Title: If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter One]
Summary: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.
Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!
Word Count: 10,000
Warning: Santana G!P - not for the faint hearted!
There's music blaring through the street as Santana heads down it; her pigtails bobbing against her shoulder blades with every step and her pink Powerpuff Girls backpack clinging to her bony, seven-year old frame.
To her left there's a small crowd of people, multiplying in size on the basketball courts across from her house and she can see from at the foot of her stoop the different ethnicities mixed among there. Black, white, Asian and everything else downtown New York has to offer. They're all dancing, a make-shift dance mat with a boom box to the right on the floor as their limbs glide and pop along to the beat.
Santana's long stopped moving to stare. It's not her fault, she just finds dancing fascinating. It always renders her awe-struck when these guys and girls dance because it's almost as if their limbs are disconnected from their bodies. Their arms wave like a piece of spaghetti, and their bodies roll like they belong in a bakery. They way they dance is just so beautiful and before she knows it, Santana's crossed the road – her abuela would totally kill her if she told her she didn't check left and right before crossing – and now she's standing behind the crowd, trying to peer between their legs to see the dancing up close.
And somehow, she manages. She manages to worm her way through the crowd, pushing with her hands to separate legs as she ducks through them until she's at the front of the crowd, head tilted back slight and eyes wide as she just gazes. Gazes at the dancing and the freedom of the dancer's moves. It really is just incredible.
But then something catches her eye from across the group, and her focus is shattered. Bright, sparkling blue eyes are staring straight at her, almost smiling, if that were possible, and Santana feels a weird fluttering inside her stomach. This girl looks like something out of a Disney movie, or like, a fairy tale. She has long blonde hair, tied into a ponytail and slung over her right shoulder, and her skin is smooth and pale. The only thing Santana can compare her to is Cinderella or even Rapunzel – except without the freakishly long hair or hole-ridden clothes.
Someone knocking into her breaks her from her reverie and she snaps her head around, switching on the scowl she copied from her abuela but only finds legs in front of her. Everyone's so much taller than she is, and she knows that people probably aren't paying attention to her whilst this dance battle is going on, but still, they could try to watch out a little. Even if everyone is like, a teenager or older and has a good two or three feet on her height. Apart from this blonde girl of course.
Glancing back across the circle, disappointment sinks in as she finds the girl missing. Her shoulders slump and face drops and she figures her abuela is waiting for her anyway so she might as well be going. And all these stupid people are pushing her around and shoving her further back into the crowd anyway, so she can barely see the dancers.
Santana ducks beneath legs and knees, barging through with her shoulders and pushing out of the crowd, feeling a little more than angry because these tall people are just being mean. They should be nice to a kid. She's sure it's like, in the rules of the world or something.
Finally, she gets there, and breaks out into the open with a deep breath. Her face feels all hot from the barely-there space she was basically crawling through, and a fresh blast of air greets her when she pops out from between the last pair of legs and climbs to her feet.
Except there's someone standing in front of her.
Pasting on that scowl again, Santana tips her head back and glares at the person obstructing her path with all intent of telling him or her to 'go to hell' 'cause she heard her mom say that to her dad a while back and he got real angry. But the furrowed features are quickly replaced by a blank expression when she finds the blonde girl in front of her, hands clasped behind her back and feet rocking forward and backwards innocently. All the anger and frustration she felt seeps out of her and she finds herself wondering why the hell that even happened. This girl's a stranger. Santana doesn't even know her.
When she's finally on her feet, Santana dusts off her dungarees and smooths out all the wrinkles. Her abuela taught her that presentation is always the best thing, so she needs to look smart. Her teacher told her that, too.
But neither of them speak when all is said and done, and Santana arches a brow at the girl as she just smiles and latches onto Santana's wrist – clearly not caring for personal space – and drags her around the circle and towards a bench. She waves her pale hand forward, and Santana looks at her cautiously before climbing onto the bench and turning back around again. This blonde girl has already joined her when she faces the crowd again, and she smiles at the girl before watching the dancers again.
And then she realizes why she was led up here. From the bench Santana towers over the entire group of people, and can see the mat, the boombox and the several dancers poppin' and lockin' across the 'dance floor'. And it's then that Santana first gets the overwhelming urge to hug the girl. The blonde didn't need to help her, or show her this bench so she could see better, but she just did out of the kindness of her heart.
For the first time ever, Santana thinks she may have found a friend.
The people continue to dance, and Santana grins at her new companion as they begin to rock and bounce to the music, clapping their hands in time to the crowd doing the same. The dancers, for their part, just move. Move and glide and slide and jump a few meters in front of her. They're just so free. So smooth. And Santana just can't help but stare at them. Her eyes roam over their sculpted calf muscles that clench as they rise upon their tip toes, and their toned arms that flex and roll with every movement. Their abs of steel curl and crunch as their legs bend and twirl them around, and Santana's jaw goes slack as one of the dancers holds his head with one hand and drops his entire body below his shirt, seeming as if his head just dropped off his body.
It's just incredible.
But all good things come to an end, and three or four minutes later the music dies. People begin to disperse out, some in groups and a few just in couples and Santana's bottom lip juts out into a pout; that was awesome and honestly, she could watch them for at least a good out or two.
Pushing the sadness away, knowing there'll be more times like this to come, Santana climbs down from the bench, pressing her hand to the seat and swinging her legs down when necessary, and begins to head home. Her abuela's definitely going to be mad for coming home later than she said, and she doesn't want to make her any angrier. So she darts her way through the people walking away from the crowd, listening to their low murmurs of awe and compliments and can't help but smile.
