Title: Loved With Inspiration
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce (Glee)
Word Count: 3,821
Rating: MA for coarse language and sexual themes
Summary: "A tiny part of her mind marvels at how effortlessly Brittany can reduce her to a stuttering idiot with little more than a look. The rest of her is busy trying to remember how to breathe. And failing."

Disclaimer: Glee and all related characters are owned by Fox Networks. No profit has been made through the publishing of this work of fiction; it was created for entertainment purposes only.

"For heaven's sake, Santana, you really don't have to knock anymore. Just come on in." Susan smiles kindly despite her exasperated tone, and Santana thinks it might be more because of the fact that her husband just wandered by in nothing but socks, boxers, and a necktie than anything else. She feels her eyes go wide and immediately averts them, praying fervently that the image doesn't stay with her for the rest of her life. Susan follows her previous line of sight and claps a hand over her mouth in shock. "Richard Michael Pierce, go put some clothes on!"

He stumbles to a halt and glances up in surprise. "Oh hey kiddo, how's things? Susie, have you seen my pants? I could have sworn I was wearing them not fifteen minutes ago..." He scratches his head bemusedly and continues shuffling into the kitchen.

Susan shakes her head and glances apologetically at Santana before following her husband. Keeping her eyes pointed toward the floor just in case Michael makes another surprise appearance, Santana pulls her jacket off and turns to hang it on the coat rack. Once again, she has to rock up on her toes to properly reach the top hook, but she's sure to keep her wrists - and more importantly her bracelet - well out of potential snagging distance. When she turns back she finds Brittany standing only a few feet away, barefoot and wrapped up tight in a sky-blue terrycloth robe, watching her with an expression that's both speculative and mischievous, and the combination sends a shiver down Santana's spine.

"Hey baby, whatcha doing?"

A sunshine-bright smile transforms Brittany's face, and draws an equally happy smile from the brunette.

"Watching you."

"Creeper. Speaking of which, I'm pretty sure your dad has scarred me for life." Santana chuckles lightly at the flush of embarrassment that spreads across Brittany's cheeks and up to the tips of her ears.

"Yeah, he's kind of absentminded first thing in the morning. I guess that's where I get it from..."

Santana steps up and wraps her arms around Brittany's waist, offering her a quick peck on the nose before nuzzling into her neck. With a tiny smirk, she whispers hotly against pink skin, "I gotta admit, I like it better on you. But then, I like a lot of things about early morning Brittany, so I could be biased." Her smile grows when she feels a shudder run through Brittany's body, and she pulls back to observe the effect of her seemingly innocuous statement. Her satisfaction turns into blank-minded surprise at the look of intense want on Brittany's face.

"I like early morning Santana too," she whispers. Santana is in awe of how the girl can manage to sound both innocent and aroused at the same time. She keeps her arms looped loosely around Brittany's waist, content for the moment simply to be holding her.

They must stand there for a great deal longer than she realizes, because the next thing she knows, Michael Pierce is ambling by again, properly clothed, suitcases in hand.

Immediately Santana breaks her hold on Brittany and lets a small gap of space form between them. Without even looking, she can tell the blonde is pouting rather fiercely at their separation so she reaches over and laces their fingers together in consolation. A gentle squeeze lets her know she's forgiven the distance.

"Okay, I think we've got just about everything." Michael sets the suitcases down by the door and pats himself down absentmindedly as he goes through his list. "Suitcases, check. Phone, check. Wallet, check. Keys, check. Pants, check - sorry about that Santana..."

Santana blushes heavily and makes a noncommittal sound in the man's general direction, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. Brittany manages an embarrassed chuckle at the brunette's expense that is echoed by her mother as the woman approaches.

After a few more moments of last-minute instructions and goodbyes, the older Pierces are out the door and on their way, leaving Santana alone with a beaming Brittany in the suddenly too-quiet entryway. She starts to suggest a mid-afternoon coffee run, but stops at the sparkling look of excitement in her girlfriend's eyes.

"Can I give you your present now, San? Please, please, please?"

Santana laughs at the girl's eagerness and nods obligingly. "Of course, Britts." She starts to follow her up the stairs, but stops when Brittany turns and motions for her to stay. She's only waiting for a few seconds before Brittany comes thumping back down the stairs, a tiny pink gift bag in hand.

"Okie doke, here we are. Happy St. Valentine's Day babe." She drops a peck on Santana's cheek, then smiles when it puts an unexpected blush on the smaller girl's cheeks.

