The Best Kind Of Surprise
Santana/Brittany, NC-17, 3.6k
It's ridiculous, and she just wants to go home because she's got the most beautiful wife and baby boy waiting at home for her, but she can't.
It's ridiculous, and she just wants to go home because she's got the most beautiful wife and baby boy waiting at home for her, but she can't.
Work's been hectic with Quinn releasing the first single of her second album next week, and the pile of paperwork on Santana's desk just doesn't seem to be going down no matter how long she spends on it. Hence why Santana's here in the recording studio at 10pm for the fourth time this week, stressed out her mind and wanting nothing more than a hug.
It's ridiculous, and she just wants to go home because she's got the most beautiful wife and baby boy waiting at home for her, but she can't. This stupid song needs editing and she's the only one, apart from Quinn, who knows what the end product needs to sound like. She and Quinn are the only one's who are fully qualified to operate the computer program to create the track and since Quinn's away on her damn honeymoon, the work's been left for Santana.
Really, it's just fantastic.
The chair creaks as she leans forward, finger clicking the mouse to adjust the pitch on screen. Her head bobs to the beat playing through the single headphone pressed to her ear, and she shifts her elbow to lean her head in her chin. She's so into the music, and so focused on getting this finished tonight that she doesn't hear the door open behind her until it closes and she spins around, still holding the headphone to one ear to find Brittany leaning against the door, a smirk on her face and hands playing with the tie on her long jacket.
Santana brings her head back, surprised by her wife's arrival but definitely happy because of it. “Hey, baby. What are you doing here?” Her mind registers the lack of Eli with her and she scrunches her eyebrows together. “And where's Eli?”
“Hey,” Brittany draws, pushing off the door and sauntering towards Santana, throwing both legs over her hips to straddle her in the chair. “He's with your mom,” she murmurs lowly, toying with the fine dark hair at the back of a tanned neck. “And I was missing you so I thought I'd come see you. That okay?”
“Definitely,” Santana replies, nodding and sliding her palms up her wife's thighs but still slightly intrigued as to why the blonde's here.
Except she's so distracted with that thought that she doesn't visually notice the lack of clothing beneath Brittany's jacket until her hand slips to the inside of a strong thigh and the back of her finger feels wet heat. A gasp pops from her lips and she widens her eyes, using her other hand to lift up the bottom of Brittany's jacket to peer beneath it; and just like she thought, there's nothing beneath the coat. No pants, no shorts, no underwear.
Holy shit.
“Britt,” she breathes, her stomach coiling and pants tightening already as her fingers twist and slide through wet heat again, just to make sure.
Brittany giggles naughtily and grins down at her, eyebrow lifting and body arching into the touch. “Like I said,” she repeats, already leaning down, hand sliding around to linger on Santana's jaw to meet her halfway. “I missed you.”
There's not a moments hesitation before Santana's surging forward, their mouths crashing together and tongues delving into mouths. Arousal punches through her and her hands up to the tie keeping Brittany's jacket together to pull it open. There's a little struggle, but then she's tearing it open and pushing it down Brittany's arms and then her wife's naked in her lap, smirking down at her with dark blue eyes. It's got to be the hottest thing like, ever and a flush scorches across her skin, settling low in her belly as her palms glide down a smooth back, over the curve of Brittany's ass to grab the flesh there, squeezing and massaging it.
Brittany whimpers into her mouth and she smirks, her hips jerking up into a downward grind. She shifts her hands, grasping the underside of Brittany's thighs and pushes up to stand, allowing long legs to wind around her waist. The nearest horizontal surface is the table with the computer and MIDI on top, and there's barely any space but she couldn't really give a fuck about that right now. So she moves over there, dropping Brittany onto the edge, the legs slipping from around her hips to her thighs. Brittany's back presses into the machine, and they both begin giggling into the kiss as the computer makes a weird beeping noise. Their teeth bump and noses nudge, and Santana pulls away, panting through her chuckles.
“Hold on,” she says, holding a hand up.
She reaches over to the computer and flicks off the screen and the machine at the same time pale hands make a path down her stomach, flipping open her buckle and unzipping her pants so they fall around her ankles. Her back arches when Brittany's hand makes quick work of her shirt and bra, and takes a nipple into her mouth, flicking her tongue over the nub and kissing the flesh gently. Brown eyes flicker down and Santana almost comes at the sight, but knows she should probably do something more and get moving before she actually does come.
