A series of one-shots that I keep wanting to write. Basically sex and dialogue. You know. The fun parts.

This is not meant to have a plot.

Read in any order you like.

A bit of a violation of the M rating. I hope you folks aren't shy.

Firsts (otherwise known as Freshman Year)

"Penguins love skinnydipping," Brittany pointed out seriously. "So they must be French." She sat on Santana's bed with a sigh, watching her friend walk into the room after her.

"Ugh," Santana sighed dramatically, ignoring Brittany's comment. "I can't believe my parents forced me to go to the aquarium. Thanks for coming with."

Brittany shrugged. "It was great. I love watching mountain-rays."

Santana gave her a look at that, but it didn't stop her rant. "I mean, we're in high school now. I'm a cheerleader!"

"Me too," Brittany pointed out, pulling her hairband out and combing her hair with her fingers.

Santana sighed and sat on the bed next to Brittany. "This is just so embarrassing."

Brittany touched her arm, leaving her hair down. "You don't have to be embarrassed. Nobody knows but me."

Santana's lip twisted. "You're coming to the party next weekend, right?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I guess. As long as you're going. I don't know anybody who's gonna be there."

"Are you kidding me? All the Cheerios will be there."

Brittany looked at her, feeling vulnerable. "Yeah, but I barely know any of them."

"Also football players," Santana pressed animatedly, grabbing her friend's arm. "Hot football players."

"Oh. Yeah." Brittany shifted uncomfortably, looking down.

"I've decided to kiss one of them," Santana announced. And then it seemed that Brittany's discomfort was contagious, because then Santana slunk back, embarrassed. "I... I was thinking we could practice."

"Practice what?" Brittany was looking at her now, inquisitive.

"Kissing," Santana said nervously. "So I know I'm doing it right."

Brittany looked at her friend's lips, so full and round. "I bet you're already a really good kisser," she observed, a nervous excited tremor in her heart.

But Santana stood and walked to the window at that. "We don't have to," she said, not looking at Brittany.

"Oh," Brittany said, following her and grasping her own hair, having forgotten her hairband. "You don't want to anymore?"

Santana shrugged, looking away. "Maybe it's weird. But we all have lips, don't we?"

"I've never seen a guy with lips like yours," Brittany said honestly.

And then Santana turned to look at her. She adjusted Brittany's hair, pulling it around in front of her body, and then, still holding her hair, leaned forward.

Their lips pressed together, too hard, and then they backed off and Brittany stopped tightening her lips and they melted together, bringing a sweet mindlessness. They stayed together, surprised by the unfamiliar sensation; Brittany reflected that it felt very much the same as holding Santana in bed: tingly and full of anticipation. Except Santana's lips were so soft, and they tasted of her lip gloss and delicious chewy human taste.

She opened her lips, wanting to feel Santana's lips more fully, and the kiss deepened.

And then Santana stepped back away, searching Brittany's face. Brittany managed a smile through the heavy feeling in her throat and chest, down her legs and between them. "You taste good," she said.

Santana smiled vaguely back at her, pulling her to the bed and pushing her onto it. "Easier sitting down," she explained, and then brought her glorious delicious lips back.

They walked down the street silently, grasping each other's hands tightly. It was 12:45, an hour after their "curfew." From experience they knew that Santana's parents would already be asleep, but - "It was a great party," Brittany said hesitantly, slirring a little.

"Oh yeah. Really great," Santana agreed, squeezing Brittany's hand tighter.

They hadn't really spoken since last Sunday when they'd parted, after a relatively sleepless (and breathless) Saturday night at Santana's house. A week without substantial interaction was terribly strange to both of them, but feeling strange and lonely was better than trying to fit what they'd done into their friendship, somehow.

"I'm sorry about this week," Brittany said suddenly. "I was scared of talking to your lips."

Santana giggled, a high, odd sound in the darkness. "I know what you mean," she said. "I'm glad we left then."

"Yeah. That guy was doing weird things to you."

"I didn't like it." The confession sounded strange. After all, wasn't that what guys did? And didn't girls like it? Brittany swallowed, remembering the kisses she'd shared with Santana. She'd been kissed by a guy, too, but it was Santana that was backed against a wall, Santana whose eyes were suddenly panicked in the flashing lights. Despite the shots that were pounding their way through her system, Brittany rushed to her friend's side instantly, pulling Santana away and then soon out the door.

"It'll be okay," Brittany said finally. "I bet he's just really bad at it."

"Yeah," Santana agreed. "I bet."

