bed in the room. The best they could afford. If Santana’d had her way, they’d be lounging in some kind of Gossip Girl-style penthouse, complete with a jacuzzi and well-stocked minibar, but that was impossible for two very good reasons: first off, this motel - the only one they’d come across for the past ten miles - was a complete piece of shit; second, Mercedes was being all stupid and reasonable, insisting that they hoard every penny of their savings for L.A.
Stupid Mercedes. Stupid motel.
It’s not that Santana was scared or anything. So the room was a little dark? Whatever. She could deal. It was just - they were a hella long way from home, that was all. Farther than she’d ever been. And Quinn, and Sam, and Brittany - God, Brittany - they were all back there, so damn far away.
Not that Brittany gave a damn or anything. What was it she’d said? Oh, yeah - “It’s time for you to go be you, Santana. I can’t hold you back. It’s like in Hercules, and you’re Hercules and you’re going to 'Go The Distance' and stuff, except I’m not your foster mom or anything because that’d be weird. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re not Ancient Greek. I could be wrong, though.” She’d said some other stuff, too, but the underlying point had been we’re done. Since this was Brittany, the underlying point was more of a huge, obvious hammer to the face.
So, vodka. And lots of it.
There was the sudden silence that follows a shower being turned off. Santana unscrewed the bottle and took a gulp, then lowered it with a grimace. God, that was nasty. A moment later, Mercedes stepped into the room. Her hair was damp and hung limply, dripping water down onto her shoulders. Santana watched her make her way to the suitcase by the bed, the towel clinging to the softness of her body.
God, Santana was lonely. She took another gulp from the bottle, and coughed a little at the burn. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle her liquor or anything, okay, she was just tired.
Mercedes turned at the noise, and grinned. “Santana, are you drinking what I think you’re drinking? At this hour, all alone? If your momma could see you now, I bet she’d be shocked.”
“Please, Mercedes. She switched me straight from breast milk to boozy, boozy eggnog when I was four months old. That’s how we does it in Lima Heights.”
“Yeah, sure.” Mercedes groped through the bag one-handed for her pajamas. The towel slipped a little.
The silence stretched while Mercedes returned to the washroom, pajamas in hand. Meanwhile, Santana drank. It seemed like as good a way to pass the time as any. The heat in the room was stifling, despite the late hour; they were well into the first heat wave of the summer and it was basically hell. Lucky Santana -- she got to go from being trapped in a tiny, disgustingly hot car to being trapped in a tiny, disgustingly hot motel room. With only one bed.
Mercedes came out, dressed in teensy pajama shorts and an equally teensy tank top, and she settled herself down on the bed. Her boobs looked fantastic, Santana couldn’t help but notice. What? It wasn’t like the outfit was leaving anything much to the imagination. She frowned to herself. Had to be the booze speaking, because no way did she want to tap that or anything.
“It is so damn hot in here,” Mercedes complained. Santana rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, and bitching about it will totally fix that. Stop talking, okay? You’re just adding more hot air to the room.”
Mercedes raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s a little testy.”
“Whatever.” Santana took another sip. She spun around in the desk chair, twice, just for kicks.
The silence stretched.
It’d never really been just her and Mercedes, alone. Well, briefly when they were working on ‘River Deep, Mountain High,’ but even then, there’d been Mercedes’ mom coming up every once in a while to offer them water with little lemon slices on the rims of the glasses to soothe their throats, or her dad coming up to listen. Now that they were there, in the heat and the silence of the motel room with no other friends to keep up the chatter, Santana didn’t have a clue what to say. All she knew was that Mercedes was all she had left. So, as a sort of apology, Santana held out the bottle. “Drink?”
Mercedes crossed her arms, but something in her face told Santana it was more a curious move than an angry one. “And why should I?”
“To celebrate our imminent fame? To take the edge off the heat? To make this room seem less like something out of a horror movie?” Santana rolled her eyes. “Take your pick.”
For a moment, Mercedes hesitated, but then she reached across to Santana and accepted the bottle, lifting it to her lips and taking a healthy chug. Then she grimaced, and said, “That is seriously awful.”
“Well, someone in this room is anti-splurge, and it sure as hell ain’t me, so. Whose fault is that?”
She wasn’t being fair. She knew she wasn’t being fair; she was ragging on Mercedes even more than usual, good intentions be damned. But, God, sometimes a girl just needs to lash out, and Mercedes was right there. She was the only one there.
