The Things We Do
Santana/Brittany, NC-17, 2.7k
They've started doing this thing where they go on dates every Friday night.
They've started doing this thing where they go on dates every Friday night.
They’ve started doing this thing where they go on dates every Friday night.
Work’s been busier for both of them, and Brittany’s now thirteen weeks pregnant which means her body’s playing up a little and it’s getting her down, and so every week they go and do something different together. Something that’s just for them, whether that’s climbing the Empire State Building at night time, seeing a show on Broadway or even just going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant.
Whatever it is, they do it together and it’s just amazing.
So it gets to Friday night again, and Santana comes home from work and throws herself face down on the sofa. She hears a giggle and lifts her head enough to find Brittany sitting on the kitchen counter, laughing at her and munching on a bowl of Fruit Loops.
“Hey,” she grumbles, dropping her head again.
She would get up to greet Brittany but she’s fucking exhausted and her limbs feel like they weigh three tonnes each. Today was filled with what felt like a million conferences with rich assholes who she had to sweet talk into convince into giving financial aid to help with the tour she’s planning for Quinn. Except that only ended up in several of them questioning Quinn’s ability and one saying how she was just some ‘small town chick’ who would drop from the charts within a year and be forgotten about.
Obviously that hadn’t sat well with Santana and she’d wound up having a full blown argument―her part in Spanish―with one of them and that lead to the guy completely pulling out of giving any money towards it, or any project in the future.
Boy, had Quinn been pissed.
But now Santana just wants to forget the day, curl up to her wife and sleep off the stress. That sounds like the best idea in the world.
Brittany chuckles again, drops her bowl in the sink and hops down from the counter, gliding over to stand by her side. “I wanna cuddle,” she says, stretching her arms down and wiggling her fingers in the air like a child.
Santana grins, shakes her head and pushes up from the couch, twisting to wrap her arms around her wife’s waist, nose burying into the crook of her neck. She closes her eyes and all the stress and the shit just washes straight off her. That really is the best thing about coming home to Brittany; no matter what happens in the day, she comes home to a ray of sunshine and all the crap just vanishes.
“Tough day?”
Santana nods against Brittany’s shoulder, lip poking out into a pout. “Yeah,” she groans. “I had to kiss some rich butt.”
Brittany pulls back, arms staying looped around her neck and fingers toying with fine, dark hair at the back of a tanned neck. “Poor baby. Do you just want to stay in tonight?”
“No,” Santana inhales through her nose and wiggles her head. She won’t have her date ruined just ‘cause of some wealthy bastard.
“Then let’s do something simple.”
She bumps their noses together. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” the blonde lifts her shoulder, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. “How about going to see a film?” She suggests, eyes brightening and grin widening. “It’ll be like we’re teenagers going on our first date.”
Santana giggles and kisses her wife softly, slowly, before pulling away and licking her lips. “That sounds good, baby. You got a film in mind?”
“I don’t know what’s on.”
“Let’s have a look then,” she presses one lingering kiss to pink lips and pulls away, dropping back down to the sofa and reaching beneath it to grab her laptop.
Brittany drops down beside her, legs throwing over her lap and one tanned hand shoots to rub up and down soft skin as the other logs into the computer. They both look together and finally settle on some cheesy rom-com with Jennifer Aniston, checking the times and deciding on the last showing tonight.
//
It’s almost 9 when they get to the movie theater.
There aren’t a lot of people there, a few teenagers coming out a horror movie and a few older couples wandering out with their arms twisted together and goofy smiles on their face, and she and Brittany share a grin, knowing that’s going to be them in the years to come.
She buys their tickets and they stand in line to get some popcorn because apparently it’s just not the same if you don’t have popcorn, according to Brittany and they get a medium size and two sodas since the salt in the popcorn always makes Santana’s mouth dry.
Then they head up to the right screen and the lights are still on, which makes it easier to find their seats. Santana makes it halfway up the stairs, eyes flicking up the aisle numbers to find their designated one when Brittany comes up behind her and giggles naughtily in her ear.
Her back is as straight as a pole in an instant, and she twists around to eye her wife because she knows what that giggle means. “Uh, Britt?”
