Fic: Two Girls, One Car
Title: Two Girls, One Car
Author: fullyajar
Pairings: Brittany/Santana, Quinn
Spoilers: Season 3
Summary: Unholy Trinity time! Quinn walks in on Brittany and Santana in a compromising position, and sticks around to watch. For this prompt at the Glee Kink Meme.
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, Glee might just become The Brittana Show.
Word count: ~4000
When Quinn finally shoulders her sports bag and locks the locker room door behind her, she’s surprised to see the orange glow of sunset stretching across the football field and sending lengthy shadows between the stands. Being captain of the Cheerios has its perks, but having to stay late on Fridays to lock the changing room because Coach Sue has delivery-prep classes right after practice is not one of them. Usually Santana and Brittany stay until the end as well, talking her ear off and keeping her mind occupied while the rest of the Cheerios slowly filter out of the changing room. But today the two left early to be picked up by Santana’s mom and dropped at their family’s lakehouse for the weekend. Quinn chuckles to herself when she remembers how Brittany had started telling her excitedly about everything they would do that weekend - in general in the lakehouse and the lake, and specifically to each other - the latter in excruciating detail. Santana had cut her off quickly enough, but not before Quinn managed to get a very intense picture of what exactly the two of them had planned. “Two Girls, One Cat” all over again. Not that she watched that of course. Because… well, yeah.
She pulls the zipper on her bag fully closed, stuffing her Cheerios uniform down to the bottom. She’s in slacks and a T-shirt. While Brittany and Santana will probably be having sex on the carpet in front of the fireplace half the night, Quinn’s night will be much more tame; empty house, a movie on the couch, and a well-deserved facemask. Definitely not as much fun as she’s sure her two friends will have, but still, she’s looking forward to it.
She’s rounding the corner to the parking lot when she hears a light giggle and hushed female voices drifting from somewhere on the lot. She freezes, cocking her head to the side to listen and identify who it is. Brittany and Santana, the last ones (besides herself) still at school, left the locker rooms at least 20 minutes ago to catch their ride. It’s a Friday night on school grounds. Who in the world would be lingering on the parking lot at this time?
She quietly pads past the few remaining parked cars, dampening her footsteps in order to not be heard. She kind of appreciated the solitude of the last few minutes, and running into some Cheerios or students she knows isn’t really what she wants right now. Honestly, she doesn’t want to be here anymore. The living room couch and DVD player are waiting for her.
There’s another giggle, louder this time, and Quinn freezes again. She strains her ears, and is surprised to realize she does know the girls whispering to each other.
“Did you bring the flask?” Santana says in a hushed voice.
“Of course,” Brittany answers. “Did you bring the fondue?”
“You brought the fondue,” Santana reminds her with a giggle. There’s a pause, and a muffled laugh. “BritBrit,” Santana says in a light, chastising voice, chuckling softly again.
“What?” Brittany asks in an overly innocent voice, and Quinn frowns curiously. There’s a creak of a car hood accompanied by Santana letting out a subdued, satisfied sigh.
“Britt… Hey, really… Stop that,” Santana says in her strange, teasing tone. “We’ll be at the lakehouse soon enough.”
Quinn’s frown smoothes as her eyes go wide with realization, and a blush creeps into her cheeks when she identifies the muffled sounds of laughter and lips against skin. Brittany’s lips against Santana’s skin.
Yeah, she really doesn’t want to be here.
Blocking out the sound of Santana lightly protesting (without any conviction whatsoever, Quinn realizes with a laugh) against Brittany’s advances, Quinn crouches down and edges her way to her car. It’s only when she realizes the sounds (especially Santana’s subdued moans of “Oh, Britt”) are only getting louder that she stops in her tracks and dares a peek over the hood of the car she’s crouched next to.
One car and row over, Brittany has Santana pressed up against the hood of a car, their bulging sports bags abandoned by their feet as Brittany runs her hands over Santana’s back and presses eager kisses over her neck, collarbone, along the edge of her uniform and back up to her ear. Santana is letting out soft little moans as Brittany sucks on her skin, and runs a hand through Brittany’s hair while the other presses back against the hood of the car to hold herself steady.
It takes Quinn embarrassingly long to realize that it’s her car.
She quickly fights down the urge to stand up, march over, and give her friends a good talking to for making out on her brand new car. Her grandma left her that car as her inheritance, and there’s no way she’s letting her two best friends tarnish her memory by leaving handprints on the hood and very disturbing memories in Quinn’s mind.
