Warnings: Temperature play
Written for a good friend who wanted to see Brittany take control.
(Also, I'll just say that before I wrote this, I did actually try a little of this on myself, so I hope it seems fairly realistic, even if I didn't do it to such levels as are in the story! I strangely enjoyed it rather a lot!)
It was Brittany who had first come up with the idea. A guy on the Cheerios told her about one of the numerous blogs run by Jacob Ben Israel, which had the particularly catchy title of wmhsgleeclubsexualfrustration, and she had decided to take a look. Apparently, the vast majority of the submissions involved Rachel Berry, much to her distaste, although there was an interesting one involving Sam, Quinn and Coach Sylvester, as well as a rather detailed one involving Kurt, of all people.
(Santana suspects she knows exactly who wrote that one when Brittany recounts all the points as far as she can remember, but keeps her mouth shut)
However, another had caught her eyes, and as she read it, it appealed to her more and more. It was different, that's for sure, but it could be fun. And so she had asked Santana about it, and with a little persuasion, she had agreed.
And so we come into the close, warm light of Brittany's bedroom, candlelit and comforting, where both girls are laying together, arms around each other, the reassuring contact of skin on skin just letting each other know that they're there for one another. Santana's head is pressed against Brittany's neck, pressing soft kisses to the fragile angle of her collar bone.
"You know that thing I told you about the other week?"
"Do you wanna have a go? I can go get the stuff and we can do it now if you like."
"Sure, go ahead." She brushes Brittany's clavicle one last time with her lips before breaking away and letting her up. "Be quick, Britt!" she calls as the blonde head disappears around the door.
Santana rolls over and lies face down, buried amongst the cotton and polyester of Brittany's pillows. They're obviously fairly freshly changed, as they're not covered in shreds of hair from Lord Tubbington or Charity or one of Brittany's disintegrating soft toys, but they still smell like her; sweet and bright, a mixture of cherry and peppermint and industrial apple scent, as well as that perfume she had bought for her last Christmas. She closes her eyes and the corners of her mouth curl upwards. Brittany might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but she was an expert when it came to love and romance. And cat diseases. She laughs quietly to herself.
She doesn't know whether it's the sheer innocence that exudes from her every inch, or the brilliance of her smile, or just the simple beauty that she wears like a crown – and so she should, because God that girl is beautiful – but she really does love Brittany. She's had relationships before, and yeah, she's had a hell of a lot of sex, but it's different with her.
Brittany must have slipped back into the room quietly, because the next thing Santana hears is the faint thud of something being set down on the bedside table, and another object being moved, sliding roughly across the grain of the wood.
"Britt?" Santana's voice is muffled amongst the pillows.
"Yeah." The smile in Brittany's voice is unmistakeable.
Brittany looks around the room, trying to remember what the post had said and if she needed anything else. As far as she could remember, it was only the two, but she'd better just think once more.
Yep, it was just the two, she thinks, anyway.
Santana feels a light pressure beside her as Brittany sits back down next to her. Her fingers run through her hair, whisper against the base of her neck and run along the etching of her spine, over the strap of her bra and along the crease and valley of skin, causing Santana to shiver slightly. She stops at the hem of her underwear, rubbing a few slow, silent circles before retracing the path back upwards, unclipping Santana's bra as she does so. Santana moves to slip it off quickly, raising herself from the pillows for a brief moment before falling back down, head tilted to the side to free her speech.
"Which one do you want to try first?"
"I dunno. Cold?"
Brittany gathers Santana's hair, stroking it before curling it around her neck, exposing as much of her back as possible.
"You have really pretty hair, San."
And Santana can't help but smile too.
There's a clinking sound coming from the table, the opposite side from the way Santana's head is turned. Brittany's holding an ice cube gingerly between her fingers, letting the excess water drip off while trying to keep her grip on it so as not to have to try and catch it again.
"You ready, San?"
"Go for it." She's sure she's probably done weirder things, and hey, if Britt wants to try it, why not let her?
Brittany holds the ice over Santana's back, letting the water drip down for a few moments, watching how Santana forces herself to keep breathing deeply and rhythmically, even after the initial shock has worn off. She clambers over to straddle Santana's knees, her own clinging tight to Santana's thighs, supporting herself on one hand.