They arrived at Santana's house, let themselves quietly in the back door, and made their way to Santana's room. They stripped, put on pajamas, and then dove into Santana's bed, holding each other.

"Hey Brit?" Santana said after a pregnant pause. "You awake?"

"Yeah," Brittany said, breathless.

"Want to... um, kiss?"


Four months passed.

Santana lost her virginity at one of those parties.

Then Brittany did.

After every slimy detail was hashed and rehashed, Santana said, "But did you... did you like it?" They were laying in bed, legs intertwined, clutching each other.

Brittany shrugged. "It felt strange, and, like... like nails on chalkboard. Or really loud drums. But good."

"Kind of... um, like, it hurt?"

"Like I wanted him to stop or... slow down," Brittany said slowly.

Santana's arms tightened around her, and she put her head on Brittany's chest, just above her heart. "Me, too," Santana said finally. "Promise me... promise me if you do it again you'll tell whoever you're with? To slow down?"

"Isn't that the way you do it?"

Santana's arms tightened again, so hard it almost hurt. "Maybe you shouldn't do it then."

Brittany giggled. "We'd be bad cheerleaders if we didn't at all."

"Yeah. Plus everyone respects you more," Santana conceded. "If you're experienced. And you got to learn somehow."

"Too bad it feels so weird."

"Please don't do it if you don't like it," Santana begged, a strange note in her voice.

"But it's fun," Brittany said.

"Maybe not for us."

Brittany thought about this, and then turned to Santana and nuzzled her. "I know I like your lips."

Santana's reply was wordless but enthusiastic.

And today, Brittany did more than rub Santana's body and back through her shirt, or even stroke her naked stomach. She sild her hand up Santana's body to cup her breast gently, tentatively.

Santana paused, and then attacked Brittany with renewed vigor, holding her close. Eventually Brittany's hand stopped being numb from nerves, and she started to realize how soft and pliable Santana's breasts were, like her own but delightfully different, with a certain depth to them that Brittany could feel when Santana shifted. She wasn't sure what pushed her to do it. It felt like holding Santana, holding some secret, intimate part of her. It felt like control.

She forgot to breathe a few times, totally blown away by what Santana's tongue was doing in her mouth. The last time she almost passed out, she felt a hard nub under Santana's shirt. Her nipple. The thought made her heart skip a beat, though she couldn't say why. She wondered how it felt to Santana, and hoped she'd ask Brittany to move her hand if it bothered her.

Brittany kept herself still, loving the way that Santana nestled her body against hers. But the slinking desire to hold Santana's breasts persisted through the weeks, and soon it blossomed into the desire to rub and squeeze, and during winter break they found themselves in bed with both of their shirts off and Brittany's mouth on Santana's breast. Every time it was new, and then it was new again when Santana returned her gestures... and yet, every time it was easy, as natural as blinking at a bright light.

And every first renewed their trust, and deepened it, so that the next time was even easier. They stopped muffling their secret gasps, delighting in the noises they could raise. They squirmed and snuggled and laid on top of each other, vying for dominance.

And though they continued partying, somehow neither of them slept with a guy after that first time.

That is, until James.

James was on the football team. He was a hot, popular senior, obviously experienced in the ways of sex, and also newly single. He'd talked to Santana before, and when she heard he was single she... well, she approached him in a hallway and they made small talk. Then they got ice cream. After that they made out in a corner of the gym.

And then they were an item. Pretty soon that became "dating." All in the space of a week. A week that, unsurprisingly, was void of any substantial Santana/Brittany interaction.

On Friday, though, Brittany seized her opportunity before it was gone and approached Santana at her locker. "Hey," she said awkwardly.

"Hey," Santana acknowledged, taking a book out of her backpack.

"You're coming over on Saturday night for movies, right?"

"Umm... not totally sure."

"Oh," Brittany said. "Well call me?"

"Sure," she said. And that was that.

It was probably jealousy. It wasn't every day that a hot, popular senior showed interest in a lowly freshman. The fact that this freshman was Brittany's best friend was just an unfortunate inconvenience.

It wasn't like they'd ever signed a contract or anything. They'd kissed men, even been groped by them. Yes, Brittany decided. She was jealous that James liked Santana and not herself, and hoped that she wouldn't lose a best friend over it. So it would be alright.

Santana didn't call on Saturday night, though. And so for the next two weeks Brittany walked around campus in a haze of dreary confusion.

Until one Friday night, very late, Santana called with a sort of odd desperation in her voice. "Can I come over?" she asked.