Still, she stops herself before she’s lifted more than an inch, and takes a moment to calm herself, letting the implications of what Santana and Brittany are doing sink in. Only a few weeks ago, Quinn knows that she would never have walked in on something like this. She knows by now that they’ve been sneaking around since 9th grade - and sneaking well. In fact, in all her years of knowing the two, she never caught them doing anything more than cuddling or linking pinkies. And then they came out, and, although this is the first time Quinn’s caught them being more than just affectionate, everything changed. Quinn hasn’t missed how happy Santana is to be able to grab Brittany’s hand in the hallway or how Brittany lights up when Santana cuddles up against her and kisses her neck at a football game with all of McKinley High to see them.
And now, here they are, making out in a public parking lot on school grounds.
She sighs in exasperation, sets her bag down on the ground, and crouches down to wait. No way she’s going to interrupt them when she knows how much they’ve fought for the chance to be able to do just what they’re doing. First “Two Girls, One Cat” (okay, fine, she watched it), now “Two Girls, One Car”…
She shrugs to herself. Santana’s mom should be here any minute to break up the party anyway and let Quinn get to her (thankfully solo) night in.
As though on cue, Santana pipes up, “My mom will be here soon.”
“No, she won’t. Remember her text? At least 20 more minutes to ourselves,” Brittany counters. Quinn lets out a huff of annoyance at the information and settles down more comfortably. She focuses on the pavement beneath her feet and hums lightly to block out Santana’s whimper of surprise when Brittany does something that she’s (thankfully) not able to see.
“Oh, Britt, you’re so impatient!” Santana whispers after a soft moan.
“I know,” Brittany replies simply.
“We’re in a parking lot!”
“I know,” Brittany repeats.
“We’ll be together at the lakehouse in like an hour…” Santana trails off after a small whimper.
“Mmhmm.” Brittany’s answer is as much a hum of enjoyment as a word, and Quinn catches the sound of lips on lips.
“We’ll be so together.” Santana’s words are muffled and indistinct, but Quinn hears the next with perfect clarity - her tone is happy and loving as she whispers sweetly, “I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for so long, Britt. I can’t wait to spend every moment with you.”
“Every moment…” Brittany hums with equal happiness. Her tone turns playful. “Just this weekend?”
“Of course not,” Santana laughs softly and pauses. Quinn hears the creak of her car hood as she imagines Santana shifting on the car. Her next words are barely a whisper, and Quinn has to strain her ears to catch the tender, content sound of her voice.
“Always. Every moment, always.”
A wave of affection washes over Quinn at the heartfelt admission, and although she feels a little uncomfortable for having eavesdropped on a moment that was clearly meant to be private, she smiles to herself at how unguarded and in love Santana sounds. Brittany makes a high, elated humming sound at the back of her throat, and Quinn realizes that, yeah, maybe she’s a bit jealous of her two friends.
Somewhat lost in her musings about Santana and Brittany’s love, Quinn almost misses the scraping sound of metal as the hood of her car creaks loudly.
“What are you doing?” comes a muffled question, followed by more creaking and the sound of wet lips on skin. Quinn raises an eyebrow; she wonders the same thing. When all she hears in response are Santana’s soft moans of Brittany’s name (still slightly protesting to whatever Brittany is doing), she chances a peek over edge of the car she’s crouched next to, and instantly regrets it as her heartbeat spikes into her throat and her knees go slightly weak with shock (must be shock, right?) at the sight in front of her.
Santana is sprawled out against the hood of the car (her car, Quinn corrects), her hands tangled in Brittany’s hair, simultaneously seeming to hold her back as well as encourage her as the blonde runs her hands over Santana’s body and her lips over her thighs. Santana’s Cheerio top is pulled up scandalously, exposing her quivering abs as she whimpers at Brittany’s lips between her legs and her hands now sliding slowly beneath her skirt. With a quick motion, Brittany pushes the fabric up so it’s riding on Santana’s hips.
“Britt,” Santana moans. There’s still a hint of reproach, but it’s almost completely overpowered by lust.
Brittany shushes her, and her hands press her hips down when Santana bucks them as she flicks her tongue higher between her legs.
Quinn swallows nervously, but, frozen by the unexpected scene, doesn’t look away.
Santana takes in a sharp breath as Brittany flicks her tongue between her legs again, dangerously close to the red fabric of her panties, and Quinn’s heartbeat spikes in surprise, as well as… something else, when her body automatically mirrors the sound.
Brittany hooks her fingers into Santana’s panties and bites the top edge of them to pull them down across her legs. Santana shifts her hips to help, and Quinn feels a blush creep into her cheeks when she realizes even the fading light doesn’t cast enough shadows to hide Santana completely. When her panties come loose, Brittany lets out an amused chuckle and twirls it around her finger once. Quinn catches the detail of her panties when Brittany stops twirling it: red see-through lace with black bows along the edge.
“These aren’t your Cheerio’s spanks…” Brittany hums happily. Santana leans up on her elbows and her face breaks out in a playful grin.
“They were for tonight.”
Brittany giggles. “Well, tonight starts now.”