Brittany bites her lip and her eyes twinkle. “Yeah, honey?”
“You know we can’t do that here.”
“I know,” the blonde says, rotating the upper half of her body from side to side and looking more innocent than she should be considering her smoldering stare. “But we can totally sit at the back and make out.”
Santana’s eyebrows shoot up and she glances around, seeing only a few people in the theater. Her eyes flick back to blue and she knows she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter because her hand’s already grabbing Brittany’s and they’re marching up the stairs to the back row.
They slide into their seats and since the film isn’t full, Santana kicks her feet up onto the seat, ankles crossing and flips up the arm of the chair to allow Brittany to snuggle into her side. Seriously, she doesn’t know why they don’t just make a movie theater with sofa’s or something. It’d be a lot easier and more comfortable for that matter.
A few minutes later and the lights die down, the previews showing up on screen and Brittany reaches over to her lap where the popcorn sits, burying her hand into the deepest part of the bucket. Santana’s eyes bug and hips jerk when she feels the pressure coming down on her groin and snaps her head down to Brittany.
Except Brittany’s not staring or smirking at her, instead she’s staring at the screen, the lights flashing across her face as she pulls her hand back, popping a kernel of popcorn into her mouth and Santana just narrows her eyes. Now she doesn’t know if her the other girl’s doing that on purpose.
So she just sits back to enjoy the film.
//
The film is half an hour in when Santana figures out that Brittany's most definitely doing the popcorn thing on purpose.
They used to go to the cinema all the time as teenagers and never once did Brittany ever reach down to grab the popcorn at the bottom to grab a few kernels; she always ate from the top. In fact, she'd always have the bucket on her lap instead of Santana's and the seventeenth time her hand conveniently bumps the bottom of the bucket, putting a little bit of pressure onto Santana's crotch, Santana snaps. The heat was building more and more around her collar with every tiny bit of pressure and it's just too much now. She's already straining against the inside of her boxers and if Brittany keeps doing that she's going to explode from sexual frustration.
“Britt,” she whispers, urgently. “You gotta stop doing that.”
Blue eyes slide in her direction. “Doing what, San?” She says, innocently, but there's a smirk on her face.
Santana shifts and lifts the bucket from her lap. “Bumping the bottom of the bucket. You're... You know,” she widens her eyes and lets them obviously drift down to her crotch.
“Oh,” Brittany replies, but her eyebrow lifts, knowing exactly what she's doing. “Oops.”
Something relatively important must happen in the film because a guy a few rows down turns around to glare at Santana, pushing his finger to his lips to signal them to be quiet. Santana pulls her mouths down at the side, revealing the bottom row of her teeth and whispers “sorry” even though he probably can't hear. But he still sits back in his seat and they're left alone.
Although it seems Santana has the idea to be quiet and watch the rest of the movie, Brittany doesn't and shifts against her side, twisting and drops a single kiss against a tanned neck softly. Santana stiffens, the feel of warm lips shooting straight through her and bottoming out in her crotch and she bites down on her lip, hearing a low, naughty chuckle from beside her.
“Baby,” she whines, facing her wife and cupping her cheek. “I really don't think we can even make out.”
Brittany's face drops. “Why?”
Brown eyes flicker down to make sure no-one's watching them. “I'm horny as hell, babe,” she tells Brittany honestly, voice heavy with arousal. “And if we make out there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to keep my hands off you, and I'm pretty sure we'll be kicked out for that.”
“Maybe you keep your hands to yourself then,” the blonde murmurs, already leaning down to bring their mouths together, and that's Santana rendered powerless.
She wants to ask what Brittany means but she doesn't have to because fingers are already sliding down her stomach and unbuckling her belt, popping open the button of her jeans and dipping beneath the waistband of her boxers. Her mind quickly registers what Brittany's doing and despite her mind thinking of how bad this could turn out, her body's already reacting and she's shifting further down the seat for easier access.