Whatever. Now Mercedes would ignore her for the rest of the night, and in the morning Santana would blame the whole episode on Snix. Problem solved, right?
She glanced at Mercedes to see if the silent treatment had begun yet, to find Mercedes watching her. Mercedes shook her head at Santana, and took another, more moderate sip. “So,” she said, after, her tone perfectly mild, “what’s got you down, Santana?”
Santana frowned. She shrugged, but it felt stiff. “Nothing,” she tried. “Everything’s just peachy.”
“Right,” Mercedes said. “It have anything to do with a certain girl we left back in Lima? Because you know I miss her too, I miss all of them. Even Rachel. So if you want to talk or anything, I’m here.”
Santana opened her mouth to snap off a retort, something already all lined up about ugly little garden gnomes and burning her bridges behind her, but it dried up in her mouth in the face of Mercedes’ steady, expectant gaze. Santana swallowed. After a moment, she glanced away, and said quietly, “Just - can you tell me the plan again?”
A small smile spread across Mercedes’ face. “Sure,” she said, and she patted the bed beside her. Santana obeyed, moving from the desk to sink down onto the lumpy mattress, and she took the bottle from Mercedes. Once Santana had taken a good swallow, Mercedes began. “We’re going to arrive in LA, and settle into our teensy little apartment. We’re going to squabble over who gets what room. We’re going to meet up with the guy holding our contract, and he’ll introduce us to the lady we’re going to be singing for.” She reached over and took Santana’s hand. “We’ll go out there into the real world and show ‘em what we’re made of. And eventually someone will notice us. Someone big.” She took the bottle from Santana, took a swig, then finished, “And then it’s all uphill from there.”
For a second, all Santana could do was stare at Mercedes, who returned her gaze with a small, confident smile. It was the smile of someone who knew their dreams were going to come true. Both their dreams.
Santana leaned in and pressed her lips to Mercedes’.
It only lasted a second, and then Mercedes was pulling away, eyes wide. “Santana -“
“No,” Santana said, raising a hand, her heart pounding, “just hear me out.”
And Mercedes, she paused and she raised her eyebrows and she indicated that she would. Santana couldn’t remember the last time someone really, truly listened to her. Jesus.
“Actually, no, I don’t have anything to say,” it all came out in a rush, “you’re just really freaking hot and basically the most talented person I know and I really, really wanted to kiss you.” Mercedes was staring at her, so Santana just scowled and said, “Your move, Wheezy,” and raised the vodka to her lips to drown her sorrows and hide her blush.
When she finally risked another glance at Mercedes, the girl in question was staring down at her hands, frowning. Santana didn’t know what to make of that, but she figured it couldn’t be good. “Well?” she asked sharply.
“I --,” Mercedes began, but she cut herself off, cheeks flushing dark. There was a look in her eye that Santana couldn’t read and it made her nervous. It looked like rejection, and Santana Lopez didn’t do rejection.
“What?” she demanded, crossing her arms and lifting her chin. Mercedes looked up, met her eyes, hesitated. “If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out and get it over with.”
Mercedes stayed silent. She just sat there, with her brow slightly furrowed and her eyes searching Santana’s face. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, and Santana watched dazedly before growling and throwing up her hands. No way was she going to be let down easy by Mercedes freaking Jones.
“No, you know what, this is stupid. This is the booze talking, not me. Like I would ever want to -“
Mercedes cut her off with a kiss of her own, a gentle one placed right on the corner of Santana’s mouth. That one was immediately followed by another, and then another. They were all fairly innocent, but Santana was basically the Love Guru that Mike Myers could only dream of being and those innocent little kisses were promising more, in the slide of soft skin on soft skin and the way Mercedes tugged lightly on Santana’s bottom lip.
Mercedes pulled away. She was smiling the same kind of grin she’d had after they kicked serious ass on ‘River Deep, Mountain High’; it was exhilarated, nervous, and just the tiniest bit predatory. Santana liked that in a girl. “Santana,” Mercedes said, “you are really, really talented, really, really hot, and you are one of the best friends I have ever had, weird as that is. And I kind of want to kiss you too. Maybe I have for a while, I don’t know.”
Uh. Well then.