Carefully and slowly, Santana pulls each piece of white, glitter-laden tissue from the bag, until Brittany is practically vibrating with drawn-out anticipation. Laughing at the girl's excitability, she shakes her head and finally reaches in to pull out the gift- and gasps.

There in her hand is a beautifully finished black leather cuff. The ends clasp together with a simple snap button, but the cuff itself is the real work of art. Burned into the thick material with loving detail are the words, "And So Shall It Be..."

"Britt..." She sniffles once, a little surprised in spite of herself at the upwelling of love and affection a few simple words can create in her.

"It's from your favorite song, that jazz-y one by uhm, what's her name?"

"Ella Fitzgerald."

"Yeah, her! Anyway, I found this old kit of my mom's a few weeks ago for making leather bracelets and she helped me figure out how to use it. I was gonna save it for your birthday since it's coming up, but after the rings...I just...I wanted to show you that I mean forever too, you know? Like the song says."

Unable to contain herself anymore, Santana slams into Brittany, pulling her in for a fierce, heated kiss that leaves both girls breathless and moaning.

"I love you so much, baby. And I love the bracelet. It's perfect, just like you."

"San," Brittany sighs.

The brunette steps back and carefully snaps the bracelet into place over her left wrist, brandishing it proudly for Brittany to see. Her wide grin falters under Brittany's gaze, which is filled with that same dark wanting from yesterday, the look that sends delicious shivers all up and down Santana's spine. Her mind flashes back to Brittany's words in her bedroom, and the undefinable glint in her eye, and she shivers again.

Her grin broadens again and she sends a flirty wink in Brittany's direction before turning to go for her coat where it hangs on the hook. "How about we go get that coffee now, huh Britts?"

She reaches up for her coat when strong hands circle unexpectedly around her waist, tracing circles into her white button-down shirt for a moment before gently guiding her to turn around. Before she can protest, Brittany's lips meet hers with forceful impact, drowning her in a passionate kiss. She's practically panting against the wall when Brittany finally releases her, but she only has the presence of mind to take another deep breath before lunging at the taller girl to pull her back in.

Brittany responds by pushing her more fully against the wall, trapping her there with the steady pressure of hips against her pelvis and hands against her shoulders. Long fingers slide gracefully down the bare skin of her arms before resting gingerly along the waistband of her jeans. A low whine works into Santana's heavy breaths when those same fingers gradually begin working her shirt from the confines of her belted pants.

She can feel her stomach muscles ripple under the gentle strokes and circles drawn into her skin, and it makes her breathing fall even further out of rhythm. Slowly, ever so slowly, Santana can feel the shirt being worked up her torso. When she reaches to aid its progress, Brittany stops her and pulls on her wrists until her arms are stretched straight above her head, knuckles just barely reaching the bottom of the coat rack.

"Let me, babe." Brittany's eyes burn into hers with an electric heat, and it's all she can do to gulp and nod her acquiescence before resuming their kiss.

Palms and fingers brush lightly over her torso, glancing over but never quite touching the places that ache for contact the most. The kiss stops only long enough for Brittany to lift the shirt past Santana's face and up along her arms.

She starts to reach down to cradle Brittany's face, but finds herself trapped. She looks up and sees that her shirt has been deftly rolled around itself between her wrists and hooked onto the coat rack, creating a makeshift set of cloth shackles to keep her in place. She tugs experimentally and groans in recognition when the leather cuff on her left wrist and the charm bracelet on her right both dig into her skin and the unyielding cotton of her shirt, ensuring her capture.

She drops her chin to glare accusingly at Brittany, who has stepped back to admire her handy-work with a wide, knowing grin. She tugs again uselessly at the shirt, ignoring the growing flutter in her stomach caused by Brittany's stare. She knows rationally that she can escape her bonds at any time (probably) but that certain glint is back, and she has a feeling it's got more than just something to do with her current predicament.

"I told you, San." The low heat in Brittany's voice makes Santana snap back to her. "I told you you shouldn't tease me. It's just not good planning."

She groans at the unsubtle reminder of yesterday's threat, and feels a low pulse start between her legs. The full realization of just how much trouble she's in hits her - she is completely at Brittany's mercy. And Brittany likes to go slow. Really slow.

"Fuck."

She flushes at the broken, hoarse quality of her voice, a little embarrassed at how evident her arousal is. "Britts, please..." She lets her plea die off on its own, unsure of what she's even asking for.

Brittany steps back up to her, consciously replaying their position from yesterday, so that her bare toes are flush against the tips of Santana's sneakers. "Mm-mm, San. You're my Valentine today. Mine."