The breath she takes gets stuck in her throat when Brittany pulls back and wordlessly slips her hand inside Santana's boxers, fingers wrapping delicately around her throbbing erection. Her eyes bug out and she doesn't know how she's so hot for Brittany in such an inappropriate place, but that thought doesn't linger in her mind to long because lips cover hers and a tongue dips into his mouth at the same time Brittany begins to stroke her languidly, squeezing lightly at the base.
Shamelessly, Santana pushes up with her hips and breaks the kiss, sucking in her lips to keep from moaning. The chair begins to squeak beneath her and so not only is she trying not to make noises from her but now she's got to keep perfectly still.
Holy shit. This is so not good.
“Britt,” she gasps, lowly, thankful for the sudden blast of noise coming from the film to mask her voice. Brittany's hand works faster and faster against her, a warm tongue sliding across her pulse point and a flush scorches across her skin, fingers gripping onto anything she can get a hold of. “Fuck.”
She feels Brittany smirk against her skin and tips her head forward, hanging it down so she can rest an elbow on the arm not near Brittany and cover her mouth with her fist. Her eyes squeeze shut and the pressure in the base of her spine builds and builds as talented fingers slow down and twist around her shaft, stroking from base to head at an agonizingly slow pace.
She begins to rock her hips, needing to speed this up because it's getting so fucking hard to keep quiet and she's sure she's being just as loud as she was when she and Brittany were whispering so fuck, that guy might turn around, and shit, the need to get off is hitting her really hard in the gut.
“Faster,” she pants, opening her eyes and watching as Brittany's fist twists around her member and picks up the pace faster.
Seeing it makes everything a million times hotter and her shoulder blades push into the seat, the muscles in her thighs tensing to keep her hips still and chair silent. She's really got to be fucking quiet and her teeth are digging so hard into her bottom lip there's a possibility she might draw blood with a tiny bit more pressure.
But then out the corner of her eye she sees small light coming up the stairs to her right and her body stiffens. Brittany's lips keep working over her neck, her hand still stroking her, and she's so close to coming she can feel it behind her eyeballs but there's a fucking usher coming up the stairs. Shit. Is she being loud?
Then the lips on her neck pull away and barely a second later Brittany's whispering dirty things into her ear, her hand picking up the pace until Santana's hips are lifting off the seat and she's pushed over the edge. Her head snaps back, eyes squeeze shut and she quickly tugs her boxers over her cock to keep from getting come anywhere visible, but she's so painfully aware that there's a fucking theater worker coming towards them that she can't enjoy her release so much.
It's still incredible though and she whimpers as Brittany strokes her down, giggling lowly into her ear and flicking her tongue against her earlobe and she shuffles back up the seat, eying her wife when Brittany pulls back and smirks.
She doesn't have time to say anything though because she can hear footsteps coming down the row and she subtly but quickly grabs the popcorn bucket and places it over her lap, shoving Brittany's hand back into her own lap choosing not to do her own jeans back up since there's no time.
“Excuse me?”
Santana whips her head around and smiles. Thank fuck it's dark otherwise the blush on her face would be a clear pointer to what they were doing. “Yes?”
The usher shines the light on them quickly and Santana stiffens, but as soon as it's there it's gone and she relaxes, eying the guy standing near them. “Are you two alright up here?” He asks, narrowing his eyes.
“We're fine, thanks,” Brittany pipes up, reaching into the bucket to pick up a piece of popcorn and throw in into her mouth. “I was just telling my wife how this popcorn is a little...” her eyes narrow and she smirks as she glances at Santana. “Saltier than it was a minute ago.”
Santana's eyes widen considerably and she stops breathing, hoping the usher doesn't understand her wife's words. But the guy obviously doesn't get paid enough to care and stares at them for longer than normal, but shrugs and leaves with a grunted “okay, but keep it down” as he walks away, shoulders hunching as he descends the stairs again.
As soon as the guy's out of ear shot, she snaps her head around and glares at her wife. But she's never been able to be angry at Brittany, especially not after what she just did for her, and rolls her eyes when Brittany flashes her a grin, wrapping her arm around her shoulder again.
“You're unbelievable,” she whispers, dropping a kiss to a pale forehead. “But that was so hot.”
Brittany giggles naughtily, again and brushes her lips along the ledge of Santana's jaw before snuggling closer. “I know. Now shut up, I wanna watch the film.”