Santana swallows hard and slides her palms high up Brittany's thighs, curving them inwards to the apex of her thighs to tease over her wife's clit. Brittany groans and releases Santana's nipple with a pop, throwing her head back in pleasure and edging her hips forward until Santana reads the signs and dips her finger inside her wife, thumb wandering north to circle the blonde's cit. Hips jerk and jut and Santana smirks, but then falters when a hand reaches beneath the waistband of her boxers and fists her erection, pumping her slowly until she's at full length and pushing her hips into each movement.
Her eyes fall shut and on the next outward thrust, she re-enters with two digits and curls up, biting down on her bottom lip and enjoying the sight of her wife begin pleasured way too much. The thought that in a few moments she's going to be buried inside Brittany shoots straight to her groin and she jerks into Brittany's hand. Fuck. If she keeps thinking like this she's seriously going to finish early. And that just is not happening.
With her free hand, she glides her palm up Brittany's abs, quickly rolling pink nipples between her thumb and forefinger and then moves up again, curling around the base of Brittany's neck to tip up so their mouths can come together. The kiss is soft, a lot softer than it should be considering how hot and ready she is, and she slowly strokes her tongue inside Brittany's mouth, only pulling back when the need for oxygen becomes too much and then removes her fingers.
Brittany groans, a crease forming in the middle of her forehead and Santana smirks at her quickly, kissing her one last time before dropping to her knees and immediately wrapping her lips around Brittany's clit. Her wife doesn't expect it and Santana has to grab onto pale thighs and push them wider and up to ensure Brittany doesn't slide off the edge of the table. A hand tangles through her hair, fingers twining at the roots and tugging as she sucks deliberately, smirking against hot flesh when Brittany bucks into her face and scratches lightly at her scalp.
“Shit... Santana--” Brittany's voice breaks off when Santana rolls her tongue against her, and brown eyes open to see Brittany panting heavily, her arms shaking as she tries to keep herself up and cheeks flushed a dark pink, squirming beneath Santana's skilled mouth.
It makes a pressure build low in her stomach and she almost stops moving her jaw because she's so entranced by how fucking hot Brittany looks right now, but the fingers in her hair tug and she's broken from her gaze, working her tongue faster and dipping it inside Brittany to feel when her orgasm is close. It's only a few seconds later when Brittany clenches around Santana's tongue, her legs shooting up and heels pressing into Santana's shoulders to use as leverage as she lifts her ass off the table, hips pressing into Santana's mouth as she comes hard, the syllables of her wife's name spilling from her lips through a scream.
Her body quakes violently and Santana smirks, bringing the blonde down with slow laps until Brittany falls backwards, leaning against the MIDI machine and mixing board. If Santana wasn't so caught up and hot, she'd probably realize that just because the screen's off, doesn't mean the computer is and the work she's spent hours on is mostly probably fucked up. Except she is too caught up and she stands, hands pressing into the table, cock brushing the inside of a pale thigh as she kisses Brittany, allowing her tongue to push past her lips and listening to her wife moan at the taste of herself in her mouth.
Brittany smiles into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Santana's neck and they kiss like that for a few seconds, both of them catching their breaths. The kiss is soft and gentle, Brittany's lips impossibly soft and after a few moments, Santana begins to get impatient and reaches down between them, squeezing at the base of her cock to make sure she lasts long enough. Her destination is like right there, but Brittany usually needs a second or two after an orgasm to prepare for the next and so Santana just waits.
And it's a good thing to, because good things come to those who wait. A hand comes down to slap hers away, and she nips Brittany's lips as she pulls away, smirking, eyesight drifting down to focus on the way Brittany's working her shaft up and down, rotating her wrist when she gets to the head. The pressure in her stomach ten folds and she lets her eyes flutter shut when Brittany slides off the counter top and gets to her knees, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her dick. Her hand continues it's motions and Santana peers down her body, eyes meeting blue ones as pink lips wrap around the top of her cock, and sink down to the base, taking all of her in.