She flicks the panties away; they slide down the windshield and out of sight. Then, with a quick, unexpected movement and a forceful “Lay back”, Brittany presses Santana back against the car. The back of her head hits the metal with a soft thud, but before Santana has the chance to complain, Brittany has hooked her legs over her shoulders and sunk down between them and any protests are cut off by a surprised cry as Brittany’s face sinks beneath Santana’s shirt.
Quinn’s eyes go wide, and she feels her fingers clamp onto the edge of the car next to her.
She knows that there’s probably something very wrong about the fact that when Santana cries out and bucks her hips against Brittany’s face, she feels a dull heartbeat between her legs and her abs contract to relieve an ache she’s barely ever experienced before. Her knees are still weak, but she knows in the back of her mind that shock has nothing to do with it. If it did, she would have looked away long ago.
Instead, she’s held frozen in place by the unexpected sensations coursing through her body at the sight of her best friends fucking on the hood of her car. The thought itself sends a shockwave through her body, and her legs quiver beneath her. She’s watching her two best friends fucking. Brittany’s running her tongue over Santana’s slit, and she’s watching her. Santana is crying out softly with every upward movement of Brittany’s face, and she’s watching her. She’s fucking watching.
She shakes her head to clear the somewhat disturbing thoughts, but her body’s unwelcome response to the situation doesn’t clear with them. Nor does the urge to keep watching leave with the realization that that’s exactly what she’s doing.
Her eyes focus on the details of Santana’s movements; the way her hand clamps into Brittany’s hair with every upward thrust of her hips; the way she has her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, stifling her sounds; the way her eyebrows are knit into an incredibly sexy, vulnerable expression that turns half-smiling every time she lets out a whimper; the way the muscles in her thighs contract next to Brittany’s face; the way her converse-clad feet dig into Brittany’s back with every thrust of Brittany’s tongue.
Brittany’s movements are no less mesmerizing. Her hands are on Santana’s hips, and Quinn can see the tone of her arms as she tries to hold Santana down on the car. She pulls her face back for a second to pull a strand of hair out of her mouth, and Quinn sees a wicked smile on her lips - lips shining in the fading light with the sheen of Santana’s wetness.
Quinn feels a shockwave of white-hot heat shoot between her legs at the sight, and she whimpers softly. Her free hand is bunching the fabric of her slacks, nails digging through the thin fabric to leave crescent shapes on the inside of her palm. She loosens her grip, and before she knows it, her hand is sliding between her thighs.
A second later, she realizes what she’s doing and pulls her hand away with a sharp sound of surprise. What the hell was she just thinking?
Suddenly, light floods the parking lot as the streetlights come on. Brittany pulls back in surprise, but Santana tightens her hold on her scalp so Brittany winces.
“No, Britt, don’t stop,” the brunette whines, her head twitching back and forth in excitement and desperation.
“Now who’s impatient?” Brittany replies with a delicious giggle, but ducks between Santana’s legs nonetheless. She must be doing something unexpected (and very much appreciated), because Santana cries out loudly before she bites her lip again to muffle her sounds.
The aroused cry bucks Quinn’s hips forward without conscious thought. She briefly destabilizes and her knee falls on her bag.
Instantly, there’s the pinging, clicking sound of a car unlocking and the headlights flash twice, flooding the area around Brittany with an orange glow. Quinn freezes.
“What was that?” Brittany demands immediately, ignoring the way Santana tries to pull her back down.
“It’s nothing, ignore it,” Santana whines. The tables have turned completely; Brittany is resisting, while Santana is seducing. Her hips gyrate against Brittany’s loosened hold, and Brittany seems to lose track of her thoughts for a second at the sight. Quinn sympathizes, because her thoughts derail as well.
“I thought I heard a car.”
“My mom’s late, it’s nothing,” Santana reassures her. “Besides, who cares?” she adds with a giggle, and Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Four years of hiding the fact that she’s in love with Brittany, and it only takes a few weeks of dating for her to not care about getting caught? Kudos, Quinn thinks with a grin. Baby’s growing up.
As soon as she thinks it, she rolls her eyes at herself. Santana has Brittany’s face between her legs and is making all kinds of extremely inappropriate sounds. Of course baby’s growing up.
She chuckles as she remembers their nickname: The Unholy Trinity. She laughs sardonically at how ridiculously accurate it is, especially right now; she feels more unholy than ever.
Santana’s cries pull her from her brief reverie. It’s not just her being unholy of course. Santana and Brittany are proving their trio’s nickname with every tilt of the brunette’s hips and thrust of the blonde’s tongue, while the pooling heat between Quinn’s legs is proof enough of the innocence she left behind long ago. She shudders with arousal and the beat of her heart increases to match the rhythm of Brittany’s tongue and Santana’s slowly increasing cries. The brunette is pushing her head back against the car and arching her back a little more with every jolt of her hips. The muscles of her thigh shine in the pale streetlight as they contract with increasing force, pulling her legs up and shifting Brittany’s face deeper between them.