The water starts to slip along Santana's skin, each separate drop forming its own course. The tracks shine iridescent in the flickering light of the candles, catching then releasing the rays and reflecting, refracting just a little of the light. It's almost like Santana's sparkling to Brittany and it's really pretty.
The piece of ice seems of have almost halved in size when Brittany finally decides to apply it directly to Santana's back. She'd been so mesmerised by the water that she hadn't noticed. When the ice finally touches the base of Santana's neck, she lets out an ahh, only just audible. Brittany applies more pressure as a shiver passes across Santana's shoulders and head, causing goose bumps to appear. More water appears at the base, and Brittany starts to slide the ice through it, bringing it across her shoulder blades, along the valley of her spine and letting it rest on the small of her back as the final shard melts.
Brittany leans over to where most of the water has pooled and collected and laps at it a little with he tongue, Santana moaning a little underneath her but trying to keep as still as possible. Her hips arch into the mattress as Britt slips soft across her skin, then back into the touch of her lips, soothing her from the shock of the cold. She kisses a trail upwards, right to Santana's ear, before telling her to turn over, voice hushed and even more gentle than normal.
Santana does exactly as she's told, just letting Brittany guide her.
Before Brittany continues with whatever she wants to do next, her fingers slip between the string of Santana's underwear. She lifts her hips from the bed almost as an automatic reflex, allowing Brittany to pull them down easily.
She drops them, then reaches for the table again, where Santana notices a white cup, which she assumes contains the ice, although she can't make out anything else there, not outside the candle Fresnel.
Brittany lifts out another piece, held firmly between her forefinger and thumb, and uses it to wet Santana's lips, before kissing her slowly, sugary and deep. She breaks fairly quickly, sitting up across her thighs and runs a wet thumb lightly across Santana's left nipple, hardening beneath her cold touch. She then grips the ice cube as hard as possible and presses it directly onto the centre of Santana's breast, eliciting a sharp gasp. Santana's eyes open wide and her hips buck against Brittany, who uses her free hand to trace Santana's hair line, stroking her soothingly.
"Are you alright, San?"
"Yeah," Santana nods, "just a shock, that's all. 'S good."
And then she lets out another low moan as Brittany retrieves a third one and holds it onto her opposite side. The shock seems to pierce her breast directly, sharp, stinging, but with that odd tingle of pleasure and a thrill of excitement, just at something new and fresh and, dare she think it, enjoyable? Pleasurable?
Just as they seem to be on the edge of melting, dissolving into water and nothingness, Brittany starts to move them downwards. They descend the rungs of her ribcage, one settling just on her navel and causing her stomach muscles to contract, while the other continues further, keeps on going and down over the edge and suddenly – or not-so-suddenly – Brittany places the last shard over Santana's clit. Santana almost screams, a jolt of electricity running glacial through her body, and Brittany just keeps it there, determined to hold it until it's gone completely. And when it has, she just lets the remnants drip teasingly around her while she reaches over to get just one more, which this time she places into her own mouth, sucking, biting down on it lightly.
It takes about half a minute before Brittany goes down, breath brushing over Santana like evergreen, making her tingle pleasantly a little. It's then Brittany ducks her head and slides her tongue over Santana's leaking entrance and – fuck – the ice isn't even fully melted and there's this strange conflict of temperature on her and it should not feel as good as it does when Brittany's tongue breaches her ever so slightly but it feels amazing and as the subtleties of her movement and the nips and sucks and breathes and hums build she feels like she's reaching the edge until Brittany pulls away and Santana lets out a strangled sigh.
Brittany leans over Santana again fully, resting her weight on top and kissing her. Santana thinks she can taste a little of herself, and it's a bit odd but good as well and Brittany's hands thread through her hair and of course she's taking good care of her.
"Hey, Britt? Don't you need to go get anything?"
"No, why would I? Have I forgotten something?" Her voice is suddenly worried. She'd checked and checked and she thought she had everything and now she'll just have to leave again.
"I thought you wanted to try something hot as well?"
"Well, what is there that you've got?"
"Candles, of course!" Oh God. Brittany's going to burn her. This is the girl that uses curling irons in the bath. How can she be trusted with a candle flame?
"Britt, are you sure that's a good idea?"
"I said I'd take care of you, didn't I?"
"Yes, but Britt, candle flames burn you - ,"
"I know that, silly! But the candles have wax, don't they?"