It's all too much, watching and feeling it, and her mouth drops open, a breathy moan escaping her lips as Brittany's tongue flicks on the underside of her shaft as she pulls back, quickly moving down again and picking up a pace, bobbing up and down between Santana's legs. A tanned hand slides into blonde locks, and she pushes away the hair fallen across Brittany's face to watch her wife work her dick expertly, sucking and licking at the spots that make Santana's head tilt back, and a loud moan come from deep within.
But then her eyes widen and stomach sucks in at the sudden rise in pressure. The heat's too much and her eyes shut as she feels it coming. Literally.
Instantly she pulls away, her cock slipping from Brittany's mouth as she backs away, hitting the cabinet behind her. She's panting heavy and hard, trying to calm herself and think of anything to keep herself lasting longer. But then there's Brittany there, wiping the edge of her mouth with her thumb and standing, sauntering over to Santana and pressing their lips together, her hands coming up to cup her cheeks.
It calms Santana down for a moment and her hands fall to slim hips, thumbs rubbing over the protrusion of Brittany's hipbone. The heat doesn't go away, it can't when Brittany's near, but it cools a little, making her thighs pinch together a little less and the arousal have a lesser impact on her.
Well, that's all fine and dandy until Brittany turns around, grabs Santana's hand and walks back to the mixing board, propping one leg upon the edge of the table and revealing everything.
“Like this, baby. I want you,” she licks her lips. “Like this,” she purrs, bending down and resting both palms on either side of the mixing board.
And shit. Santana really isn't going to last long.
Grabbing a hold of herself, she squeezes and walks over to her wife, reaching out with her free hand to run her fingers over the arousal between her legs. Brittany moans and pushes back, and Santana gulps heavily, eying everything her wife has to offer. Seriously, she has the best fucking wife.
She moves forward, stroking herself and sliding her palm over Brittany's ass and up to her hip to grab a hold as she runs the tip of her cock through slick heat. In front of her, Brittany twists her head to look back at her, breathing heavily and biting down hard on her lips, her eyes fluttering every time Santana bumps her clit. The anticipation is so hot, and even though all she wants to do is bury herself deep inside Brittany, she loves this moment, just before entering her. She loves to see the way Brittany shifts back to feel more of her, how her fingers tighten around the desk and how she rocks, her hips almost moving in waves because she's craving Santana's touch.
A broken moan escapes Brittany's lips, breaking Santana from her thoughts and her vision drifts up, meeting blue eyes as she closes the distance between their sexes and pushes the head of her cock inside of the blonde. Brittany's back tenses and her eyes flutter, but she keeps the eye contact as Santana sinks further into her, bottoming out and waiting for Brittany, feeling her clench around her and massage her shaft. The hand on a slim hip shifts up, stroking up ribs and down the smooth expanse of her back again, and then Brittany makes this low, whining sound from the back of her throat and Santana knows she can't hold out any longer. She doesn't have the heart to.
So she begins rocking her hips, setting a fast pace seeing as Brittany's pushing back with each thrust and Santana knows that means quit with the teasing and get on with the pleasing. Her hand drifts around the front of her wife's body, slipping between her legs and she rolls the pads of her thumbs over Brittany's clit, her shaft still sliding in and out of Brittany quickly. The tip of her cock prods Brittany deep on one particular thrust, and Brittany buckles, her elbows catching her on the mixing board and forehead pressing down on some buttons but Santana's not in the mindset to care.
She just picks up the pace, fingers digging into the skin of Brittany's hips as slapping sounds resonate around the studio. Her breaths get heavier and heavier, a light layer of sweat forming over her brow and the pressure begins to spread from her stomach to her spine, bringing her higher and higher with each push and pull. Brittany squeaks beneath her, jerking her hips back as Santana works her clit in time with each thrust, and then an idea pops into Santana's mind as Brittany falls further down, arms stretching out in front of her to grab onto the top of the mixing board as her legs quiver, moans and groans and Santana's name spilling from her mouth.
Heat scorches all over Santana as she watches her wife take her, and then she gets an idea. Her hand slips from between Brittany's thighs and she brushes down Brittany's leg―the one propped up upon the edge of the desk―and thanks the lord for Brittany's flexibility as she pushes it down, spreading Brittany wider and using her as leverage to fuck her faster and deeper.
