There's something about Brittany that makes her feel like she's being split right down the middle, so what's about to happen is only fitting.
And you'll tell me? If it hurts?
Santana knows it's going to hurt. Ever since she and Britt talked about it, at first jokingly - like they had to level up, from scissoring, to strap-ons - and now this, she's known: it's going to hurt. Most good sex hurts. One night, with three fingers inside and Santana trying to swallow all the noise she wanted to make, Britt's eyes dropped. I think you can, I think you can do more. I want - I want to feel all of you. Santana reached out, touched her face and exhaled three yeses before shutting her eyes and splintering.
What Santana doesn't like is the word for what they're about to do, doesn't want to say it out loud, doesn't want to even think it. She's renamed it: "taking all of you" or "your whole hand". Anything but...Jesus. Fisting.
Fuck. It sounds so violent. But really, it's just a thumb and a few knuckles removed from what she and Brittany do all the time. No, a thumb, a few knuckles - and a pinky.
I'll tell you, Britt.
They start by kissing. Brittany lays her out on the bed, and rests on top of her. For good long moments, Santana marvels that Brittany is the smallest person she's ever kissed, but feels the biggest. When they're kissing like this, with Brittany on top, Santana feels gloriously weighed down. Safe. Inside each of their stomachs, just under their ribcages, the kisses rotate a pulley system, heavy and slow.
As everything pulls into place, the ropes tighten and vibrate, until everything has settled. Santana still feels safe, but that's what Brittany has always tried to give her: the safety to roll their bodies together and like it. And it's strange how, how – desire – can feel so safe when it always felt so scary before.
Everything tightens and Santana feels that. Brittany's body traps her and Santana feels that. But instead of feeling like it's too much and she needs to run away, she feels like it's too much and she'll stay right here, because it's perfect.
She sends her hands along Brittany's body, since Brittany is occupied holding herself up. She sends them through Brittany's hair, along her back, across the waves of her hips, her butt. She edges them under Brittany's shirt, where her skin is hot and soft. She holds her by the torso and feels her ribcage billow with her breath and then deflate. All the time, she is kissing Brittany, sucking on her lips, and stroking the tips of their tongues together.
Her skin starts to prickle.
They take each other's clothes off. Santana peels off Brittany's tall socks, letting Brittany giggle when she places a kiss to each shin. Brittany pushes Santana on her back to repeat the same thing, but after removing both socks, seems to get distracted by the sight of Santana looking at her in a bra and panties. She rolls them both over so Santana is on top.
One kiss to her breast, where the dark of her areola meets her skin. She doesn't feel the skin crinkle - not exactly, though she knows that is what is happening. What she feels instead is another rope cast around her skeleton, wrapping around her tailbone. She arches and gasps as it tightens. Brittany has her. They roll back over and Brittany arranges her legs so that she can sit between them, can look at the place where Santana's thighs meet. Brittany rolls her underwear off, and Santana notices, acutely, the way she feels sticky, the way she feels hot, the way she wants Brittany to touch her, to be inside her, to never ever stop. Maybe it used to be that she'd want to hide all that wetness, but tonight, she spreads her legs an inch further. She wants Brittany to see: This is what you do to me. This is how you make me feel.
Maybe on another night, Brittany would tease her, or go straight to touching, but tonight Brittany just pauses. She slides her hands up the skin of Santana's inner thighs and brushes her thumbs along the wiry hair she finds at the top.
