Bitemark

Brittany doesn't get Santana. Brittany doesn't get a lot of things, but Santana is near the top of the list – sure, the sleeping with guys is fun, but Santana always seems to be taking it way too seriously, and not at all seriously, at the same time. Brittany just thinks that's confusing.

The thing is, Santana doesn't need anything from those guys, except the fact she can have them. She can control them, and if they ever try and take any of control back, it's against the whole point and San freaks. Brittany kind of just wants to tell her to chill out, because it's just guys, and there aren't like, rules to it. Are there? Maybe there's some kind of textbook Santana's following that Britt somehow missed; she doesn't know.

Brittany blinks when she sees a deep purple bite mark on the inside of Santana's neck. "I thought you didn't like being bitten, Santana," she says, as Santana has made abundantly clear every time they've had sex. Not that Brittany would try it; it sounds... mean, and Brittany doesn't want to mean.

"What? Oh," it takes Santana a couple of seconds to understand, and she frowns. "I don't. It was... some college guy last weekend; doesn't matter."

"Didn't you tell him–"

"I did. Didn't really matter, even when I told him to stop it when he was actually doing it."

"That guy's a douche," Brittany says. "You want me to punch him?"

Santana smiles. "No offense Britt, but he'd cut you into French Fries."

"But I'm Dutch."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says, then trails off, thinking for a bit. "It's not really the biting I have a problem with, not really. It's not exactly my thing, but it's not a massive problem. But it hurts, so I'm not going to let you do it unless you're someone I trust, and hey, random college fuck: you don't count!"

She's got that look on her face that says she's pissed because she doesn't want to be sad, and Brittany always feels bad when Santana looks like that. She wants to help. "Do you trust me?"

Santana blinks. "What?"

With a smile, Brittany reaches down and grabs Santana's hand, bringing it to her own mouth. She makes eye contact, asking permission, and Santana nods. Brittany bites down, gently at first, feeling the soft dusky skin in her mouth. They just stay there for a little, Santana's hand in Brittany's mouth, smiling.

Eventually, Brittany pulls back. "So. Trust," she says.

"Trust," Santana repeats mindlessly – neither of them is really sure what they mean by that, but it doesn't really matter.

"...Can we have sex now?" Brittany asks.

Santana laughs at her friend's blatancy.