It's the right thing to do apparently, because Brittany begins to chant Santana's name, and her fingers squeeze against the hard plastic of the mixing board as she clenches around Santana, demanding more without the words. Weirdly enough, it makes Santana smile and she quickens the movements of her hips, draping herself over Brittany's back when she feels herself getting closer and closer. The tightness encompassing her cock tells her that Brittany's at the same point and she lets her fingers drift back down to circle Brittany's clit again, timing it with her movements as she works harder and harder until it's right there.
Open mouthed kisses are planted to the top of Brittany's spine, and Santana keeps it going until she's coming, forehead pushing down in the place of her kisses and hips fitting over the curve of Brittany's ass and stilling, cock pressing as deep as possible as she pours out everything she has into her wife. Her hot breath blankets smooth skin and it's five seconds before Brittany grinds back into her impatiently, needing to reach her own peak herself.
Santana giggles breathlessly but begins to move again, her hand switching between wide, slow circles to quick, tight ones. Four or five of those switches later, and Brittany breaks, her entire body quivering as her orgasm punches through her. Her hand reaches back, grabbing at Santana's hand and succeeding in doing so but knocking a pair of headphones and an empty coffee cup to the floor simultaneously. Her legs shiver and back shoots up straight, pressing into Santana's front as she comes hard, stiffening and squeezing her eyes shut and reaching back to grab at Santana's neck as she comes down from her high, deflating and sagging back into her wife.
They're breathing heavy and hard, both recovering from mind-blowing orgasms and Santana lets forehead rest against Brittany's shoulder as her palms slide over sweaty skin to settle on toned abs. She breathes out evenly for a few moments, letting her mind fizzle and sizzle as the memories of a few moments ago wash through her.
Finally, when her breathing is back to normal and her limbs have stopped twitching, she lets her hands fall to Brittany's hips and separates them, eyes drifting down to watch as she pulls out of her wife. It's probably hotter than it should be, and she licks her lips at the evident arousal covering her softening member at the same time Brittany whimpers from the loss of contact. Her wife turns around, smiles at her quickly then kisses her softly, drawing it out and sucking on her bottom lip as she pulls away, arms draping over Santana's shoulders to keep her close.
And Santana just gazes into deep blue eyes for a few moments, before she figures it's late and they should probably be getting home soon 'cause there's no way she's going to get any work done now.
“Let's go home,” she whispers, pecking pink lips one last time before pulling away and slipping out from in front of Brittany, stopping when her eyes find the state of the room. “Although, we should probably clear up first.”
Brittany chuckles behind her and drops a kiss to her bare shoulder as she stops beside Santana to witness what she means. And sure enough, she does.
The once tidy studio now has clothes, coffee cups and headphones spread out across the floor. The computer is off center, twisted to the side and the chair is now over in the corner, on its back (when the hell did that happen?) with the wheels up in the air. Their clothes are darted in various positions, Santana's bra on the filing cabinet and Brittany's jacket stuffed in the far corner of the desk. Neither of them are really sure how or when that happened, but Santana can't really care. It's nothing that can't be fixed and so with one final kiss, they begin clearing up.
Five minutes later and it's back to normal, clean and spic and span and both of them are fully dressed, Brittany helping Santana buckle her belt as Santana adjusts the lapels of Brittany's jacket, then moving on to make sure the tie's tight around her waist so the coat doesn't fall open. Their eyes meet when they're finished and Santana can see the smile in blue, and doesn't resist in leaning forward to suck on Brittany's top lip, tongue running along the underside of it.
“Thank you,” she whispers as she pulls away, stroking her nose against a pale one affectionately.
Brittany's hands slip up from her belt to brush a lock of dark hair behind a tanned ear. “For what, baby?”
“For visiting me tonight. I really needed it.”
It should be suggestive, and Brittany should lift a brow, smirk and tell her how she bets she needed the visit, but Brittany sees the deeper meaning behind Santana's words and just smiles softly, nodding into the kiss she gives her.
“I know,” she murmurs. “And I really did mean it. I missed you. Eli does, too.”
Santana lets her eyes close and tips their foreheads together, hating that work keeps her from the two most important people in her world. “Then we better get home,” she whispers, kissing Brittany again. “But let's go pick Eli up from my mom first. I want to fall asleep with both of you in my arms,” she suggests, standing back and holding out her hand with a small grin.