Santana whines Brittany’s name, and Quinn hisses loudly at the shocks the throaty, helplessly aroused cry send through her body. This time she doesn’t stop her hand as it presses between her legs, relieving some of the ache centered there. She’ll feel guilty about it later.
Somehow, Quinn can feel how close Santana is. Maybe it’s because of the way her own body is shifting from her half-crouched position in time with the two girl’s motions or the way a heartbeat pulses between her legs as her hand follows their rhythm across the fabric of her pants. It’s nothing too scandalous (considering what’s she’s seeing), and she knows it’ll never get her off, but that’s not the point. Her eyes are still wide and captivated, and she bites her lip when Santana does. The brunette is just in time, because Quinn hears the strength of her cry beneath the way Santana tries to stifle it as she comes. Her hips buck, hard, sending a dull thud of skin and metal echoing across the lot when she falls back down. Brittany’s fingers dig into her hipbones and she blonde presses her own legs sharply together as Quinn does the same, her hand still trapped between them.
Santana’s cries aren’t as loud as the initial one would have been if she hadn’t tried to keep it down, but they’re louder than any before, and Quinn takes in a breath of surprise at how much the sound turns her on. The cries subside slowly, changing gently into breathless whimpers and moans. Brittany moves her hands across Santana’s naked abdomen as Santana’s jolts also subside, and then she lifts her face and peppers wet kisses over her stomach, to her neck, along her jawline, until Santana whines pointedly and tilts her face to catch her lips in a long, firm kiss. Santana’s tongue flicks out against Brittany’s lips, and Quinn knows she’s tasting herself.
When they pull back, they hover briefly with their eyes locked, and Santana’s hand comes up the side of Brittany’s face lovingly. Quinn’s stomach knots with guilt briefly at intruding on this moment, and she looks away. She knows the guilt will pass in a second. These are her friends, after all. And although she knows they wouldn’t have chosen to have her see them share such an intimate after-sex moment, she sees moments like it every day. Every day that Santana opens Brittany’s locker for her and Brittany thanks her with a sweet, lingering kiss. Every day that Brittany calls Santana her girlfriend, and Santana melts a little. Every day that Brittany trails her fingers just underneath the edge of Santana’s skirt when she thinks nobody is watching, and Santana catches her eyes with a playful, loving smile.
Santana’s words pull her from her thoughts.
“That was… unexpected,” she says with a giggle, followed by the soft smacking sound of lips on lips.
“Just a preview,” Brittany jokes.
Quinn doesn’t look back up. Although the guilt worked to stifle some of her arousal, she still feels a beat between her legs and her heart is racing like she just ran a mile. She faintly hears the creak of the hood of her car, and less than a minute later, as though on cue, the headlights of a car shine onto the parking lot. Quinn glances up briefly so see Santana’s face break out in a relieved expression at not having been caught. She mumbles something about her panties, but Brittany shrugs and grabs her hand to lead her to the waiting car. They shoulder their bags, Brittany wipes her mouth, and Santana places a kiss on Brittany’s cheek before the headlights envelop them and Quinn can see nothing more than two shadows in the bright lights.
It’s minutes before she’s able to move, and when she does, it’s only because a drop of rain falls on her nose and rouses her. The car is gone, the lot is empty of people, and she’s alone again. She gets up slowly, her knees protesting at the unwelcome movement. Standing doesn’t help. As present as ever, she feels the thud of arousal between her legs, the wobble in her knees, the heartbeat in her throat. So inappropriate, she thinks, but laughs at herself nonetheless.
She lifts her bag and staggers over to her car among the pitter-patter of raindrops on the hood, washing away the evidence of Brittany and Santana’s tryst. If she squints, she thinks can still just see an outline of wetness among the small circles of rain. Of course, she could be imagining it.
She starts the car, pulls out of the lot, and suddenly she’s on the highway without having remembered the last 10 minutes of driving. She shakes herself awake and chastises her dangerous lapse of attention. She didn’t even think to turn on the windshield wipers.
“Stupid,” she murmurs as she clicks the button, and then she pulls back in surprise as a dark, red… thing, slides across her windshield. It takes her a moment to identify it, but when she does, she laughs out loud: Santana’s panties, attached to the tip of the windshield wipers, slide wetly across the glass, pulling rain with them as they go. Quinn rolls her eyes and laughs again. Typical Santana. Can’t leave well enough alone.