Santana manages to get half-way across the basketball court before she remembers the blonde girl, and she instantly turns to search for the girl because she just left without even saying goodbye; but the girl is nowhere in sight. Again, disappointment strikes and Santana exhales heavily, hooking her thumbs into her back pack and making her way to her house once more.
A small tug on one of her ponytails stops her though, and she grins instantly; the warmth curdling inside her stomach telling her that it's the girl again. She twists, peering over her shoulder and finds exactly who she expected to find, grinning down at her from a two inch height gap.
It's simple, and quiet. But there's some strange warmth in the single word, and Santana finds her seven-year old self smiling idiotically up at the girl. "Hi."
Grinning, the blonde girl sidles up beside her and urges her with a soft push of the palm to Santana's lower back to start walking again. If it were anyone else, Santana would probably screech at the girl for touching her again, because seriously? Personal space? But this girl just seems to drain all of that out of it, and she can tell if they're going to be friends, this is something she's going to have to get used to.
Somewhere along the walk home and this strange girl's rambling about unicorns and rainbows, Santana slides her eyes to the left and takes a quick peek at the girl. She's pretty sure she goes to school with her, because she's convinced she's heard about a girl who has an obsession with mythical creatures going around in her art class, but she's never really paid any attention. Not until now, anyway. And now she can't seem to stop wanting to hear about unicorns and rainbows because it just means more time to listen to this girl talk.
After a few minutes, they arrive at Santana's house and she begins to climb the stoop, pausing when the blonde girl speaks.
"I'm Brittany. Brittany Susan Pierce."
She turns around, looking down at the girl and examining her body and clothes; the way her bright yellow tank top hangs a little limply off her thin arms, but how the orange duck takes all focus away from that because it's kind of cute. Even if ducks were like, so three years ago.
"So?" She replies, because it's just in her nature to be mean to anyone who thinks it's a good idea to talk to her.
That probably explains why she's never had any friends though. Throughout kindergarten, she would always sit in the sand pit, surrounded by toys and other five-year old's and would always greet the kids who were brave – or stupid – enough to talk to her with a scowl and a small hiss (because snakes are scary and they wouldn't come back if they were scared of her) and they would just run off.
Then again, it could be because of her... extra appendage, that kept her from being nice to people. All through her life her mom told her how different she was, how she would never really fit in with the other little girls because other little girls didn't have the parts she did and how she would never be able to be friends with the boys either, because technically, she was still a girl and so the boys wouldn't want to hang out with her either. From then on, there was this wall she put up – protection, you could say – that kept potential friends away. And before this strange blonde girl everyone had proved that having friends was pointless, because they'd always end up stealing your toys or breaking something of yours.
But Santana doesn't know that this girl with the duck shirt and jeans with holes in the knees, is the one to change things around. Not quite yet, anyway.
"You don't want to be friends with me," Santana tells the girl, trying to save her time because Santana Lopez doesn't do friends. Not now, not ever.
But Brittany just tilts her heads to the side and pouts. "Yes, I do. I like you," she tries, climbing the steps.
Santana wants to scoff at the girl. Being only seven years old, most people would think that she doesn't know much about the world. Doesn't know about poverty, or diseases, or the downfall of modern-day economy; but she knows a lot more than most seven-year old's do. Including the fact that normal girls don't have the parts she does. And she's learnt to be content with the fact she's different from most. She's learnt to be content with the fact that girls like her don't make friends easily. And now, that's what she's trying to tell Brittany.
"I'm different, though," she announces, shrugging and causing her back pack to shift further up her back. "You don't want to be friends with me."
Brittany seems adamant, though. "I'm different, too," she tries, scrunching up her nose in confusion and distaste. "My mommy says my brain don't work the same way as other girls do 'cause unicorns aren't horses who did extra good and got a horn for it instead of a medal. They're magical ani-nam-al that don't exist," she explains with the world's most adorable pout.
Still, Santana narrows her eyes. This girl is weird, but there's something really cute about how weird she is. Friends can think that though, right? She assumes so, and looks back over her shoulder, seeing the curtain twitch and hand come out. Her abuela's waving her in and so she turns back to Brittany and readjusts her grip on her backpack, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth.
"We can be different together," Brittany cuts in, looking all kinds of cute and innocent as she rocks on to the balls of her feet and back down again, repeatedly. "We can be friends."
Santana doesn't take that as a suggestion, as more of a request and can't help but nod in agreement. There's something so enticing about this girl. So tethering that she finds herself unable to tell the girl no. Sure, they've only just met, but doesn't that just make it weirder? They've known each other for what, ten minutes and this girl's already driving Santana crazy, but intriguing her beyond what she thought was possible?
"Sure," Santana sighs, and before she knows it Brittany's climbed up the stoop to the step below hers and wrapped her thin arms around her waist, pulling her into a hug she didn't know she needed.
Although, because it caught her completely off guard, Santana's now standing like a plank of wood with her arms crushed beneath the other girl's and so she can't actually return the embrace, instead just standing there awkwardly until Brittany releases her. Despite the awkward angle though, Santana can't help but think that she doesn't want to stop hugging this blonde girl. Hugs to her are like Christmas. They only come around once a year, and that's when her papi decides to come back to the house. But even that isn't guaranteed. Last Christmas wasn't, anyway.
The hug ends, and Brittany pulls back with a wide grin over her face, showing the gap in her mouth from where one of her front teeth are missing and it makes Santana grin right back.