Brittany just does that adorable thing where she ducks her head, brushes a hand over her face and smiles before she takes the offered hand, tangles their fingers together and leads them out the studio and building.
It's ridiculous, and she just wants to go home because she's got the most beautiful wife and baby boy waiting at home for her, but she can't. This stupid song needs editing and she's the only one, apart from Quinn, who knows what the end product needs to sound like. She and Quinn are the only one's who are fully qualified to operate the computer program to create the track and since Quinn's away on her damn honeymoon, the work's been left for Santana.
Really, it's just fantastic.
The chair creaks as she leans forward, finger clicking the mouse to adjust the pitch on screen. Her head bobs to the beat playing through the single headphone pressed to her ear, and she shifts her elbow to lean her head in her chin. She's so into the music, and so focused on getting this finished tonight that she doesn't hear the door open behind her until it closes and she spins around, still holding the headphone to one ear to find Brittany leaning against the door, a smirk on her face and hands playing with the tie on her long jacket.
Santana brings her head back, surprised by her wife's arrival but definitely happy because of it. “Hey, baby. What are you doing here?” Her mind registers the lack of Eli with her and she scrunches her eyebrows together. “And where's Eli?”
“Hey,” Brittany draws, pushing off the door and sauntering towards Santana, throwing both legs over her hips to straddle her in the chair. “He's with your mom,” she murmurs lowly, toying with the fine dark hair at the back of a tanned neck. “And I was missing you so I thought I'd come see you. That okay?”
“Definitely,” Santana replies, nodding and sliding her palms up her wife's thighs but still slightly intrigued as to why the blonde's here.
Except she's so distracted with that thought that she doesn't visually notice the lack of clothing beneath Brittany's jacket until her hand slips to the inside of a strong thigh and the back of her finger feels wet heat. A gasp pops from her lips and she widens her eyes, using her other hand to lift up the bottom of Brittany's jacket to peer beneath it; and just like she thought, there's nothing beneath the coat. No pants, no shorts, no underwear.
Holy shit.
“Britt,” she breathes, her stomach coiling and pants tightening already as her fingers twist and slide through wet heat again, just to make sure.
Brittany giggles naughtily and grins down at her, eyebrow lifting and body arching into the touch. “Like I said,” she repeats, already leaning down, hand sliding around to linger on Santana's jaw to meet her halfway. “I missed you.”
There's not a moments hesitation before Santana's surging forward, their mouths crashing together and tongues delving into mouths. Arousal punches through her and her hands up to the tie keeping Brittany's jacket together to pull it open. There's a little struggle, but then she's tearing it open and pushing it down Brittany's arms and then her wife's naked in her lap, smirking down at her with dark blue eyes. It's got to be the hottest thing like, ever and a flush scorches across her skin, settling low in her belly as her palms glide down a smooth back, over the curve of Brittany's ass to grab the flesh there, squeezing and massaging it.
Brittany whimpers into her mouth and she smirks, her hips jerking up into a downward grind. She shifts her hands, grasping the underside of Brittany's thighs and pushes up to stand, allowing long legs to wind around her waist. The nearest horizontal surface is the table with the computer and MIDI on top, and there's barely any space but she couldn't really give a fuck about that right now. So she moves over there, dropping Brittany onto the edge, the legs slipping from around her hips to her thighs. Brittany's back presses into the machine, and they both begin giggling into the kiss as the computer makes a weird beeping noise. Their teeth bump and noses nudge, and Santana pulls away, panting through her chuckles.
“Hold on,” she says, holding a hand up.
She reaches over to the computer and flicks off the screen and the machine at the same time pale hands make a path down her stomach, flipping open her buckle and unzipping her pants so they fall around her ankles. Her back arches when Brittany's hand makes quick work of her shirt and bra, and takes a nipple into her mouth, flicking her tongue over the nub and kissing the flesh gently. Brown eyes flicker down and Santana almost comes at the sight, but knows she should probably do something more and get moving before she actually does come.