Santana just giggles and settles back again, ignoring the discomfort in her boxers.
Work’s been busier for both of them, and Brittany’s now thirteen weeks pregnant which means her body’s playing up a little and it’s getting her down, and so every week they go and do something different together. Something that’s just for them, whether that’s climbing the Empire State Building at night time, seeing a show on Broadway or even just going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant.
Whatever it is, they do it together and it’s just amazing.
So it gets to Friday night again, and Santana comes home from work and throws herself face down on the sofa. She hears a giggle and lifts her head enough to find Brittany sitting on the kitchen counter, laughing at her and munching on a bowl of Fruit Loops.
“Hey,” she grumbles, dropping her head again.
She would get up to greet Brittany but she’s fucking exhausted and her limbs feel like they weigh three tonnes each. Today was filled with what felt like a million conferences with rich assholes who she had to sweet talk into convince into giving financial aid to help with the tour she’s planning for Quinn. Except that only ended up in several of them questioning Quinn’s ability and one saying how she was just some ‘small town chick’ who would drop from the charts within a year and be forgotten about.
Obviously that hadn’t sat well with Santana and she’d wound up having a full blown argument―her part in Spanish―with one of them and that lead to the guy completely pulling out of giving any money towards it, or any project in the future.
Boy, had Quinn been pissed.
But now Santana just wants to forget the day, curl up to her wife and sleep off the stress. That sounds like the best idea in the world.
Brittany chuckles again, drops her bowl in the sink and hops down from the counter, gliding over to stand by her side. “I wanna cuddle,” she says, stretching her arms down and wiggling her fingers in the air like a child.
Santana grins, shakes her head and pushes up from the couch, twisting to wrap her arms around her wife’s waist, nose burying into the crook of her neck. She closes her eyes and all the stress and the shit just washes straight off her. That really is the best thing about coming home to Brittany; no matter what happens in the day, she comes home to a ray of sunshine and all the crap just vanishes.
“Tough day?”
Santana nods against Brittany’s shoulder, lip poking out into a pout. “Yeah,” she groans. “I had to kiss some rich butt.”
Brittany pulls back, arms staying looped around her neck and fingers toying with fine, dark hair at the back of a tanned neck. “Poor baby. Do you just want to stay in tonight?”
“No,” Santana inhales through her nose and wiggles her head. She won’t have her date ruined just ‘cause of some wealthy bastard.
“Then let’s do something simple.”
She bumps their noses together. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” the blonde lifts her shoulder, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. “How about going to see a film?” She suggests, eyes brightening and grin widening. “It’ll be like we’re teenagers going on our first date.”
Santana giggles and kisses her wife softly, slowly, before pulling away and licking her lips. “That sounds good, baby. You got a film in mind?”
“I don’t know what’s on.”
“Let’s have a look then,” she presses one lingering kiss to pink lips and pulls away, dropping back down to the sofa and reaching beneath it to grab her laptop.
Brittany drops down beside her, legs throwing over her lap and one tanned hand shoots to rub up and down soft skin as the other logs into the computer. They both look together and finally settle on some cheesy rom-com with Jennifer Aniston, checking the times and deciding on the last showing tonight.
//
It’s almost 9 when they get to the movie theater.
There aren’t a lot of people there, a few teenagers coming out a horror movie and a few older couples wandering out with their arms twisted together and goofy smiles on their face, and she and Brittany share a grin, knowing that’s going to be them in the years to come.
She buys their tickets and they stand in line to get some popcorn because apparently it’s just not the same if you don’t have popcorn, according to Brittany and they get a medium size and two sodas since the salt in the popcorn always makes Santana’s mouth dry.
Then they head up to the right screen and the lights are still on, which makes it easier to find their seats. Santana makes it halfway up the stairs, eyes flicking up the aisle numbers to find their designated one when Brittany comes up behind her and giggles naughtily in her ear.
Her back is as straight as a pole in an instant, and she twists around to eye her wife because she knows what that giggle means. “Uh, Britt?”
Brittany bites her lip and her eyes twinkle. “Yeah, honey?”