"We're friends now, okay?" The girl says, and Santana is a little startled from the sudden embrace and so all she can manage in reply is a weak nod.
And as Brittany bounced down the stairs, muttering the word 'awesome' underneath her breast and grinning with uncontainable excitement, Santana can't help but wonder if they would ever actually be friends, because people don't seem to stay with her long – even if they're related.
Little did she know that, that right there? Was just the beginning, and that friendship would most definitely last for eternity.
Late October, 2018
Santana stretches her arms way above her head, tilting her neck from side to side and hearing the satisfying click as the kinks in her muscles are worked out. It's Friday, it's 7pm and she's just signed a young hip-hop hopeful, going by the name of Robert Pointer to her company's label, Millennium Records.
She's been an A&R executive for the past four years of her life, straight out of college aged 20, and into an internship which ended with her becoming one of the most renowned executives in the business. And right now? Her life pretty much rocks. She has a smokin' hot girlfriend and the best best friend in the entire world, and to top that all of her job is kick ass and pays incredibly well.
There's not much to complain about.
She tilts her head back, rolling the back against the leather of her chair from side to side, closing her eyes and wondering what to do with the rest of her Friday night.
There's a party out on her apartment's roof tomorrow night, all thanks to her girlfriend Sophie's insistence on hosting some type of gathering, which she could be helping with. But then a certain blue-eyed, blonde best friend pops into her brain, and her heart aches as she feels like she hasn't seen the girl in what feels like decades. But really, it's only been a year and a half. Still, to Brittany and Santana, that's like, a hundred times longer than they'd ever and have ever gone without seeing each other.
She weighs up the options before shrugging to herself and stretching across her desk, picking up her cell and kicking her feet up on the top. Her fingers dial in a familiar number and she brings the phone to her ear, drumming her free hands fingertips upon the counter top.
"Hello, Pineapple Studios, New York. How may I help you?"
Santana rolls her eyes at the sound of one of Brittany's smarmy colleagues. They're such stuck up assholes, honestly. "Can you put me through to Brittany Pierce please?"
"May I ask who is calling?"
She runs her tongue along the front of her teeth. Swear to God these people just try to piss her off; they know exactly who she is because she calls all the damn time, asking for the same freaking' person. "Her best friend."
"Okay, hold please."
The line rings out with some crappy, orchestral jazz that makes her want to hang up immediately, but before she knows, there's a ruffling at the end and a familiar voice shouting 'Pierce, it's for you' across the room.
"Hello?" The voice says, breathlessly.
Santana smiles and shakes her head, even though Brittany can't see it. Her best friend's voice is like sunshine on a rainy day. "Hey, stranger."
The sheer excitement in her best friend's voice makes Santana's grin grow even wider, and she crosses one ankle over the other, shutting her laptop. Work's over and done with. This is just Britt-Britt time. "How's it going, B?"
"Tiring. Matt was off today so I've taught my classes on top of his."
"Damn girl," Santana fakes a ghetto voice. "How do you handle it?"
"If it keeps me in shape, and pays my rent, I don't mind all that much."
She can hear the nose scrunch in her best friends tone and swings her leg off the desk, sitting up straight and resting her elbows on the desk. Her mind begins to race with thoughts of her best friend in a sports bra and knee-length sweatpants and oh God, that's so much more than she should be thinking. It's not like she doesn't know Brittany's attractive, because hell, Brittany is definitely attractive–
(Like, really attractive. So attractive that even a blind person would be able to sense it..)
–But it's just that Santana had spent so many of her hormonal teenage years trying not to focus on that, because their friendship was so unique and strong that neither of them wanted to risk losing it by hooking up or involving unnecessary feelings, that it seems a little stupid to go back on all that training, just so Santana can put another dollop of Brittany into her spank bank.
Still though, she indulges in the image of a slight sweating Brittany, half-naked and dancing for a few seconds. She's allowed to, it's like best friend rights to know how hot your best friend is. But she still has to remind herself, after the thinking slash day dreaming that their relationship is purely platonic. After all these years, you'd think that Santana would have engrained that in her mind and it would just be an automatic thing now to know that Brittany's just a friend, but it's not. Santana doesn't know why though. But she doesn't care to dwell on it too much, fearing the unknown.
Because they're best friends. Always have been and always will be. Brittany may be bisexual, and Santana may be gay, but that doesn't and hasn't ever meant that they were bound to get together at some point. They're best friends, and that's the way it's always worked for them. It's simply, and easy, and there's no complications or questions. They're always there for each other and will continue to be for the rest of their lives.
And Santana's okay with that. Brittany is too.
"True that Britt," she says, clearing her throat. "Anyway, I was just wondering if you were up to anything this weekend? Seeing as you've moved in now and all."
Brittany's just moved in to an apartment a few blocks from Santana and Sophie's. She'd spent most of her time moving as she could never find anywhere that made her want to stay, or keep with a job that she enjoyed enough – or so she'd told Santana – and has recently settled for a nice penthouse apartment downtown and got a job as a dance teacher. Brittany seemed pretty happy with it, and the news had been like the greatest Christmas present ever for Santana, because now it meant she'd get to spend more time with her best friend.
A year and half is just too long.
"Um," Santana can almost feel Brittany twirling her hair in deep thought through the phone. "Not that I can think of. Why? What have you got up your sleeve?"
"I'm hosting a party, wanna come? You can bring Rachel if you want?"
Rachel Berry – one of Brittany's long-term friends that Santana never liked. But hey, a friend of Brittany's was always a friend of hers – part of the no questions thing.