Oh. Now that makes more sense. Even though somehow Santana's nerves don't go down quite as much as she'd like.
"Are you okay, San?"
Santana smiles up at Brittany. "Yeah."
"Do you wanna keep going? We can stop."
"No, keep going. You do what you want."
"Okay. Thanks, San. Turn over again?"
And Santana does so, concentrating on her breathing, while Brittany shuffles the items around again. Out of the corner of her eye, Santana can see the flame dancing, casting surreal shadows on Brittany's face and the wall behind her.
Brittany first takes Santana's hand, lifting her wrist upwards to her, and, as carefully as she can, pours a couple of drops of the wax onto her wrist. It hardens within a few seconds.
"Does that hurt?"
"A little, but it's sort of nice as well. Warm."
"Tell me if I hurt you, Santana. I don't want to hurt you."
"You can count on it, Britt."
Obviously reassured, Brittany lowers Santana's hand back onto the mattress, and returns the attention to her back. She then proceeds to drip a trail down the delicate column of vertebrae, Santana shuddering a little beneath; the burn lasts momentarily, then it's just warmth and love and she's surprising herself at how much she's enjoying this.
Brittany then quickly dips her own finger into the wax, and draws a little pattern across Santana's shoulder blades that Santana's can't make out.
"What're you doing, Britt?"
"Writing you a message."
"What's it say?"
"BP, then a heart, then SL."
And Santana can't help but smile yet again, touched by the almost-childlike nature of the gesture.
This then quickly dissolves in a moan, as Brittany, without warning, lets a drip of hot wax spill onto the curve of Santana's ass, followed by a few more, marks strewn across both sides and just reaching across the sensitive crease of her thigh.
"You're really pretty, San." Brittany's seemingly forgotten that she said exactly the same thing not too long ago, but the fact that she still thinks that when she's got dried wax split and cracking all over her back - well, it's good to know. "Lie there for a few moments. I'll be back."
And with that, she climbs off the bed, replaces the candle on the bedside table and leaves the room, leaving Santana to remain in the glow.
When she returns, she gently rolls Santana over, sliding one hand beneath her back and the other underneath her knees, then carries her in a fireman's lift to the bathroom, also candlelit, the spiralling scent of vanilla filling the air. She sets her down into the bath, full of warm water, caressing her skin, a wave of pure relaxation falling over her.
Brittany slips off her underwear herself, then climbs in behind Santana, wrapping her legs around her so she's leaning back onto her. She takes a clean flannel from the side of the bath, wets it, and rubs Santana's back gently with it, taking care to remove all the wax. There are faint red marks where it's hardened, although they fade from sight quickly. The last pieces she removes are the letters she wrote over her shoulder blades, just to leave them there for a little while longer.
She then takes a cup from the side of the bath, fills it with water, then tips it over the ends of Santana's hair wordlessly, as she bends her head back for more. Brittany diligently wets Santana's hair, before opening a bottle of apple-scented shampoo , squeezing a small amount onto her palm and using it to carefully massage Santana's scalp, her long fingers applying steady pressure. Santana gives a little hum of satisfaction as Brittany proceeds to rinse the clouds away, making sure it's all gone.
Brittany continues to massage Santana for a few minutes, working on her head, neck and shoulders as Santana loses herself in Brittany's careful, calculated touches. She leans over Santana's shoulder and presses a soft, chaste kiss to her cheek.
"I love you, Santana."
"Love you too, Britt." Although Santana's voice is distant, Brittany can still recognise the sincerity in it. She knows it's true.
Brittany climbs out first, then offers her hand to Santana, who takes it, their fingers interlocking. She heads to the airing cupboard, takes out two towels, and hands one to Santana, wrapping the other around herself.
"You look like a mermaid, Santana."
Santana laughs as she dries herself off, heading back into Brittany's bedroom, where they fold the towels over the chair and both climb back onto the bed. Brittany buries her face into Santana's neck, hands around her waist. She mumbles something indistinguishable, kisses the nearest inch of skin as Santana pets her hair, then shuts her eyes.
They lie together, concentrating on the floating of their breaths, the beat of their heartbeats, just letting one another know that they are indeed alive.
Brittany falls asleep quickly, breath ghosting secretly across Santana's skin. Santana leans over and blows out the candle.