"Of course! Yeah! Right now?"

"Okay, I'm gonna walk."

"I'll meet you on Thrush."

"I'm coming from the mall," Santana corrected. "So, um, Harvey?"

"Okay." Brittany turned off her phone, threw on a jacket and took off, almost running to Harvey and then down it, looking for her friend under the flickering streetlights.

Santana was crying when they met, and for a few minutes it was all Brittany could do to pat her back and keep her feet. "I'm here, I'm here," she kept saying.

"James is fucking three girls," Santana said finally, wiping her nose. Brittany's heart did a little flip-flop dive of confusion. Santana cared so much. "But not me, so he told me about them. So I agreed to sleep with him. And we did."

"Tonight? Right now?" Brittany felt the deep flame of fury ignite in her gut.

"Yeah," Santana said, gripping Brittany's hand in an iron vise and starting to walk, still sniffing. "I left when he said," and she paused and hiccupped, "I was alright but I should move more."

"Oh," Brittany said, torn between incredulity, anger, and the desperate desire to make Santana feel better. "So it's over?"

"You kidding me? I have to tear his nasty gloating heart into little bitty pieces now."

Santana insisted on showering, scrubbing her body for far longer than was necessary. That night, they held each other for the first time in three weeks. Brittany's bed became a magical warm soft dark place, the only place where Brittany could soothe her friend's shattered soul, with hugs and soft murmurs of comfort. Brittany was delighted and appalled at the opportunity.

"Hey Brittany?" Santana said, and Brittany struggled through the thick sloppy filaments of exhaustion to wake. When her eyes flickered open, Santana continued. "You're the only person in the world I'd trust myself with."

"You're always safe with me," Brittany tried to say, but the words slurred into near-unrecognizability. It was still kind of dark outside, before the sun rose.

Santana understood, though, rubbing her foot against Brittany's.

"I wish..." Santana struggled. "I wish you were a guy."

"Mmmm?" Brittany mumbled.

"Or... or I was a guy. So we could be like Quinn and Finn, a thing, and people would respect us. So we wouldn't have to date or mess around with other people."

"We don't have to," Brittany said, but Santana ignored her, instead sliding her hand up from Brittany's waist, rubbing her back. She kissed a soft line along Brittany's neck, and then nibbled on her ear.

Suddenly Brittany wasn't sleepy anymore. "Mmm, that feels so nice," she moaned.

"I know," Santana said evilly, and Brittany recognized the mood. Brittany would have little say in what was done to her now.

She started slow, though, drawing soft little circles on Brittany's ass with her fingers, kissing around the collar of Brittany's sleeping shirt and then the skin between her shirt and her pants. Brittany unbottoned her shirt from the bottom, and Santana kissed slowly up the line of smooth skin as it was revealed, finally flattening her body against Brittany's and kissing her lips, soft and slow. Brittany grasped the back of Santana's head and deepened the kiss, glorying in their renewed closeness. "I missed talking to you," Brittany said.

"Me too. And I missed your lips," Santana informed her, businesslike. "And your boobs," she said, taking them both in her hands and propping herself up with her elbows. She dipped her head and slowly licked Brittany's nipple, watching it harden, and then licked her other nipple, brushing the first with her thumb.

Brittany arched into the touch, breath quickening. "I'll eat lunch with you after I destroy James," Santana informed her, temporarily dampening Brittany's excitement. Santana noticed, and corrected, "While I'm destroying James."

"I miss you a lot when you're with him," Brittany said sadly.

"I know," Santana said. "But we have to keep our reputations up. Hey, anyway, you've kissed more guys than I have."

"Yeah, but kissing..."

"Well," Santana considered. "I'm yours right now."

"Mine?" Brittany said, processing.

"Yours," Santana confirmed, kissing Brittany again and starting with featherlight touches on Brittany's boob. "I'm all yours."

Brittany decided she really liked that idea, responding to Santana's touch by spreading her legs a little, letting one of Santana's legs slip between hers. Her arousal was like a slap, burning into her core almost intolerably, making her press Santana's hands harder on her breasts and bite Santana's tongue.

Surprised, Santana plunged her tongue into Brittany's mouth more forcefully, squeezing her breasts and then softly tweaking her erect nipples. Brittany pulled off Santana's shirt, longing for Santana's naked skin like a drowning man longs for air, with a sort of desperate need. Without even a touch, Santana's nipples were already stiff against her stomach, her skin like dusky chocolate against Brittany's whiteness. Brittany broke their kiss to bite Santana's bony shoulder, putting her hands on either side of her friend's chest and grinding Santana's breasts into her stomach.