"You are hosting a party?" Brittany chuckles at the thought. "Since when did pigs start to fly?"
Santana brings her hand to her chest and gasps dramatically. "I'm offended Britt. I'm not as anti-social as you'd like to think."
"Name three times you've ever voluntarily hosted a party." Brittany deadpans down the phone and Santana curses herself, unable to answer the question. "What's the reason anyway?"
It's kind of irritating how well Brittany knows her, because it's like Brittany's always one step ahead of her and knows her choice even before she's made one; but it's a comfortable irritating and Santana's grown accustomed to it over the years of their friendship.
Santana tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and thinks. They've been best friends for as long as she can remember, and there's nothing they don't share. Everything they do and everything they've ever done is shared between them, and so it shouldn't be that hard to tell Brittany that tomorrow night, she'll be meeting – and finding out about for the first time – Sophie, Santana's long-term girlfriend. Who, for some stupid reason, Santana decided not to tell Brittany about in the past. Yet for some reason it's still too difficult to say out loud. So she doesn't.
Instead, she settles with a shrug and a, "Felt like it," and spins around in her chair idly.
Brittany hums down the phone, and Santana knows her best friend is hearing the lie in her words. She crosses her finger and prays that Brittany won't ask anymore.
"Okay..." the word is drawn out and Santana clenches her hand into a fist, preparing herself for the 'bullshit' call. "Well I'll be there. But I'm bringing Rachel. I don't want to get left by Miss Hotshot and all her high-end office friends."
Santana rolls her eyes playfully. "You know it's not like that Britt-Britt. But I just can't help it if I'm popular," she boats, chuckling to herself as her eyes roam through the glass walls of her office and onto her secretary, Jenny, who's staring at her quizzically.
Coughing, and removing the dirty great grin off her face, Santana turns her features stoic and resumes the proper sitting position. Most of her colleagues – well, the ones that work for her anyway – never see the non-professional side of her. None of them have ever seen her smile or giggle, or even make eye contact with anyone that didn't metaphorically burst into flames. And so she has to keep that reputation up. The music industry is a cut throat business, and the only way she's been able to get to her high-powered position here is to play the bitch.
Of course, doing that had led to several scared employees and a rumor about her being a descendent of Satan, but it'd never bothered her. Always just laughed off with a glass of scotch with her boss.
"Awesome. 7:30 start, right?"
Santana can't stop the grin, even if Jenny is still side-eying her. "Am I that predictable?"
"You are to me, San," Brittany says back, a smile clear in her tone. "But I've gotta go now. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
Santana nods and exhales softly, remembering she'll see her best friend tomorrow.. "Sure, B. Can't wait to see you!"
"Me neither, bestie. Bye!"
"Bye, Britt." She hangs up and slumps back against her chair with a massive grin on her face.
She's missed her best friend more than she could have ever thought possible.
Santana returns home around 8pm. She slips the key into the lock, pushes the door open with her foot and drops all her belongings on the side table before moving into the apartment.
The living room is the first room she encounters, and so she shrugs off her blazer and throws it over the armchair near the entrance before finding Sophie, sitting on the sofa, watching TV intently and wearing one of Santana's t-shirts with, apparently, nothing beneath it but a pair of lacy panties.
Immediately, Santana's pants begin to tighten and she tilts her head to the side, silently admiring the smooth skin of her girlfriend's legs as she leans against the door frame, yet to be noticed.
Sophie's her long-term girlfriend. Well, long-term in Santana's terms is more than a one night stand. Admittedly, they had started off that way after meeting at a gay bar down on 42nd Street and spending the rest of the night having the most incredible sex known to freaking man, but things changed that night. Afterward, whereas Santana would roll off, kiss the girl on the cheek and then head on home, she stayed the night and actually asked for Sophie's number. That lead to some flirty texting, a date here and there and then seven months later, BAM, were moving in together.
It'd been strange at first, because the only person Santana had ever become emotionally attached to was Brittany, but things changed and she guessed at some point she'd meet someone who she would want to settle down with. Couldn't be Brittany, because of their friendship and all that jazz, and Sophie was just as good. Mostly.
The whole 'extra appendage' thing had never been a problem with Sophie, which was good because Santana had some bad experiences with it in the past. In fact, it was quite the contrary to a problem. Turns out, Sophie had always wanted to do it with someone like Santana and after she'd run her hand across the crotch of Santana's jeans during one heated make-out session to find a large bulge, she'd just shrugged and said it was hot. That night was definitely a good one.
Santana sighs and straightens up. "You know, if someone broke into the apartment and saw you looking like that," she says, pushing off the door frame and heading towards the back of the sofa where she leans down and grins at her girlfriend. "Burglary would definitely be the last thing on their mind. And then I'd have to kick their ass."
Sophie smiles back and tilts her head, pouting her lips for a kiss. "Well," she says into Santana's mouth. "Getting to see you fight for me would be really hot."
Hands gliding over the shoulder of her girlfriend, Santana presses harder into the kiss and twists Sophie's head, manipulating the angle until it's more comfortable. Except Sophie misinterprets the movement and instead latches onto Santana's shirt, tugging until Santana topples over the back of the sofa and onto her, where she shuffles until thighs are either side of her body and she's rocking into her girlfriend methodically.
But she's too tired for anything more than cuddling, and pulls back when the need for oxygen becomes too much, propping onto her elbow to look down at her girlfriend. "Hey beautiful."
"Hey," Sophie returns, pecking her lips and smiling sweetly.