Santana swallows hard and slides her palms high up Brittany's thighs, curving them inwards to the apex of her thighs to tease over her wife's clit. Brittany groans and releases Santana's nipple with a pop, throwing her head back in pleasure and edging her hips forward until Santana reads the signs and dips her finger inside her wife, thumb wandering north to circle the blonde's cit. Hips jerk and jut and Santana smirks, but then falters when a hand reaches beneath the waistband of her boxers and fists her erection, pumping her slowly until she's at full length and pushing her hips into each movement.
Her eyes fall shut and on the next outward thrust, she re-enters with two digits and curls up, biting down on her bottom lip and enjoying the sight of her wife begin pleasured way too much. The thought that in a few moments she's going to be buried inside Brittany shoots straight to her groin and she jerks into Brittany's hand. Fuck. If she keeps thinking like this she's seriously going to finish early. And that just is not happening.
With her free hand, she glides her palm up Brittany's abs, quickly rolling pink nipples between her thumb and forefinger and then moves up again, curling around the base of Brittany's neck to tip up so their mouths can come together. The kiss is soft, a lot softer than it should be considering how hot and ready she is, and she slowly strokes her tongue inside Brittany's mouth, only pulling back when the need for oxygen becomes too much and then removes her fingers.
Brittany groans, a crease forming in the middle of her forehead and Santana smirks at her quickly, kissing her one last time before dropping to her knees and immediately wrapping her lips around Brittany's clit. Her wife doesn't expect it and Santana has to grab onto pale thighs and push them wider and up to ensure Brittany doesn't slide off the edge of the table. A hand tangles through her hair, fingers twining at the roots and tugging as she sucks deliberately, smirking against hot flesh when Brittany bucks into her face and scratches lightly at her scalp.
“Shit... Santana--” Brittany's voice breaks off when Santana rolls her tongue against her, and brown eyes open to see Brittany panting heavily, her arms shaking as she tries to keep herself up and cheeks flushed a dark pink, squirming beneath Santana's skilled mouth.
It makes a pressure build low in her stomach and she almost stops moving her jaw because she's so entranced by how fucking hot Brittany looks right now, but the fingers in her hair tug and she's broken from her gaze, working her tongue faster and dipping it inside Brittany to feel when her orgasm is close. It's only a few seconds later when Brittany clenches around Santana's tongue, her legs shooting up and heels pressing into Santana's shoulders to use as leverage as she lifts her ass off the table, hips pressing into Santana's mouth as she comes hard, the syllables of her wife's name spilling from her lips through a scream.
Her body quakes violently and Santana smirks, bringing the blonde down with slow laps until Brittany falls backwards, leaning against the MIDI machine and mixing board. If Santana wasn't so caught up and hot, she'd probably realize that just because the screen's off, doesn't mean the computer is and the work she's spent hours on is mostly probably fucked up. Except she is too caught up and she stands, hands pressing into the table, cock brushing the inside of a pale thigh as she kisses Brittany, allowing her tongue to push past her lips and listening to her wife moan at the taste of herself in her mouth.
Brittany smiles into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Santana's neck and they kiss like that for a few seconds, both of them catching their breaths. The kiss is soft and gentle, Brittany's lips impossibly soft and after a few moments, Santana begins to get impatient and reaches down between them, squeezing at the base of her cock to make sure she lasts long enough. Her destination is like right there, but Brittany usually needs a second or two after an orgasm to prepare for the next and so Santana just waits.
And it's a good thing to, because good things come to those who wait. A hand comes down to slap hers away, and she nips Brittany's lips as she pulls away, smirking, eyesight drifting down to focus on the way Brittany's working her shaft up and down, rotating her wrist when she gets to the head. The pressure in her stomach ten folds and she lets her eyes flutter shut when Brittany slides off the counter top and gets to her knees, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her dick. Her hand continues it's motions and Santana peers down her body, eyes meeting blue ones as pink lips wrap around the top of her cock, and sink down to the base, taking all of her in.
It's all too much, watching and feeling it, and her mouth drops open, a breathy moan escaping her lips as Brittany's tongue flicks on the underside of her shaft as she pulls back, quickly moving down again and picking up a pace, bobbing up and down between Santana's legs. A tanned hand slides into blonde locks, and she pushes away the hair fallen across Brittany's face to watch her wife work her dick expertly, sucking and licking at the spots that make Santana's head tilt back, and a loud moan come from deep within.