Santana growled in response, sliding her body up Brittany's, bringing her core against Brittany's upper thigh and putting light pressure on Brittany's core, too. The burning pain between Brittany's legs lingered, but it was quick being replaced by a flood of warm, wet arousal, and she could feel the warmth between Santana's legs, too. Santana grasped her breast in one hand, and Brittany nuzzled at her chest, wiggling down to take Santana's erect nipple into her mouth, rolling it with her tongue and then with her teeth, lightly.

Santana grunted and sloppily grasped Brittany's head, holding it close to her chest. And then she started moving her hips, slowly grinding into the lower part of Brittany's stomach. They'd done that before, but somehow this seemed deeper, maybe harsher, than before. If what they did was ever a game, it ceased to be one in that moment. Santana's movements put rhythmic pressure on Brittany, and Brittany started grinding back, gasping through Santana's boob.

She put her hand down to grasp Santana's ass, pushing her down so that their hips were together, and Santana ground on the top of Brittany's thigh. This brought Santana's eyes almost on level with Brittany's, and Brittany was shocked at how flushed her friend's face was, how swollen her lips were. They both paused in surprise, searching each other's eyes.

And then Brittany kissed Santana, using the hand she had on Santana's ass to push her body into Brittany's. Santana gasped, and then pulled away. Brittany had only a moment to be embarrassed before she realized what Santana was doing: pulling off Brittany's pajama pants.

She wiggled to make the job easier, and then laid motionless under Santana, naked except for her panties, wondering what Santana had in mind. Neither of them had ever taken off their pants.

Santana was taking off her own now, slipping them off and then placing her body on top of Brittany's again. Brittany had thought there was no way to feel closer, but she realized she was wrong. This was closer than they'd ever been. And the wetness on Santana's panties against her thigh was undeniable.

She suddenly had the desire to eat Santana whole, to surround her with glorious sweet love and never let her out, keep her here. Keep her heart beating so hard and fast against her chest, keep her eyes looking so warmly into hers, keep her... keep her fingers dancing so tentatively along the waistband of her panties.

There was a question in Santana's eyes now, and Brittany wondered what it was. "You're mine," Brittany whispered. "Right?"

"I'm yours," Santana said, and Brittany took her hand and guided it under the waistband of her panties, opening her legs a little more to accommodate her friend's hand. She closed her eyes for half a second, but then Santana slipped her finger between Brittany's lips and her eyes flew open again, locking with Santana's. She swallowed, gasping, as Santana slowly stroked her.

Something light and happy twisted in Brittany's gut. "That's amazing," she managed. Santana stroked her again, experimentally, and Brittany's hips bucked a little. She grunted, and Santana rolled partway off her, allowing their chests to touch and giving Santana the flexibility to fully explore Brittany on the outside. Halfway through the exploration, Brittany's light, airy feeling turned into a heavy, needy one, just as happy but with an edge of expectation.

Whenever Santana stroked the top of her, the oddest, numb excitement spiked in her, and before she knew it she was bucking into Santana's hand, her body sweaty wherever it touched Santana's.

Santana kissed her again, and then her hand found the place again and Brittany exploded, the amazing feeling flooding her body with hot sweet pure delight, sparks exploding behind her eyes. "Oh," she said in surprise, pulling her lips from Santana's and riding the wave, and then her body was limp and Santana was crawling back on top of her, raining kisses on her face.

"Mmmm," she moaned, managing to put her arms around Santana's body. "I think I just had a heart attack."

"Yeah," Santana agreed, settling her body on her friend's and grinding a little, noninvasively, on her friend's leg while she examined her soaking index and second finger.

"Kiss me again," Brittany said, and Santana abandoned her examination and kissed her. The lingering desperate want in Santana's lips reignited a tiny fire in Brittany's chest, and she put her hand between her friend's legs, pushing lightly.

Santana rolled into it, so Brittany moved her hand in a circular motion between her legs. Santana groaned, flattening her body and stiff nipples against her friend's.

It was over in moments, her friend's orgasm tearing through her body, making her twitch and collapse on Brittany. Brittany grinned happily, stroking Santana's back and kissing her cheek over and over again. "You're amazing," she said in delight.

"I'm... tired," Santana said, so Brittany fished for the covers and pulled them over the pair's prostrate bodies, snuggling under Santana. The sun was just coming up as they drifted off.