She shifts her hips absentmindedly, and whimpers embarrassingly loudly at the way it presses against her aroused center. She lets out a huff of annoyance, but then sighs with resignation nonetheless. Although her night in will still be more tame than Santana’s and Brittany’s, there’s suddenly at least one more item on her ‘to do’ list for her ‘solo’ night in…
Author: fullyajar
Pairings: Brittany/Santana, Quinn
Spoilers: Season 3
Summary: Unholy Trinity time! Quinn walks in on Brittany and Santana in a compromising position, and sticks around to watch. For this prompt at the Glee Kink Meme.
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, Glee might just become The Brittana Show.
Word count: ~4000
When Quinn finally shoulders her sports bag and locks the locker room door behind her, she’s surprised to see the orange glow of sunset stretching across the football field and sending lengthy shadows between the stands. Being captain of the Cheerios has its perks, but having to stay late on Fridays to lock the changing room because Coach Sue has delivery-prep classes right after practice is not one of them. Usually Santana and Brittany stay until the end as well, talking her ear off and keeping her mind occupied while the rest of the Cheerios slowly filter out of the changing room. But today the two left early to be picked up by Santana’s mom and dropped at their family’s lakehouse for the weekend. Quinn chuckles to herself when she remembers how Brittany had started telling her excitedly about everything they would do that weekend - in general in the lakehouse and the lake, and specifically to each other - the latter in excruciating detail. Santana had cut her off quickly enough, but not before Quinn managed to get a very intense picture of what exactly the two of them had planned. “Two Girls, One Cat” all over again. Not that she watched that of course. Because… well, yeah.
She pulls the zipper on her bag fully closed, stuffing her Cheerios uniform down to the bottom. She’s in slacks and a T-shirt. While Brittany and Santana will probably be having sex on the carpet in front of the fireplace half the night, Quinn’s night will be much more tame; empty house, a movie on the couch, and a well-deserved facemask. Definitely not as much fun as she’s sure her two friends will have, but still, she’s looking forward to it.
She’s rounding the corner to the parking lot when she hears a light giggle and hushed female voices drifting from somewhere on the lot. She freezes, cocking her head to the side to listen and identify who it is. Brittany and Santana, the last ones (besides herself) still at school, left the locker rooms at least 20 minutes ago to catch their ride. It’s a Friday night on school grounds. Who in the world would be lingering on the parking lot at this time?
She quietly pads past the few remaining parked cars, dampening her footsteps in order to not be heard. She kind of appreciated the solitude of the last few minutes, and running into some Cheerios or students she knows isn’t really what she wants right now. Honestly, she doesn’t want to be here anymore. The living room couch and DVD player are waiting for her.
There’s another giggle, louder this time, and Quinn freezes again. She strains her ears, and is surprised to realize she does know the girls whispering to each other.
“Did you bring the flask?” Santana says in a hushed voice.
“Of course,” Brittany answers. “Did you bring the fondue?”
“You brought the fondue,” Santana reminds her with a giggle. There’s a pause, and a muffled laugh. “BritBrit,” Santana says in a light, chastising voice, chuckling softly again.
“What?” Brittany asks in an overly innocent voice, and Quinn frowns curiously. There’s a creak of a car hood accompanied by Santana letting out a subdued, satisfied sigh.
“Britt… Hey, really… Stop that,” Santana says in her strange, teasing tone. “We’ll be at the lakehouse soon enough.”
Quinn’s frown smoothes as her eyes go wide with realization, and a blush creeps into her cheeks when she identifies the muffled sounds of laughter and lips against skin. Brittany’s lips against Santana’s skin.
Yeah, she really doesn’t want to be here.
Blocking out the sound of Santana lightly protesting (without any conviction whatsoever, Quinn realizes with a laugh) against Brittany’s advances, Quinn crouches down and edges her way to her car. It’s only when she realizes the sounds (especially Santana’s subdued moans of “Oh, Britt”) are only getting louder that she stops in her tracks and dares a peek over the hood of the car she’s crouched next to.
One car and row over, Brittany has Santana pressed up against the hood of a car, their bulging sports bags abandoned by their feet as Brittany runs her hands over Santana’s back and presses eager kisses over her neck, collarbone, along the edge of her uniform and back up to her ear. Santana is letting out soft little moans as Brittany sucks on her skin, and runs a hand through Brittany’s hair while the other presses back against the hood of the car to hold herself steady.
It takes Quinn embarrassingly long to realize that it’s her car.
She quickly fights down the urge to stand up, march over, and give her friends a good talking to for making out on her brand new car. Her grandma left her that car as her inheritance, and there’s no way she’s letting her two best friends tarnish her memory by leaving handprints on the hood and very disturbing memories in Quinn’s mind.
Still, she stops herself before she’s lifted more than an inch, and takes a moment to calm herself, letting the implications of what Santana and Brittany are doing sink in. Only a few weeks ago, Quinn knows that she would never have walked in on something like this. She knows by now that they’ve been sneaking around since 9th grade - and sneaking well. In fact, in all her years of knowing the two, she never caught them doing anything more than cuddling or linking pinkies. And then they came out, and, although this is the first time Quinn’s caught them being more than just affectionate, everything changed. Quinn hasn’t missed how happy Santana is to be able to grab Brittany’s hand in the hallway or how Brittany lights up when Santana cuddles up against her and kisses her neck at a football game with all of McKinley High to see them.