But then her eyes widen and stomach sucks in at the sudden rise in pressure. The heat's too much and her eyes shut as she feels it coming. Literally.
Instantly she pulls away, her cock slipping from Brittany's mouth as she backs away, hitting the cabinet behind her. She's panting heavy and hard, trying to calm herself and think of anything to keep herself lasting longer. But then there's Brittany there, wiping the edge of her mouth with her thumb and standing, sauntering over to Santana and pressing their lips together, her hands coming up to cup her cheeks.
It calms Santana down for a moment and her hands fall to slim hips, thumbs rubbing over the protrusion of Brittany's hipbone. The heat doesn't go away, it can't when Brittany's near, but it cools a little, making her thighs pinch together a little less and the arousal have a lesser impact on her.
Well, that's all fine and dandy until Brittany turns around, grabs Santana's hand and walks back to the mixing board, propping one leg upon the edge of the table and revealing everything.
“Like this, baby. I want you,” she licks her lips. “Like this,” she purrs, bending down and resting both palms on either side of the mixing board.
And shit. Santana really isn't going to last long.
Grabbing a hold of herself, she squeezes and walks over to her wife, reaching out with her free hand to run her fingers over the arousal between her legs. Brittany moans and pushes back, and Santana gulps heavily, eying everything her wife has to offer. Seriously, she has the best fucking wife.
She moves forward, stroking herself and sliding her palm over Brittany's ass and up to her hip to grab a hold as she runs the tip of her cock through slick heat. In front of her, Brittany twists her head to look back at her, breathing heavily and biting down hard on her lips, her eyes fluttering every time Santana bumps her clit. The anticipation is so hot, and even though all she wants to do is bury herself deep inside Brittany, she loves this moment, just before entering her. She loves to see the way Brittany shifts back to feel more of her, how her fingers tighten around the desk and how she rocks, her hips almost moving in waves because she's craving Santana's touch.
A broken moan escapes Brittany's lips, breaking Santana from her thoughts and her vision drifts up, meeting blue eyes as she closes the distance between their sexes and pushes the head of her cock inside of the blonde. Brittany's back tenses and her eyes flutter, but she keeps the eye contact as Santana sinks further into her, bottoming out and waiting for Brittany, feeling her clench around her and massage her shaft. The hand on a slim hip shifts up, stroking up ribs and down the smooth expanse of her back again, and then Brittany makes this low, whining sound from the back of her throat and Santana knows she can't hold out any longer. She doesn't have the heart to.
So she begins rocking her hips, setting a fast pace seeing as Brittany's pushing back with each thrust and Santana knows that means quit with the teasing and get on with the pleasing. Her hand drifts around the front of her wife's body, slipping between her legs and she rolls the pads of her thumbs over Brittany's clit, her shaft still sliding in and out of Brittany quickly. The tip of her cock prods Brittany deep on one particular thrust, and Brittany buckles, her elbows catching her on the mixing board and forehead pressing down on some buttons but Santana's not in the mindset to care.
She just picks up the pace, fingers digging into the skin of Brittany's hips as slapping sounds resonate around the studio. Her breaths get heavier and heavier, a light layer of sweat forming over her brow and the pressure begins to spread from her stomach to her spine, bringing her higher and higher with each push and pull. Brittany squeaks beneath her, jerking her hips back as Santana works her clit in time with each thrust, and then an idea pops into Santana's mind as Brittany falls further down, arms stretching out in front of her to grab onto the top of the mixing board as her legs quiver, moans and groans and Santana's name spilling from her mouth.
Heat scorches all over Santana as she watches her wife take her, and then she gets an idea. Her hand slips from between Brittany's thighs and she brushes down Brittany's leg―the one propped up upon the edge of the desk―and thanks the lord for Brittany's flexibility as she pushes it down, spreading Brittany wider and using her as leverage to fuck her faster and deeper.
It's the right thing to do apparently, because Brittany begins to chant Santana's name, and her fingers squeeze against the hard plastic of the mixing board as she clenches around Santana, demanding more without the words. Weirdly enough, it makes Santana smile and she quickens the movements of her hips, draping herself over Brittany's back when she feels herself getting closer and closer. The tightness encompassing her cock tells her that Brittany's at the same point and she lets her fingers drift back down to circle Brittany's clit again, timing it with her movements as she works harder and harder until it's right there.