“Awesome,” Santana said. She screwed the cap back onto the bottle with hands that were absolutely not shaking, and set it down on the floor, then tangled a hand in Mercedes’ hair and kissed her. A real kiss this time. A kiss so dirty, so hot, that Santana’s toes curled a little in her itty-bitty socks. She teased Mercedes with her tongue, swiping it along Mercedes’ lower lip and then playfully running it along the roof of her mouth. Mercedes moaned into the kiss, nipping at Santana’s lower lip and worrying it lightly. Her far hand came up to trail up and down Santana’s hip. After a breath, her hand rose cautiously further up. Her fingers barely brushed the curve of Santana’s breast, but Santana arched into it all the same.
Mercedes didn’t make any move to go any further than that, though, her hands staying in mostly respectable places, satisfying herself with trailing admittedly-awesome kisses along Santana’s jaw and down the side of her neck. Not that that wasn’t great, but Santana was all riled up and ready to go and she was totally down to take this shit past PG-13, if Mercedes was. It wasn’t like she could just up and ask, but luckily, as mentioned before, Santana was the freaking Love Guru and the smoothest customer ever to hit McKinley High. Without releasing Mercedes’ lips, she reached behind her own back and deftly unsnapped her bra clasp. Like the expert she totally was, she had it off and on the floor in two seconds flat, slipping the straps off her arms and yanking it out from under her shirt.
Mercedes stilled, her hands falling away from Santana and down into her lap. She exhaled shakily and pulled back. For a moment, her lips parted like she had something to say before pursing together, and Santana had to stop and just stare, because, damn, Mercedes’ lips were fantastic. Especially all swollen and spit-slick like that. Then Mercedes smiled shyly, and said with a bit of a self-deprecating laugh, “I should warn you, I’ve never really done any of this,” and she gestured vaguely at Santana’s chest, “before. Well -- not to someone else, I mean.”
That triggered another moment of glazed staring from Santana as she pictured Mercedes, lying in bed, touching herself. Mercedes’ rack was awesome. If Santana had a rack like that, she’d never have even gone to school; she’d have stayed home all day, every day, touching her boobs. Swallowing dryly, she said as off-handedly as she possibly could, “Look, you’d have to try really hard to screw up touching another girls’ boobs, okay. It’s literally no different, except you can actually see what you’re doing, which is a bonus. Unless you’ve got, like, a mirror over your bed or something, but I’ve got the strangest feeling you’re not into that.” She paused, for a second, then continued, “But if you are, tell me now, because we could totally do that in our new place. Just putting it out there.”
Mercedes huffed a laugh. “No, no mirror.”
“Damn,” Santana said, mock-disappointed, before reaching forward to wind her fingers in the hair at the nape of Mercedes’ neck and pull her back into a kiss.
Mercedes’ hand found its way to Santana’s waist again, and this time slipped under the hem of her T-shirt to touch bare skin. Mercedes felt her way up slowly, fingers trailing lazy patterns up Santana’s ribs that had Santana making a noise that, embarrassingly, was probably a giggle, before finally reaching their destination. At first she was still, fingers cupping Santana’s breast, but as the kiss became more heated her thumb found Santana’s nipple, circling slowly and lightly over it until Santana was panting audibly into her mouth.
“Damn,” Santana said again, and this time, murmured hotly against Mercedes’ lips, there was no mockery in it. “Not bad for a first-timer.”
Mercedes chuckled. A moment later, she nipped playfully at Santana’s lower lip before saying, quietly, “Wanna show me how it’s done, then?”
Santana licked her lips, meeting Mercedes’ eyes. “Sure you can take it?”
Mercedes laughed. “I can take whatever you can throw at me, Santana Lopez. Don’t you ever go forgetting that.”
“Whatever,” Santana said, done with talking and ready to get down to biz-niz. Wasting no time, she pushed Mercedes’ tanktop up to her armpits, giving herself full access to what was, hands down, the finest rack at McKinley. She shifted on the bed, balancing herself with one hand on the mattress and moving in closer to string biting kisses down Mercedes’ neck as she worried Mercedes’ nipple between the soft part of two fingertips, rolling it and pinching it lightly as Mercedes panted. She could literally feel Mercedes’ pulse race beneath her lips.
“Santana, oh, more, please,” Mercedes said, pushing her chest up towards her. Santana grinned. That was one request she was totally willing to fulfill, free of charge. She grabbed Mercedes’ tanktop and pulled it up and off. Then she was dipping her head, settling her hands on Mercedes’ hips, and pressing her lips to the swell of Mercedes’ breast, below her collarbone.