Santana nuzzles their noses together quickly and pushes up until she can stand. "I need a beer. Want anything?"
Her girlfriend twists back to the TV, switching back to her sitting position. "No thanks, babe."
The term of endearment has always been a bit of a problem, and as she smiles and bites back the urge to say that it's a problem, she begins to think about it. In the past, with ex-girlfriends and people she's been seeing, it was always the same. 'Babe' and 'baby' always seemed to make her cringe because they were just so typical for infatuated couples. Always using cutesy names and staring at each other like love-sick puppies, it just isn't for Santana and never has been; but Sophie disagreed with that and so they had to compromise during their two month anniversary dinner because she just couldn't stand it anymore. 'Babe' was okay. 'Baby' however, was off the freaking table, and it was okay because Sophie didn't even ask Santana why it was like that. Just shrugged and accepted it.
Santana heads for the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes before reaching blindly for the fridge. There's only a few beers inside, and a chunk of cheese that she's pretty sure has been there for a good month or two, and she seriously wishes that Sophie would just do some grocery. There's a food market like a block away, walking distance even, and Sophie always gets off work earlier than Santana and her job is no way near as hard as Santana's.
But this isn't the time to start arguing about that, and so Santana glances around, trying to figure out if she has enough energy to even attempt to find the pasta to cook something; but gives up about three seconds in and decides take-out is the way to go. She grabs a beer anyway, cracking it open and taking a long hard sip as she kicks the fridge door shut and heads back into the living room, aiming straight for the desk over in the far corner.
There's a Chinese take-out menu sticking out one of the drawers, and to open it and search for anything but Chinese would just require extra effort and honestly? With Santana's mood and energy level? Screw that. Chinese is always good.
She snatches it quickly, not even bothering to open the draw and walks back towards the sofa, throwing herself down onto the cushion next to her girlfriend and shifting when Sophie leans into her, back pressing into her side and head resting on her shoulder.
"I'm ordering Chinese. You want some?"
Sophie twists her head until she can look at her. "I've already eaten," she replies, kissing the underside of Santana's chin and glancing back at the TV. "But thanks anyway, babe."
Santana tries not to focus on the 'babe' thing as well as the fact that Sophie could've saved her some dinner or whatever, and digs out her iPhone, dialling in Mr Chow's number and lifting to her ear. There's the small talk at first, the 'how was your day?' and all of that, but then she begins to recite her usual and Mr Chow tells her how she always has the same thing. A witty remark is on the tip of her tongue and she's about to speak, but then she feels Sophie's hands glide high on her thigh and fingers dance around the seam of her pants. Her eyes widen and mind blanks, and she has absolutely no idea what Mr. Chow just asked her because she's too busy mouthing 'what are you doing?' to her girlfriend who has this devilish glint in her eye.
It's a stupid question really, because the greenness of her girlfriend's eyes are sparkling with arousal and Santana gulps as the hand on her thigh slips up to her crotch and slides the zip down, reaching inside to grab at her firmly. Lips find the side of her neck, and she can feel herself hardening at a rapid touch as the hand inside her pants begins massaging in circular motions. Down the end of the line, she hears Mr. Chow mutter something but groans and grunts are threatening to escape her mouth and that's just not cool. So she hangs up pronto, hastily throwing her phone away from her.
"Soph," Santana groans, tilting her head back but then forward again. "What are you–"
"You've had a hard week," Sophie cuts in, slipping underneath the waistband of Santana's boxers and making Santana's hips roll upwards as fingers run over her sensitive head. She's quickly drawn into a deep kiss, tongue slipping past and tracing the inside of her mouth before her girlfriend pulls away and presses open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and to her neck.
Truth is, she hasn't really had a hard week. But it's not like she's in a position to argue right now, there's a hand around her cock stroking languidly and a super hot girlfriend sucking the skin of her neck into her mouth. If she were to correct Sophie this might not continue and fuck that. She's just going to keep her mouth closed, sit back and relax.
Feeling the button of her pants pop open thanks to nimble fingers, Santana watches her girlfriend intently as Sophie pulls down the fabric of her pants and boxers, releasing her throbbing hard on. It bounces lightly against her clothed stomach, and she feels a wave of satisfaction crash over her as Sophie gasps. She knows she's big. And it's not one of those egotistical things to boost her self-esteem, she really is big. Eight inches hard, which is bigger than average, and in the past she was scared she'd hurt her girlfriends or sexual partners, but Sophie's never complained and has told her on multiple occasions that Santana was bigger than all her previous boyfriends. To be honest? That information always makes her just a little big smug.
All thoughts of Sophie's previous boyfriends and smugness shoot straight out her brain as Sophie's hand wraps around her member once more, lightly stroking from bottom to top. Santana, for her part, slips her hand over Sophie's shoulder and down over her chest, cupping at her breast and rubbing a thumb over the hardened peak.
"Damn," Santana groans, surprised that Sophie's already worked up. How long has she been like that? "Eager much?"
Sophie smirks, twists and rises to her knees, leaning forward and supporting herself with one hand as she presses their lips together again, immediately parting Santana's lips with her tongue and stroking softly. It adds to the warm pool spreading in her lower gut and she ignores the fact that Sophie blanked her comment because shit, Sophie's working her just right – pinching at the tip and squeezing at the base.
So, she doesn't repeat it and throws her head back, arms slinking across the width of the back of the sofa.
Her girlfriend leans down, replaces her hands with her lips and sucking gently, and Santana just groans and lets her eyes shut.