The uncharacteristic possessive tone in Brittany's voice stops Santana's heart cold, and the dominating force of the kiss that follows starts it going again in double-time. The blonde works her mouth across the round of cheek and over to her ear, where she proceeds to suck on Santana's ear lobe with heated abandon.

Santana gasps at the sensation of teeth nipping at her ear, and her head buzzes with arousal. Her fists clench tightly where they're held prisoner, straining against the coiled fabric of her shirt. Unthinkingly, her head rolls back, and Brittany takes immediate advantage of her newly exposed throat by latching on and sucking roughly.

The brunette can practically feel the bruises raising on her neck as Brittany marks her, and the thought sends a streak of heat straight to her core. After what seems like an eternity, the questing lips begin to sink lower, nibbling at the protuberance of her collarbone, licking at the sweat sheen just starting to coat her chest, and generally driving her to complete distraction.

Brittany stops suddenly at the hollow of her clavicle, laving it gently before dragging the tip of her tongue in a straight line directly down Santana's heaving chest, stopping at the limits of her bra. Without warning, she cups the sides of each breast (careful not to touch either nipple, much to Santana's moaning dismay) and press them in, burying her face in the resulting cleavage.

"God San, your skin is so soft." She licks over the top of the mound in her right hand, tongue catching against the rough black lace of the bra.

Santana arches into the sensation, straining for more and whining when the wet heat disappears from her flesh. Focused as she is on the quickly cooling moisture on her breast, she doesn't realize that Brittany's hands have slid around her back to unhook her bra until suddenly she's free of the garment completely. She gasps as warm air whispers over nipples already peaked with desire.

Her eyes follow the path of her bra as Brittany slips it up her arms. For a brief moment she's filled with hope that she'll be released from the delicious torture, but Brittany merely presses the bra into her fingers.

"Hang on to that for me, would you babe? Don't want it getting in the way."

Santana clutches the bra in her fists and glares at Brittany's coy expression, but the look loses all its potency when a thumb flits across her nipple.

"God that feels good."

Brittany smiles serenely and takes a step back. With slow, deliberate motions, she flicks loose the knot holding her robe shut, and shrugs the material off her shoulders. Santana gapes as her girlfriend's long lean body is revealed, clothed in nothing but a set of crimson sheer lace bra and matching panties. The robe puddles around the blonde's feet, forgotten.

"Jesus Christ."

Brittany's smile widens in satisfaction at the open-mouthed awe in Santana's face.

"I got myself a little Valentine's gift. You like 'em?"

Santana steps forward, jerking against her restraints and snarling when she remembers their presence. She whips her gaze back to Brittany and fixes her with a fierce stare.

"I swear to God, Brittany, if you don't let me out of this fucking shirt right now I'll...I'll.."

Her sentence trails off as she tries to come up with an appropriately motivating consequence, and jerks her arms again in frustration when nothing surfaces.

Brittany silences her growls with another bruising kiss, fingers working at Santana's belt buckle and fly even as her lips work at the girl's mouth. When she finally gets both undone, she drops suddenly to her knees, fingers curling over the waistband of the newly unfastened pants. Santana bites her lip at the sight of Brittany on her knees before her, swallowing back another groan at the agonizing pace at which the blonde begins to pull down her pants.

After yet another eternity has passed, her pants reach her ankles, and are removed with gentle care. Her socks and shoes are pulled off with equal tenderness.

"You have such beautiful legs, San."

"Not as beautiful as yours," she replies a shaky but charming tone, hoping that a compliment will speed the other girl's movements. No such luck.

In lieu of an actual response, Brittany simply begins working her way back up tan legs, kissing and stroking every bit of skin she can reach. When she reaches Santana's hips, her touch is conspicuous in its absence along the insides of the trembling thighs where they meet. Santana spreads her legs in an attempt to encourage Brittany to provide her with the friction she desperately craves, but Brittany only chuckles against her skin and moves her lips up to her belly, continuing the slow trail of kisses until she's level with Santana's breasts again.

She stops when she's hovering just over Santana's left nipple, flicking out her tongue to tease its tip. Santana lets out a low keen and arches her back, pressing her breasts forward in search of stronger contact. She nearly weeps with relief when Brittany complies and takes the nipple into her mouth for a long, pulling suckle.

Her sigh of relief hitches when Brittany circles the nipple with her tongue, swirling around it over and over until the whole peak is soaked and swollen and sensitive. Her breath catches again when the tongue is replaced by the delicate scrape of teeth tugging at it gently.

The process is repeated on her right nipple, and by the time Brittany straightens to press a kiss to Santana's lips, her core is pulsing with almost-painful need and she can feel her arousal soaking through the lace of her panties and literally dripping down her thigh. She's certain that she's only seconds from going utterly insane under Brittany's frustratingly thorough teasing.