“You know we can’t do that here.”
“I know,” the blonde says, rotating the upper half of her body from side to side and looking more innocent than she should be considering her smoldering stare. “But we can totally sit at the back and make out.”
Santana’s eyebrows shoot up and she glances around, seeing only a few people in the theater. Her eyes flick back to blue and she knows she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter because her hand’s already grabbing Brittany’s and they’re marching up the stairs to the back row.
They slide into their seats and since the film isn’t full, Santana kicks her feet up onto the seat, ankles crossing and flips up the arm of the chair to allow Brittany to snuggle into her side. Seriously, she doesn’t know why they don’t just make a movie theater with sofa’s or something. It’d be a lot easier and more comfortable for that matter.
A few minutes later and the lights die down, the previews showing up on screen and Brittany reaches over to her lap where the popcorn sits, burying her hand into the deepest part of the bucket. Santana’s eyes bug and hips jerk when she feels the pressure coming down on her groin and snaps her head down to Brittany.
Except Brittany’s not staring or smirking at her, instead she’s staring at the screen, the lights flashing across her face as she pulls her hand back, popping a kernel of popcorn into her mouth and Santana just narrows her eyes. Now she doesn’t know if her the other girl’s doing that on purpose.
So she just sits back to enjoy the film.
//
The film is half an hour in when Santana figures out that Brittany's most definitely doing the popcorn thing on purpose.
They used to go to the cinema all the time as teenagers and never once did Brittany ever reach down to grab the popcorn at the bottom to grab a few kernels; she always ate from the top. In fact, she'd always have the bucket on her lap instead of Santana's and the seventeenth time her hand conveniently bumps the bottom of the bucket, putting a little bit of pressure onto Santana's crotch, Santana snaps. The heat was building more and more around her collar with every tiny bit of pressure and it's just too much now. She's already straining against the inside of her boxers and if Brittany keeps doing that she's going to explode from sexual frustration.
“Britt,” she whispers, urgently. “You gotta stop doing that.”
Blue eyes slide in her direction. “Doing what, San?” She says, innocently, but there's a smirk on her face.
Santana shifts and lifts the bucket from her lap. “Bumping the bottom of the bucket. You're... You know,” she widens her eyes and lets them obviously drift down to her crotch.
“Oh,” Brittany replies, but her eyebrow lifts, knowing exactly what she's doing. “Oops.”
Something relatively important must happen in the film because a guy a few rows down turns around to glare at Santana, pushing his finger to his lips to signal them to be quiet. Santana pulls her mouths down at the side, revealing the bottom row of her teeth and whispers “sorry” even though he probably can't hear. But he still sits back in his seat and they're left alone.
Although it seems Santana has the idea to be quiet and watch the rest of the movie, Brittany doesn't and shifts against her side, twisting and drops a single kiss against a tanned neck softly. Santana stiffens, the feel of warm lips shooting straight through her and bottoming out in her crotch and she bites down on her lip, hearing a low, naughty chuckle from beside her.
“Baby,” she whines, facing her wife and cupping her cheek. “I really don't think we can even make out.”
Brittany's face drops. “Why?”
Brown eyes flicker down to make sure no-one's watching them. “I'm horny as hell, babe,” she tells Brittany honestly, voice heavy with arousal. “And if we make out there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to keep my hands off you, and I'm pretty sure we'll be kicked out for that.”
“Maybe you keep your hands to yourself then,” the blonde murmurs, already leaning down to bring their mouths together, and that's Santana rendered powerless.
She wants to ask what Brittany means but she doesn't have to because fingers are already sliding down her stomach and unbuckling her belt, popping open the button of her jeans and dipping beneath the waistband of her boxers. Her mind quickly registers what Brittany's doing and despite her mind thinking of how bad this could turn out, her body's already reacting and she's shifting further down the seat for easier access.
The breath she takes gets stuck in her throat when Brittany pulls back and wordlessly slips her hand inside Santana's boxers, fingers wrapping delicately around her throbbing erection. Her eyes bug out and she doesn't know how she's so hot for Brittany in such an inappropriate place, but that thought doesn't linger in her mind to long because lips cover hers and a tongue dips into his mouth at the same time Brittany begins to stroke her languidly, squeezing lightly at the base.