Open mouthed kisses are planted to the top of Brittany's spine, and Santana keeps it going until she's coming, forehead pushing down in the place of her kisses and hips fitting over the curve of Brittany's ass and stilling, cock pressing as deep as possible as she pours out everything she has into her wife. Her hot breath blankets smooth skin and it's five seconds before Brittany grinds back into her impatiently, needing to reach her own peak herself.
Santana giggles breathlessly but begins to move again, her hand switching between wide, slow circles to quick, tight ones. Four or five of those switches later, and Brittany breaks, her entire body quivering as her orgasm punches through her. Her hand reaches back, grabbing at Santana's hand and succeeding in doing so but knocking a pair of headphones and an empty coffee cup to the floor simultaneously. Her legs shiver and back shoots up straight, pressing into Santana's front as she comes hard, stiffening and squeezing her eyes shut and reaching back to grab at Santana's neck as she comes down from her high, deflating and sagging back into her wife.
They're breathing heavy and hard, both recovering from mind-blowing orgasms and Santana lets forehead rest against Brittany's shoulder as her palms slide over sweaty skin to settle on toned abs. She breathes out evenly for a few moments, letting her mind fizzle and sizzle as the memories of a few moments ago wash through her.
Finally, when her breathing is back to normal and her limbs have stopped twitching, she lets her hands fall to Brittany's hips and separates them, eyes drifting down to watch as she pulls out of her wife. It's probably hotter than it should be, and she licks her lips at the evident arousal covering her softening member at the same time Brittany whimpers from the loss of contact. Her wife turns around, smiles at her quickly then kisses her softly, drawing it out and sucking on her bottom lip as she pulls away, arms draping over Santana's shoulders to keep her close.
And Santana just gazes into deep blue eyes for a few moments, before she figures it's late and they should probably be getting home soon 'cause there's no way she's going to get any work done now.
“Let's go home,” she whispers, pecking pink lips one last time before pulling away and slipping out from in front of Brittany, stopping when her eyes find the state of the room. “Although, we should probably clear up first.”
Brittany chuckles behind her and drops a kiss to her bare shoulder as she stops beside Santana to witness what she means. And sure enough, she does.
The once tidy studio now has clothes, coffee cups and headphones spread out across the floor. The computer is off center, twisted to the side and the chair is now over in the corner, on its back (when the hell did that happen?) with the wheels up in the air. Their clothes are darted in various positions, Santana's bra on the filing cabinet and Brittany's jacket stuffed in the far corner of the desk. Neither of them are really sure how or when that happened, but Santana can't really care. It's nothing that can't be fixed and so with one final kiss, they begin clearing up.
Five minutes later and it's back to normal, clean and spic and span and both of them are fully dressed, Brittany helping Santana buckle her belt as Santana adjusts the lapels of Brittany's jacket, then moving on to make sure the tie's tight around her waist so the coat doesn't fall open. Their eyes meet when they're finished and Santana can see the smile in blue, and doesn't resist in leaning forward to suck on Brittany's top lip, tongue running along the underside of it.
“Thank you,” she whispers as she pulls away, stroking her nose against a pale one affectionately.
Brittany's hands slip up from her belt to brush a lock of dark hair behind a tanned ear. “For what, baby?”
“For visiting me tonight. I really needed it.”
It should be suggestive, and Brittany should lift a brow, smirk and tell her how she bets she needed the visit, but Brittany sees the deeper meaning behind Santana's words and just smiles softly, nodding into the kiss she gives her.
“I know,” she murmurs. “And I really did mean it. I missed you. Eli does, too.”
Santana lets her eyes close and tips their foreheads together, hating that work keeps her from the two most important people in her world. “Then we better get home,” she whispers, kissing Brittany again. “But let's go pick Eli up from my mom first. I want to fall asleep with both of you in my arms,” she suggests, standing back and holding out her hand with a small grin.
Brittany just does that adorable thing where she ducks her head, brushes a hand over her face and smiles before she takes the offered hand, tangles their fingers together and leads them out the studio and building.