And now, here they are, making out in a public parking lot on school grounds.
She sighs in exasperation, sets her bag down on the ground, and crouches down to wait. No way she’s going to interrupt them when she knows how much they’ve fought for the chance to be able to do just what they’re doing. First “Two Girls, One Cat” (okay, fine, she watched it), now “Two Girls, One Car”…
She shrugs to herself. Santana’s mom should be here any minute to break up the party anyway and let Quinn get to her (thankfully solo) night in.
As though on cue, Santana pipes up, “My mom will be here soon.”
“No, she won’t. Remember her text? At least 20 more minutes to ourselves,” Brittany counters. Quinn lets out a huff of annoyance at the information and settles down more comfortably. She focuses on the pavement beneath her feet and hums lightly to block out Santana’s whimper of surprise when Brittany does something that she’s (thankfully) not able to see.
“Oh, Britt, you’re so impatient!” Santana whispers after a soft moan.
“I know,” Brittany replies simply.
“We’re in a parking lot!”
“I know,” Brittany repeats.
“We’ll be together at the lakehouse in like an hour…” Santana trails off after a small whimper.
“Mmhmm.” Brittany’s answer is as much a hum of enjoyment as a word, and Quinn catches the sound of lips on lips.
“We’ll be so together.” Santana’s words are muffled and indistinct, but Quinn hears the next with perfect clarity - her tone is happy and loving as she whispers sweetly, “I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for so long, Britt. I can’t wait to spend every moment with you.”
“Every moment…” Brittany hums with equal happiness. Her tone turns playful. “Just this weekend?”
“Of course not,” Santana laughs softly and pauses. Quinn hears the creak of her car hood as she imagines Santana shifting on the car. Her next words are barely a whisper, and Quinn has to strain her ears to catch the tender, content sound of her voice.
“Always. Every moment, always.”
A wave of affection washes over Quinn at the heartfelt admission, and although she feels a little uncomfortable for having eavesdropped on a moment that was clearly meant to be private, she smiles to herself at how unguarded and in love Santana sounds. Brittany makes a high, elated humming sound at the back of her throat, and Quinn realizes that, yeah, maybe she’s a bit jealous of her two friends.
Somewhat lost in her musings about Santana and Brittany’s love, Quinn almost misses the scraping sound of metal as the hood of her car creaks loudly.
“What are you doing?” comes a muffled question, followed by more creaking and the sound of wet lips on skin. Quinn raises an eyebrow; she wonders the same thing. When all she hears in response are Santana’s soft moans of Brittany’s name (still slightly protesting to whatever Brittany is doing), she chances a peek over edge of the car she’s crouched next to, and instantly regrets it as her heartbeat spikes into her throat and her knees go slightly weak with shock (must be shock, right?) at the sight in front of her.
Santana is sprawled out against the hood of the car (her car, Quinn corrects), her hands tangled in Brittany’s hair, simultaneously seeming to hold her back as well as encourage her as the blonde runs her hands over Santana’s body and her lips over her thighs. Santana’s Cheerio top is pulled up scandalously, exposing her quivering abs as she whimpers at Brittany’s lips between her legs and her hands now sliding slowly beneath her skirt. With a quick motion, Brittany pushes the fabric up so it’s riding on Santana’s hips.
“Britt,” Santana moans. There’s still a hint of reproach, but it’s almost completely overpowered by lust.
Brittany shushes her, and her hands press her hips down when Santana bucks them as she flicks her tongue higher between her legs.
Quinn swallows nervously, but, frozen by the unexpected scene, doesn’t look away.
Santana takes in a sharp breath as Brittany flicks her tongue between her legs again, dangerously close to the red fabric of her panties, and Quinn’s heartbeat spikes in surprise, as well as… something else, when her body automatically mirrors the sound.
Brittany hooks her fingers into Santana’s panties and bites the top edge of them to pull them down across her legs. Santana shifts her hips to help, and Quinn feels a blush creep into her cheeks when she realizes even the fading light doesn’t cast enough shadows to hide Santana completely. When her panties come loose, Brittany lets out an amused chuckle and twirls it around her finger once. Quinn catches the detail of her panties when Brittany stops twirling it: red see-through lace with black bows along the edge.
“These aren’t your Cheerio’s spanks…” Brittany hums happily. Santana leans up on her elbows and her face breaks out in a playful grin.
“They were for tonight.”
Brittany giggles. “Well, tonight starts now.”