Within what feels like a couple of minutes, Santana feels the pressure build to its highest point at the base of her spine, signaling her near ending and groans loudly as she comes in her girlfriend's mouth, tilting her head forward to watch Sophie take every last drop of her and swallowing.
That's something of a turn on Santana, and she almost gets hard just by watching it; but then the door bell rings and she lets out a breath of satisfaction, pinching Sophie's chin and bringing their mouths together in a soft peck before standing up, re-zipping her pants and heading for the door.
A young Asian guy is standing there when she opens it, and for a split second she wonders why the hell she's here; but time just flies by when you're having fun and suddenly it hits her that she ordered Chinese take-out. Rolling her eyes at herself, and smiling when she hears Sophie giggle from the sofa, she shoves her hand inside her pocket and grabs a twenty, handing it over to the guy and taking her food in the plastic bag.
She sits back down on the sofa, leaning over to kiss her girlfriend once more because Sophie hates the taste of Sweet'n'Sour Chicken and refuses to kiss Santana after she eats the stuff. But Mr. Chow's Sweet'N'Sour Chicken is like, to die for, and it's actually kind of worth giving up kissing her girlfriend for it. How bad is that?
Unpacking her dinner, Santana peers to her left and finds her girlfriend tapping away on her cell with great concentration. Cocking a brow, she tries to rise up a little to peer at the screen but Sophie notices too soon, and tilts it to the side, hiding it and turning to Santana with a too-sweet smile.
"You alright, babe?"
Santana squints, but shakes it off and pulls the paper wrapping off her chopsticks. "Yeah. Of course. Sorry."
Sophie just smiles in response and returns to her phone, and Santana shrugs because that was kind of weird, but whatever. She tucks into her chicken, pouring half the pot of noodles into it and begins to devour it, moaning as the food slides down the back of her throat and into her growling stomach. Lately, she barely eats a thing. Sophie's usually still at work or asleep after a (what she calls) long day, and so she never prepares a meal for Santana to come home to. Sometimes, if Santana's lucky, when she gets in the take-out restaurants are still open and she can order from there; but there are days where she comes home at 3am and there's nothing open. And God only knows she can't cook to save her life, so it just means going hungry. Probably why she always stays in shape all the time.
But she's become accustomed to the routine. She's one of the most renowned executives around at the major record label Millennium Records, and so what if it's a tough job and usually ends up giving her too-early mornings and too-late nights? She enjoys her job and it pays well. So she'll just have to get through it.
"Are you okay?"
Santana twists around, a noodle hanging out the side of her mouth which earns a giggle. "I'm good, thanks."
Sophie returns to her phone and Santana sucks up the noodle, wiping the sauce of her chin before cocking her head to the side. "Oh, Soph, I forgot to say. Thank you for um," her eyes flicker down to her crotch. "You know."
She waggles both eyebrows and winks, which causes Sophie to let out a high-pitched chuckle. Santana's pretty sure that was the second most annoying laugh she'd ever heard, the first going to one Rachel Berry, but she's in love with Sophie. They've been together for under a year and she's already bought the $4000 engagement ring in preparation for tomorrow. Shit. She'd forgotten about that. Now she's nervous.
"You don't need to thank me honey," Sophie shrugs. "But it was my pleasure. You seemed like you needed it."
Santana grins and shoves another mouthful of noodle and chicken in her mouth before swallowing and taking a sip of her beer. She doesn't know why, but Brittany pops into her mind and she licks her lips, trying not to smile at the excitement curdling in the pit of her stomach.
"Oh, by the way tomorrow I invited Britt. Hope that's cool." Santana mumbles, eyes trained on Bree Van de Kamp on-screen as Desperate Housewives plays.
Everything's silent for a long moment, and so she pushes aside her half empty Chinese carton and turns to Sophie who's paused, fingers hovering over her Blackberry and eyes staring at the far wall of the living room. Santana reaches over, brushing her girlfriend's hair behind her ear and pulling on her shoulder gently, causing Sophie to look at her. What the hell?
"Earth to Sophie?" Santana leans forward, catching a look at the way Sophie's eyes are hazy like she's thinking deeply. She raises an eyebrow. "You're starting to scare me."
Her girlfriend shakes herself out of it and lets her eyes fall on Santana's. "You invited Brittany?" She asks, slightly angrily. "As in your best friend, Brittany?"
Santana nods, feeling slightly uneasy with where this conversation's going. What's wrong with inviting Brittany? "Yeah…"
"Tomorrow," Sophie repeats, voice hardening. "She's coming tomorrow?"
There's something resembling jealously flashing behind Sophie's green eyes and Santana frowns and leans towards her girlfriend, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and then trailing her lips backwards towards her ear. "Is that a problem?"
"No." Sophie responds, pushing Santana away and standing abruptly.
And it's probably the strangest reaction Sophie's ever had to something Santana's said, and she traces over in her mind, trying to find an error in her words. But there's nothing so she stands and snakes her arms around her girlfriend's waist, resting them on the her stomach and resting her chin on a bony shoulder.
"Sophie, what's wrong? Did I do something?"
Sophie pushes out Santana's embrace and turns. She narrows her eyes and raises an eyebrow as she takes not of the infuriated twinge to her girlfriend's green eyes.
"Why did you think of Brittany?"
Santana's face drops. That really hadn't been what she'd expected. "Excuse me?"
"You went from me giving you head–" Sophie snaps, crossing her arms and cocking her hip out to the side. "–To Brittany."