"Brittany,baby, please."

Brittany smiles against her lips and pulls back to meet her eyes.

"Something you need, San?"

"You, babe. Please, I need you."

Hands slide from her breasts down to her waist, around to cup against her ass. She moans when Brittany squeezes, pulling Santana's pelvis against her own. Brittany leans in and whispers against her ear.

"Tell me what you need."

"I need you inside. Fuck me, babe."

Brittany doesn't reply, but rolls her hips against Santana a couple times before her hands circle back up to the smaller girl's waist. Her left hand travels up to bury itself in the hair at the base of Santana's skull while her left drifts slowly down over her hips to trace designs into the sopping lace between her legs.

Santana hisses in pleasure, than again in frustration when the touches remain light and teasing. For a moment, she's distracted by Brittany's fist tighenting in her hair and yanking her up for another searing lip-lock. The distraction doesn't work for long, however, and she's back to pumping her hips wildly against Brittany's long frame in an effort to gain some form of relief.

She sighs a grateful yes when Brittany's fingers move back up to curl over the tops of her panties. The sigh turns into a gasp when instead of pulling them down, Brittany yanks the fabric up, deliberately sliding the crotch against Santana's throbbing clit. She pulls sharply on the panties several more times, eliciting a yelping curse with every tug.

"Fuck! Oh fuck, Bri..fuck, fuck, fuck!"

When the rough pressure of fabric eases off, Santana is left panting and clenching her thighs mindlessly. "Jesus, Britt, are you trying to make me explode instead of come?"

Brittany just grins wolfishly and tugs the panties down so that they fall around the brunette's ankles where she can kick them off.

The dancer then taps at Santana's thighs, silently commanding her to spread her legs. If she weren't to busy focusing on Brittany's every move, she might have been embarrassed at how evident her arousal is by now, but she's completely beyond caring at this point.

With her customary agonizing slowness, Brittany places her right hand back on Santana's chest, just between her breasts, and starts to move it down toward her final goal. When the fingers brush the first curls of soft hair, Santana thinks she might cry. When a fingertip makes its first circle around a swollen clit, her hips buck powerfully and completely without her intention. She's so wet that the finger actually slips off, and she groans in disappointment.

The groan turns into a moan of appreciation when Brittany moves her finger immediately back and initiates a painstakingly slow and steady massage of her slick folds.

Brittany works her up into a frenzy, bringing her just shy of climax, before slowing her motions and lessening the pressure of her fingers ever so slightly. Then she starts over, repeating the process again and again. Each time, Santana gets closer and closer, but never quite makes it over the ledge. If she had use of her mental faculties, she would have realized that the shirt was the only thing keeping her upright, as her knees had given up It's torturous and infuriating and absolutely glorious all at once.

Finally, just as she's certain her body is about to implode with the overwhelming sensations humming through her body, Brittany finds her hole and fills her with the thrust of three long fingers. It only takes a few pumps from there before she's screaming out her release, lost in an explosion of colors and stars and intense rolling waves of pleasure that seem unending.

When she regains her senses, she's shocked to find she's no longer hanging from the coat rack, but curled up in Brittany's lap on the love seat in the living room. She blinks lazily and shudders when straightening her spine sends an unexpected aftershock rippling through her body. Brittany hums in satisfaction and presses a light kiss to her temple. Santana turns to stare at her in heavy-lidded wonder.

"Where in God's name did that come from?"

Brittany grins, clearly pleased with herself, and kisses her soundly on the lips before answering.

"When you got stuck yesterday on your bracelet, I got...inspired."

"Jesus fucking Christ. Remind me never to watch bondage porn with you. You'd wear me to a shadow inside of a week."

Brittany frowns indignantly.

"Give me some credit San, you wouldn't last more than a couple days."

Santana opens her mouth to object, but any words that might have come out are overridden by a surprised moan when the hand she hadn't noticed on her thigh moves up to flick once against her sensitive clit. Another powerful aftershock rips through her, leaving her gasping in its wake.

"Fuck, okay, you win. God Brittany, I'm not going to be able to walk for days at this rate."

The blonde grins triumphantly, but moves her hand a safe distance away.

"Nuh uh, Santana, you promised to take me dancing tonight."

Santana growls in exasperation, but it fails to hide the grin underneath. "God, you're lucky I love you."

Brittany smiles again, nudging her nose against Santana's cheek. "Mmmhmm. Happy St. Valentine's Day, Santana."

"Happy St. Valentine's, Britts."