She flicks the panties away; they slide down the windshield and out of sight. Then, with a quick, unexpected movement and a forceful “Lay back”, Brittany presses Santana back against the car. The back of her head hits the metal with a soft thud, but before Santana has the chance to complain, Brittany has hooked her legs over her shoulders and sunk down between them and any protests are cut off by a surprised cry as Brittany’s face sinks beneath Santana’s shirt.
Quinn’s eyes go wide, and she feels her fingers clamp onto the edge of the car next to her.
She knows that there’s probably something very wrong about the fact that when Santana cries out and bucks her hips against Brittany’s face, she feels a dull heartbeat between her legs and her abs contract to relieve an ache she’s barely ever experienced before. Her knees are still weak, but she knows in the back of her mind that shock has nothing to do with it. If it did, she would have looked away long ago.
Instead, she’s held frozen in place by the unexpected sensations coursing through her body at the sight of her best friends fucking on the hood of her car. The thought itself sends a shockwave through her body, and her legs quiver beneath her. She’s watching her two best friends fucking. Brittany’s running her tongue over Santana’s slit, and she’s watching her. Santana is crying out softly with every upward movement of Brittany’s face, and she’s watching her. She’s fucking watching.
She shakes her head to clear the somewhat disturbing thoughts, but her body’s unwelcome response to the situation doesn’t clear with them. Nor does the urge to keep watching leave with the realization that that’s exactly what she’s doing.
Her eyes focus on the details of Santana’s movements; the way her hand clamps into Brittany’s hair with every upward thrust of her hips; the way she has her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, stifling her sounds; the way her eyebrows are knit into an incredibly sexy, vulnerable expression that turns half-smiling every time she lets out a whimper; the way the muscles in her thighs contract next to Brittany’s face; the way her converse-clad feet dig into Brittany’s back with every thrust of Brittany’s tongue.
Brittany’s movements are no less mesmerizing. Her hands are on Santana’s hips, and Quinn can see the tone of her arms as she tries to hold Santana down on the car. She pulls her face back for a second to pull a strand of hair out of her mouth, and Quinn sees a wicked smile on her lips - lips shining in the fading light with the sheen of Santana’s wetness.
Quinn feels a shockwave of white-hot heat shoot between her legs at the sight, and she whimpers softly. Her free hand is bunching the fabric of her slacks, nails digging through the thin fabric to leave crescent shapes on the inside of her palm. She loosens her grip, and before she knows it, her hand is sliding between her thighs.
A second later, she realizes what she’s doing and pulls her hand away with a sharp sound of surprise. What the hell was she just thinking?
Suddenly, light floods the parking lot as the streetlights come on. Brittany pulls back in surprise, but Santana tightens her hold on her scalp so Brittany winces.
“No, Britt, don’t stop,” the brunette whines, her head twitching back and forth in excitement and desperation.
“Now who’s impatient?” Brittany replies with a delicious giggle, but ducks between Santana’s legs nonetheless. She must be doing something unexpected (and very much appreciated), because Santana cries out loudly before she bites her lip again to muffle her sounds.
The aroused cry bucks Quinn’s hips forward without conscious thought. She briefly destabilizes and her knee falls on her bag.
Instantly, there’s the pinging, clicking sound of a car unlocking and the headlights flash twice, flooding the area around Brittany with an orange glow. Quinn freezes.
“What was that?” Brittany demands immediately, ignoring the way Santana tries to pull her back down.
“It’s nothing, ignore it,” Santana whines. The tables have turned completely; Brittany is resisting, while Santana is seducing. Her hips gyrate against Brittany’s loosened hold, and Brittany seems to lose track of her thoughts for a second at the sight. Quinn sympathizes, because her thoughts derail as well.
“I thought I heard a car.”
“My mom’s late, it’s nothing,” Santana reassures her. “Besides, who cares?” she adds with a giggle, and Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Four years of hiding the fact that she’s in love with Brittany, and it only takes a few weeks of dating for her to not care about getting caught? Kudos, Quinn thinks with a grin. Baby’s growing up.
As soon as she thinks it, she rolls her eyes at herself. Santana has Brittany’s face between her legs and is making all kinds of extremely inappropriate sounds. Of course baby’s growing up.
She chuckles as she remembers their nickname: The Unholy Trinity. She laughs sardonically at how ridiculously accurate it is, especially right now; she feels more unholy than ever.
Santana’s cries pull her from her brief reverie. It’s not just her being unholy of course. Santana and Brittany are proving their trio’s nickname with every tilt of the brunette’s hips and thrust of the blonde’s tongue, while the pooling heat between Quinn’s legs is proof enough of the innocence she left behind long ago. She shudders with arousal and the beat of her heart increases to match the rhythm of Brittany’s tongue and Santana’s slowly increasing cries. The brunette is pushing her head back against the car and arching her back a little more with every jolt of her hips. The muscles of her thigh shine in the pale streetlight as they contract with increasing force, pulling her legs up and shifting Brittany’s face deeper between them.