Mercedes trembled under her hands as Santana set to work, worrying and teasing her breast with her lips and tongue. Santana flicked the tip of the nipple with her tongue, mouthed her way around the inner curve of her breast, nuzzled the crease between her boobs. A quick glance up showed that Mercedes’ eyes were clenched shut. She was nibbling on her lip in an effort to calm her ragged breathing.
It wasn’t enough. Santana wanted more. Santana wanted to take Mercedes down a notch, raise her up to the best she could be. She wanted to make Mercedes moan her name into the hot summer night.
She raised her head to nip at Mercedes’ ear. “Is that good?” she asked. “’Cause I could stop now. We could call it quits for the night, have us a nice cup of tea and go to bed at a nice, decent hour.”
“Don’t you dare, Santana,” Mercedes said. Her voice was rough and her eyes were dark. Santana loved it.
“Well, if you insist,” she said with a shrug, lowering one hand to Mercedes’ waist. From there, Santana ran it down, past Mercedes’ stomach and the elastic of her pajama shorts to trail her fingers lightly down the crease between those gorgeous thighs.
Mercedes’ fingers tightened on her waist. She stuttered out Santana’s name.
“What’s that, Mercedes?”
Mercedes met Santana’s eyes. Santana saw the exact moment she recognized the challenge there, because the next second Mercedes lifted her chin and said, “Touch me. There.”
Santana wiggled her fingers, pressing them in and circling them along the seam of the crotch. “Just there?”
Mercedes gasped, but gritted her teeth and managed, “It’ll do, for starters.”
Santana smiled.
While she rubbed her fingertips gently up and down the line of Mercedes’ pussy through her pajamas, Mercedes pulled her in for another kiss with a hand around her neck. With each new touch Santana gave her, Mercedes’ rewarded her with a kiss, each dirtier and wetter than the last. Finally, Santana gave in and just ground her palm down where she knew Mercedes’ clit would be, and Mercedes’ groaned into her mouth, loose and uncontrolled, before biting down hard on Santana’s lower lip then slicking it up softly with her tongue.
Santana may have moaned at that. A little. Nothing like Mercedes had, though, obviously. Obviously. What? It was hot.
It also gave her an idea.
She pressed on Mercedes’ shoulders with her free hand, but Mercedes’ seemed a little slow to get with the program. That, or she just really didn’t want to lose Santana’s lips, which was totally understandable. Puck had once suggested, during one of their “on” phases, that she get her name changed to Santana Lipsez. Simply put, her lips are magic.
“Down, Mercedes,” she said, pushing again on her shoulders, and this time Mercedes went. She lay back on the bed with her knees hanging over the edge. Santana stayed sitting where she was beside her, one hand resting on Mercedes’ thigh. She stared down at Mercedes for a moment. Her other hand was lazily brushing through Mercedes’ curls.
After a few seconds of this, Mercedes frowned quizzically. “Uh, Santana?”
Santana startled. “Right, yeah,” she said, and she slipped off the bed onto her knees. With one hand, she spread Mercedes’ legs, and she shuffled into the space between them. Mercedes sat up a little to meet her eyes. “So, Mercedes,” Santana said, arching an eyebrow and trailing her thumb along the waistband of Mercedes’ pajama shorts, “You still want me to touch you? There? Or do you maybe want a little more Lopez up in your business? If you follow me.” She ran her knuckles lightly down the seam of Mercedes’ pajamas to illustrate the point, and Mercedes’ eyes fluttered closed.
“More would be - good, yes,” Mercedes said.
Santana grinned. She stopped touching Mercedes altogether, and totally relished the quiet, unhappy noise Mercedes made when she pulled her hand away. She only did it in order to grab the waist of Mercedes’ pajama shorts and pull them down, though, tugging until they were all the way down around Mercedes’ ankles and then off. Mercedes was wearing practical white cotton underwear. “Ugh, granny panties,” Santana said, wrinkling her nose.
“Like you really care,” Mercedes said, smirking a little. “You’re just going to take them off anyway.”
“True dat,” Santana said, reaching up to grip the sides of the panties. She paused, though, and leaned in close. “Not right away, though.” Then she pressed up and nosed at the crotch of Mercedes’ panties, nuzzling and dropping light kisses here and there while Mercedes gasped above her.