Shamelessly, Santana pushes up with her hips and breaks the kiss, sucking in her lips to keep from moaning. The chair begins to squeak beneath her and so not only is she trying not to make noises from her but now she's got to keep perfectly still.
Holy shit. This is so not good.
“Britt,” she gasps, lowly, thankful for the sudden blast of noise coming from the film to mask her voice. Brittany's hand works faster and faster against her, a warm tongue sliding across her pulse point and a flush scorches across her skin, fingers gripping onto anything she can get a hold of. “Fuck.”
She feels Brittany smirk against her skin and tips her head forward, hanging it down so she can rest an elbow on the arm not near Brittany and cover her mouth with her fist. Her eyes squeeze shut and the pressure in the base of her spine builds and builds as talented fingers slow down and twist around her shaft, stroking from base to head at an agonizingly slow pace.
She begins to rock her hips, needing to speed this up because it's getting so fucking hard to keep quiet and she's sure she's being just as loud as she was when she and Brittany were whispering so fuck, that guy might turn around, and shit, the need to get off is hitting her really hard in the gut.
“Faster,” she pants, opening her eyes and watching as Brittany's fist twists around her member and picks up the pace faster.
Seeing it makes everything a million times hotter and her shoulder blades push into the seat, the muscles in her thighs tensing to keep her hips still and chair silent. She's really got to be fucking quiet and her teeth are digging so hard into her bottom lip there's a possibility she might draw blood with a tiny bit more pressure.
But then out the corner of her eye she sees small light coming up the stairs to her right and her body stiffens. Brittany's lips keep working over her neck, her hand still stroking her, and she's so close to coming she can feel it behind her eyeballs but there's a fucking usher coming up the stairs. Shit. Is she being loud?
Then the lips on her neck pull away and barely a second later Brittany's whispering dirty things into her ear, her hand picking up the pace until Santana's hips are lifting off the seat and she's pushed over the edge. Her head snaps back, eyes squeeze shut and she quickly tugs her boxers over her cock to keep from getting come anywhere visible, but she's so painfully aware that there's a fucking theater worker coming towards them that she can't enjoy her release so much.
It's still incredible though and she whimpers as Brittany strokes her down, giggling lowly into her ear and flicking her tongue against her earlobe and she shuffles back up the seat, eying her wife when Brittany pulls back and smirks.
She doesn't have time to say anything though because she can hear footsteps coming down the row and she subtly but quickly grabs the popcorn bucket and places it over her lap, shoving Brittany's hand back into her own lap choosing not to do her own jeans back up since there's no time.
“Excuse me?”
Santana whips her head around and smiles. Thank fuck it's dark otherwise the blush on her face would be a clear pointer to what they were doing. “Yes?”
The usher shines the light on them quickly and Santana stiffens, but as soon as it's there it's gone and she relaxes, eying the guy standing near them. “Are you two alright up here?” He asks, narrowing his eyes.
“We're fine, thanks,” Brittany pipes up, reaching into the bucket to pick up a piece of popcorn and throw in into her mouth. “I was just telling my wife how this popcorn is a little...” her eyes narrow and she smirks as she glances at Santana. “Saltier than it was a minute ago.”
Santana's eyes widen considerably and she stops breathing, hoping the usher doesn't understand her wife's words. But the guy obviously doesn't get paid enough to care and stares at them for longer than normal, but shrugs and leaves with a grunted “okay, but keep it down” as he walks away, shoulders hunching as he descends the stairs again.
As soon as the guy's out of ear shot, she snaps her head around and glares at her wife. But she's never been able to be angry at Brittany, especially not after what she just did for her, and rolls her eyes when Brittany flashes her a grin, wrapping her arm around her shoulder again.
“You're unbelievable,” she whispers, dropping a kiss to a pale forehead. “But that was so hot.”
Brittany giggles naughtily, again and brushes her lips along the ledge of Santana's jaw before snuggling closer. “I know. Now shut up, I wanna watch the film.”
Santana just giggles and settles back again, ignoring the discomfort in her boxers.