Santana whines Brittany’s name, and Quinn hisses loudly at the shocks the throaty, helplessly aroused cry send through her body. This time she doesn’t stop her hand as it presses between her legs, relieving some of the ache centered there. She’ll feel guilty about it later.
Somehow, Quinn can feel how close Santana is. Maybe it’s because of the way her own body is shifting from her half-crouched position in time with the two girl’s motions or the way a heartbeat pulses between her legs as her hand follows their rhythm across the fabric of her pants. It’s nothing too scandalous (considering what’s she’s seeing), and she knows it’ll never get her off, but that’s not the point. Her eyes are still wide and captivated, and she bites her lip when Santana does. The brunette is just in time, because Quinn hears the strength of her cry beneath the way Santana tries to stifle it as she comes. Her hips buck, hard, sending a dull thud of skin and metal echoing across the lot when she falls back down. Brittany’s fingers dig into her hipbones and she blonde presses her own legs sharply together as Quinn does the same, her hand still trapped between them.
Santana’s cries aren’t as loud as the initial one would have been if she hadn’t tried to keep it down, but they’re louder than any before, and Quinn takes in a breath of surprise at how much the sound turns her on. The cries subside slowly, changing gently into breathless whimpers and moans. Brittany moves her hands across Santana’s naked abdomen as Santana’s jolts also subside, and then she lifts her face and peppers wet kisses over her stomach, to her neck, along her jawline, until Santana whines pointedly and tilts her face to catch her lips in a long, firm kiss. Santana’s tongue flicks out against Brittany’s lips, and Quinn knows she’s tasting herself.
When they pull back, they hover briefly with their eyes locked, and Santana’s hand comes up the side of Brittany’s face lovingly. Quinn’s stomach knots with guilt briefly at intruding on this moment, and she looks away. She knows the guilt will pass in a second. These are her friends, after all. And although she knows they wouldn’t have chosen to have her see them share such an intimate after-sex moment, she sees moments like it every day. Every day that Santana opens Brittany’s locker for her and Brittany thanks her with a sweet, lingering kiss. Every day that Brittany calls Santana her girlfriend, and Santana melts a little. Every day that Brittany trails her fingers just underneath the edge of Santana’s skirt when she thinks nobody is watching, and Santana catches her eyes with a playful, loving smile.
Santana’s words pull her from her thoughts.
“That was… unexpected,” she says with a giggle, followed by the soft smacking sound of lips on lips.
“Just a preview,” Brittany jokes.
Quinn doesn’t look back up. Although the guilt worked to stifle some of her arousal, she still feels a beat between her legs and her heart is racing like she just ran a mile. She faintly hears the creak of the hood of her car, and less than a minute later, as though on cue, the headlights of a car shine onto the parking lot. Quinn glances up briefly so see Santana’s face break out in a relieved expression at not having been caught. She mumbles something about her panties, but Brittany shrugs and grabs her hand to lead her to the waiting car. They shoulder their bags, Brittany wipes her mouth, and Santana places a kiss on Brittany’s cheek before the headlights envelop them and Quinn can see nothing more than two shadows in the bright lights.
It’s minutes before she’s able to move, and when she does, it’s only because a drop of rain falls on her nose and rouses her. The car is gone, the lot is empty of people, and she’s alone again. She gets up slowly, her knees protesting at the unwelcome movement. Standing doesn’t help. As present as ever, she feels the thud of arousal between her legs, the wobble in her knees, the heartbeat in her throat. So inappropriate, she thinks, but laughs at herself nonetheless.
She lifts her bag and staggers over to her car among the pitter-patter of raindrops on the hood, washing away the evidence of Brittany and Santana’s tryst. If she squints, she thinks can still just see an outline of wetness among the small circles of rain. Of course, she could be imagining it.
She starts the car, pulls out of the lot, and suddenly she’s on the highway without having remembered the last 10 minutes of driving. She shakes herself awake and chastises her dangerous lapse of attention. She didn’t even think to turn on the windshield wipers.
“Stupid,” she murmurs as she clicks the button, and then she pulls back in surprise as a dark, red… thing, slides across her windshield. It takes her a moment to identify it, but when she does, she laughs out loud: Santana’s panties, attached to the tip of the windshield wipers, slide wetly across the glass, pulling rain with them as they go. Quinn rolls her eyes and laughs again. Typical Santana. Can’t leave well enough alone.
She shifts her hips absentmindedly, and whimpers embarrassingly loudly at the way it presses against her aroused center. She lets out a huff of annoyance, but then sighs with resignation nonetheless. Although her night in will still be more tame than Santana’s and Brittany’s, there’s suddenly at least one more item on her ‘to do’ list for her ‘solo’ night in…