Santana tongued at the white fabric until it was damp and warm and Mercedes was panting. “Like that, do you?” she said, not pulling away even an inch. Mercedes made a throaty mmm sound, which Santana took as a ‘hell yes, Santana, you are rocking my world in a way Trouty Mouth never did and never could.’ She rewarded that kind of enthusiasm with a kiss to the inside of Mercedes’ thigh as she yanked Mercedes’ panties down to join her shorts on the floor.
Finally, Mercedes was completely bare. Spread open and gorgeous in front of her. Santana smiled like a shark, trailing her fingers lightly and haphazardly over Mercedes’ pussy. Her fingertips caught on the lips and dragged lightly before she drew away and back up, tickling over Mercedes’ clit and then dipping shallowly into her. It wasn’t intended to please, just to rile her up a bit, and it was working in a major way.
“Damn it, Santana, if you don’t stop messing around and start actually doing something in the next few seconds, so help me -“
“What’ll you do, Mercedes?” Santana said, rubbing her thumb down Mercedes’ slit. “Turn me over on my stomach and spank me? I didn’t picture you as being into that kind of shit, Mercedes - isn’t that a little kinky for a good Christian girl like you?”
“What I’ll do is dump your ass outside and finish myself off,” Mercedes growled. Santana laughed.
“I’m surprised, Wheezy. Not even going to threaten to leave me behind, cut me out of the contract? Sorry, Santana, I’m better off on my own so I’m going to dump you and I won’t even care or really try hard to pretend to because you’re totally disposable?”
“First off, ow,” Mercedes said. She’d gone still under Santana’s hands, and now she reached down to her leg and gently took Santana’s hand in her own, pulling it away from where it had begun digging into her thigh like a talon. “Second - I wouldn’t ditch you. Santana, I wouldn’t do that, okay? You and I, we’re in this together. Undisputed top bitches, girl, remember?” Her thumb rubbed Santana’s knuckle. She didn’t seem to care at all that this was totally killing the mood.
Santana found that she didn’t much care either. She was getting soft. Who preferred talking to getting their dirty on?
“I’m not going to ditch you,” Mercedes repeated. “I need you with me on this.” The confession didn’t sound forced, or anything, like it would have if Santana tried to echo the sentiment. Mercedes was smiling softly, with that damn understanding look she’d perfected back when they were doing the Troubletones -- Santana would pitch a fit, give it her all, be as nasty and vicious as she possibly could, but Mercedes would see right through her, and know Santana was just doing it because she was hurting. It’d been damn irritating, and it still was. Really.
“And,” Mercedes finished, “I don’t know anything specific - just putting two and two together here - but I’m pretty sure Brittany wouldn’t ever think you’re disposable. And neither do I, like I said. Okay?”
Santana dropped her eyes, nodded her head. Mercedes just continued holding her hand. After a minute of silence, Santana cleared her throat and said, “So, are we going to talk all night or what? Because I can think of a way better way to pass the time.”
Mercedes smiled. “Bring it on, Santana.”
“You got it,” Santana said, smirking, and she crawled up on the bed for a moment to press her lips to Mercedes’, enjoying the slow drag and pull of the kiss. Mercedes’ hands slid down her sides to squeeze her ass, and Santana moaned into her mouth. She’d almost be totally happy staying right there, grinding her hips slowly down into Mercedes’, but no. There were better and wetter things ahead for her, make no mistake. Besides, it really was too damn hot to be pressed all up chest to chest like that. Santana could feel the sweat on Mercedes’ breasts and stomach dampening her own shirt, and why was she fully dressed, again? That was stupid. That should be fixed.
Santana broke the kiss to yank her shirt over her head, then dropped down again to lick her way up Mercedes’ neck. Mercedes’ took full advantage of all the skin now within reach, rubbing her hands up and down Santana’s back, scratching lightly with her nails and digging in a little harder whenever Santana hit a good spot in her exploration of Mercedes’ jaw. Then, with one final, sloppy kiss laden with as much tongue as Santana could possibly put into it, Santana slithered back down Mercedes’ body to the floor.
Thank god for carpeting, she thought; even though it only added to the heat, at least her knees wouldn’t be bruised in the morning. Hardwood is such a little bitch.
She started off slow: running the tips of her fingers around and around Mercedes’ pussy, spreading the lips to drag the pad of her thumb along the inner dips and folds, circling her clit with her fingers. Light touches, coaxing soft noises from Mercedes. She slid her index finger in to the first knuckle, and then the further, massaging Mercedes’ clit with her thumb. Slowly, she began to thrust, just with the one finger.