Not seeing the problem, Santana purses her lips and nods. "So?" She draws out the word, really not understanding her girlfriend's point.
"So," Sophie mimics in the same way Santana said it. "Does that mean were you thinking of her whilst I was..."
Santana's eyebrows meet her hairline and her mouth drops open as her girlfriend waves her hand down towards her crotch. Involuntarily, a giggle escapes her lips and she finds herself almost doubled over in laughter. It's literally the last thing she thought would've come out of her girlfriend's mouth. No, scratch that. It wasn't even a possibility hanging in the back of her mind and now she's laughing uncontrollably.
"Wha–" Santana chuckles through her words. "What!?"
Apparently it's only amusing on one side because Sophie tightens her biceps and jaw, all seriousness etching across her features. And Santana realizes that, yeah, shit, her girlfriend is actually asking her this question. The smile drops from her face and she steps forward, arms out and palms up, head tilting slowly to the side. "You're actually serious, right now?"
Slowly and cautiously, Santana makes her way over to Sophie and rests both hands on her hips when she gets there. Her fingertips press lightly into the fabric of her girlfriend's shirt, and she pulls their bodies a little closer together. "Babe" –she inwardly cringes– "I was on the phone to Britt earlier. She just popped into my mind."
"Just after getting a blowjob from your girlfriend?" Sophie counters, shoving Santana away as her face twists with anger.
And it comes to Santana that yeah, technically speaking, her girlfriend has a point. It was a bit strange that she thought of Brittany after just remembering that her girlfriend went down on her, but, it's harmless. It's not like she was thinking about Brittany during, nor was she trying to imagine that it was Brittany doing it. Just that she happened to remember the phone conversation she had with her best friend at a really bad time; a matter of inconvenience, Santana thinks.
Judging by the way Sophie's staring at her though, she needs to answer. Quickly. And right now she doesn't know what to say. Her girlfriend's being ridiculous, and that's the bottom line.
So she says just that. "Sophie you're being ridiculous."
"And you've been talking about 'Brittany this' and 'Brittany that' for five weeks straight!"
Santana rolls her eyes, moving back towards the sofa and throwing herself down on it. She's really not in the mood for an argument. She physically has no energy to start or finish one; especially one that she's had countless times. But it's inevitable. She can see it in her girlfriend's eyes and the way Sophie's shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
"I've always been 'Brittany this' and 'Brittany that' as you say. She's my best friend and I haven't seen her in a year and a half. You're just being paranoid."
"Exactly," Sophie steps forward. "You haven't seen her in a year and a half. It's not like it's been decades, Santana."
"So? For me and Britt it basically is decades! So I'm allowed to talk about her, thank you."
Sophie raises a brow, clearly unamused. "So after tomorrow night, when you see her, you'll stop talking about her?"
There's a challenge being offered right there, and Santana leans up onto her elbows to peer over the back of the couch at her girlfriend. Sure enough, Sophie's standing expectantly, with anger and jealousy radiating off her and it really pisses Santana off. Pisses her off more than before being since day one she told Sophie about Brittany. She told Sophie that Brittany was her best friend of seventeen years and Brittany will always be at the top of her list. That was one of the first things she ever did with women because that was usually the reason for weirdness in any relationship: the insecurity of the relationship between Brittany and Santana.
So when Sophie throws a tantrum like this, like a little freaking kid, and starts to bitch about Santana and Brittany's relationship, Santana gets really fucking annoyed. She fucking told her this. If she had a problem she could've walked away a long time ago.
"Stop being so damn jealous, Sophie," she spits. "You've never even met her."
Sophie's eyebrow raises. "So that's a no, then?" She asks, knowing the answer. "You won't stop talking about her?"
Sighing, Santana swings her legs over the side of the couch and buries her face into her hands. "Sophie... She's my best friend," she tells her. Again. "She has been for seventeen years and that's not going to change." She lifts her head and focuses her vision on her girlfriend, trying to keep her voice level. Shouting probably wouldn't help right now. "It's never bothered you before and you said you were okay with it."
"Maybe I'm not now."
Santana abruptly stands and balls her fists by her thighs. "And maybe I'm not okay with you not being okay about it, now. I told you Brittany was at the top of my list when we first met and that hasn't changed. I don't get why you're bringing it up now."
Silence comes from her girlfriend and Santana has to close her eyes and turn away to allow some of the anger to drown from her body. She needs to calm down. How did it even get to this? One moment she was coming home, having some intimate time with Sophie and then ordering a take-out, and the next Sophie's yelling her ear off and bringing up things Santana warned her about a long time ago. She just doesn't get it.
It's about two minutes later when Sophie replies, and just by one look at her face, Santana can tell that this is going to be the end of the argument. Especially because it hits her what she said and what that means.
"Is she above me, then?" Sophie asks in that same challenging tone, her whole body tensing when she takes in Santana's immediate facial reaction.
Because Santana's tired of having this argument. She's tired of having to explain her and Brittany's platonic yet incredibly close friendship and she's tired of telling Sophie that Brittany's above her on her list because that will never change, and it's like Sophie's asking because she wants that to change.
So ,that's why she stares her girlfriend straight in the eye and will all the sincerity in the world says, "Yes. She's above you."
And it has the exact impact she thought, because Sophie's eyes drift away, her jaw clenching tightly in anger and disappointment and then she storms off towards the bedroom, slamming the door loudly. Santana exhales, knowing she's going to pay for that later but feels no regret for telling the truth, and heads towards the bathroom, grabbing a blanket and a pillow from the cupboard, stripping down to her boxers and tank top and settles down on the couch for a very uncomfortable night's sleep.
The next morning when she wakes, her back aches like a mother.
She stretches her body and rolls her head to rid the kink in her neck, which only happened 'cause the pillow fell off and she ended up craning and resting her neck upon the arm of the couch, and sits up.
That was such a bad night's sleep it was unreal. She could have had a good night's sleep if it weren't for that stupid fight last night. She knows she could've. But she still doesn't regret what she said and even if she's about to go and apologize, she doesn't believe she was in the wrong.
Grudgingly, she pushes up from the sofa, rubs the back of her neck with one hand and pushes up with the other until she's on her feet, heading for the bedroom. It's only 8am, and she could totally fit in another two or three hours sleep as long as Sophie lets her come back to bed. If not, she guesses she'll just have to start the party preparation as there's no way in hell she can sleep on that sofa anymore.
She approaches the door and almost turns away – thinking that this might lead to another argument and with Brittany and Sophie meeting tonight, she doesn't want Sophie to be pissy and to accidentally let it out on Brittany – but then she figures if she goes in now, she could sort it out and they'd be all good for the party tonight. Which is something they need to be considering Santana's plans.
So she sucks it up and brings her fist up to rap on the door a few times. "Sophie?"
No response follows and so she assumes her girlfriend's still asleep, and presses her hand flat against the door to push it open. Like she thought, Sophie's curled up on the right side of the bed, fast asleep, and Santana creeps in quietly, not shutting the door in case it clicks loudly and makes her way to Sophie, perching on the mattress by her hip. She reaches over to brush a lock of hair away from her girlfriend's face and tucks it behind her ear, letting her fingertips linger along Sophie's freckled cheeks.
"Honey, wake up," she whispers.
Sophie stirs and a few seconds later, her eyes crack open to stare up at Santana. It takes another few seconds before the previous night comes back to her girlfriend, and Santana can see the last remnants of anger burning behind Sophie's eyes. So instead of beating around the bush, she dives straight into the apology and slides her hand down to her girlfriends, tangling their fingers together despite Sophie's reluctance.
"I'm sorry," she says, trying to pour fake honesty into her tone. "I was cranky last night."
Sophie's jaw clenches and she shuffles, backing up against the headboard whilst she toys with the back of Santana's fingers. "It's okay," she says, lowly. "I'm sorry, too."
It's relieving, but Santana knows that's not the end. If only things were that easy.
"I didn't mean what I said," she continues.
Sophie's brows furrow. "Which part?"
Santana pushes her tongue up against the inside of her teeth and sorts through her mind, trying to figure out which path would lead to another argument and which would lead up to making up. There is that part of her that doesn't want to lie, because ultimately, Brittany is on top of her list and always will be, despite Sophie being her girlfriend and hopefully, soon-to-be-fiancée. That's something that isn't going to change because Brittany's always been the only consistent and trustworthy thing in Santana's life and it's going to stay that way, regardless of Sophie's objections.
But she knows if she says that it's going to lead to another argument, and she just can't deal with that right now. So she lies.
"You are the top of my list."
Sophie's green eyes flicker towards her hesitantly. "What about Brittany?"
Santana clenches her jaw against the bitterness in her girlfriend's voice, but smiles up at her girlfriend and just repeats what she said before, "You are the top of my list," because it's the only thing she can say that won't start an argument.
A wide grin spreads across Sophie's face and she grins, leaning in to kiss Santana. "Okay. Good."
She smiles into the kiss and feels hands grab at her biceps, pulling until she's falling on top of Sophie and settle between her legs. Sophie seems to want more because her nails scratch down Santana's neck, and Santana's not even entirely sure she can do anything right now. She's so damn tired and even though her hardening member isn't saying the same thing, she's not really up for sex.
"Soph–" she mumbles against Sophie's lips "–Sophie."
Sophie pulls back with a frown and half-hooded eyes, and Santana has to admit, it's kind of a turn on. Involuntarily, her hips press down and bring a hiss out of her girlfriend, and she almost rolls her eyes at herself. Always ruled by her dick and not her head. She's sure that's going to get her in trouble one day.
"I'm not sure I can perform," she says. "I got like no sleep last night."
Sophie studies her for a long moment but then a seductive smirk tugs at her lips and Santana manages to tilt her head to the side to silently question her, but that's as far as she gets before her girlfriend's pushing up and flipping them, throwing a leg either side of her hip and grinding down against the bulge in Santana's boxers. Their lips meet again and hands tug her arms upwards until they're raised above her head, pinned against the pillow as Sophie dips down and starts sucking at her neck.
"That's fine, baby," Sophie mutters against tanned skin. "I'll do all the work."
The arousal is something she just can't fight, and as her mind drifts to the party tonight and the list of things she should probably be doing right now instead of this, Brittany suddenly comes to mind and it's like the heat inside her doubles. She grunts, rolling her hips and widens her eyes at her body's reaction to her best friend. But she shakes it off quickly, knowing there's a smoking hot woman on top of her, reaching down beneath the band of boxers and grabbing her, and she puts it down to that.
She considers for a second telling Sophie that they'll have time for that after the party, but then Sophie pulls her panties aside and rubs Santana through the wetness between her legs, and well, Santana's not going to complain. So she steals a quick glance at the alarm on the side to check how long they have before she leans up and presses their lips together whilst one hand comes down between their bodies to guide herself into her girlfriend.
She tries not to focus on the reason the arousal doubled inside of her when she thought of the party tonight.