Mercedes’ hips started to shift in front of her, canting up to lure Santana in deeper. Her quiet, uneven panting reached Santana’s ears, and it was one hell of a turn-on, seriously. The next time Santana pulled out, she added a second finger, working them both in, relishing the way Mercedes moaned. She slid her free hand down to her own cunt, rubbing softly.
“Santana, I - I need -”
“What? What do you need?” Santana said, playing dumb. Remember the love guru thing? She totally knew exactly what Mercedes needed. Didn’t exactly take a genius to work that out. But half the fun was drawing out the torture, so she played dumb a little longer. “Words, Mercedes. Use them. Or you could try, like, singing what you need, if that’s easier for you, but it’ll weird me out a little, just saying.”
“Bitch,” Mercedes said, but there was no bite there, only fondness. For that, Santana crooked her fingers upwards on her next thrust, pressing into Mercedes’ in all the right ways, if the moan that tore out of her was any indication. “Santana, I need - my clit, please -“
Santana smiled. How could she say no to manners like that? So she leaned in and pressed her lips to Mercedes’ clit, massaging it with her lips and tongue even as she continued to thrust into her. Mercedes moaned again. Santana rubbed at her own clit harder, feeling a tightness building up in her belly.
Like hell was she going to come before Mercedes, though.
Santana quickened her pace, licking and suckling at Mercedes’ clit. Mercedes’ thighs began to tighten around Santana’s head, so she stopped thrusting, ignoring Mercedes’ unhappy whine as she pulled her fingers out to brace her hand against Mercedes’ knee. It was stifling down there, trapped by Mercedes’ body and the humid air, but in the most awesome way possible. Sweat dripped down Santana’s neck even as she dipped her head to mouth at the lips of Mercedes’ cunt, before pressing in even closer to lick her way inside.
“Oh, Santana, Santana, yes -“
Her nose was pressed snug against Mercedes’ clit, and she nuzzled it even as she worked her tongue around and into Mercedes’ cunt. Mercedes’ thigh was trembling under her hand, and she dug her nails into Mercedes’ skin lightly. At that, one of Mercedes’ hands came down to tangle itself in Santana’s hair, holding her there while she pressed her hips down, grinding into Santana’s mouth. The cheap motel bed creaked under Mercedes as she moved to get more, harder, now.
With a ragged groan, Mercedes came, her hips bouncing under Santana’s lips. Santana dragged it out, continuing to lick and suck at Mercedes’ pussy, taking her hand off of Mercedes’ thigh to press down on Mercedes’ clit.
“Santana,” Mercedes moaned, her hand clenching into Santana’s hair as the bouncing of her hips petered out into tiny tremors. Santana wished she could see Mercedes’ face, see just how well she’d taken her apart. Even imagining how Mercedes must have looked, in conjunction with the shallow panting that came from above her, had Santana’s hand speeding up between her own legs. She pressed her forehead into Mercedes’ thigh as she rubbed her clit roughly, until the tension coiled in her stomach broke and she came, her hips stuttering into her own fingers to milk out every last drop of pleasure.
When she was done, she lifted her head, wiping sweat off her forehead with fingers that stank of sex. Mercedes had pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch her come, and now she offered Santana a hand, pulling Santana up onto the bed next to her. They lay side by side in silence for a minute, waiting for their heartbeats to diminish.
Finally, Santana smirked a little. “Praise?” she offered, nudging Mercedes with her shoulder.
Mercedes laughed. “Definitely,” she said. She leaned over and pressed a light kiss to Santana’s cheek.
Santana couldn’t help the soft little smile that formed on her lips. She turned her head slightly to meet Mercedes eyes, and Mercedes smiled back at her, equally soft.
After a moment, Mercedes reached down and tapped her fingers to Santana’s palm. “Let’s get some sleep,” she said. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“A big day of more driving,” Santana grumbled, but she yawned.
“Sure. And the first day of the rest of our lives,” Mercedes said. “If you’re nice I’ll even return the favor tomorrow night when we inevitably wind up in another crappy motel.”
“Damn straight,” Santana said. Her eyes began to flutter shut.
They fell asleep like that, naked and on top of the covers with just their fingertips slightly entangled, and dreamed big dreams of Los Angeles and fame until morning.