Title: Phone Sex
Summary: Santana and Quinn share a motel room while out of town with the glee club. Santana makes a phone call with the intent of having phone sex with Brittany. Little does she know, Quinn can hear all. Fill for this prompt from the GKM.
Pairings: Brittany/Santana, unrequited Quinn/Santana
Word Count: 1952
A/N: Somehow this turned from Unholy trinity materbation smut to angsty unrequited Quinntana and Brittana smut. Oops.
It’s Mr. Schue’s idea to drive out to Colombia for the weekend, there’s a top ranking college show choir performing a three day regional competition he thinks will be beneficial to taking nationals this year.
They check into a motel just off the highway, and Quinn notes with gloomy eyes that everyone seems to be paired off when Mr. Schue announces they will be two to a room.
Finn grasps Rachel’s hand as Mike wraps an arm around Tina’s waist, and Quinn’s eyes rake over the rest of her teammates. Artie’s wheeling closer to Mercedes while Brittany is sinking into Santana’s open arms. And suddenly she feels sick.
She chalks it up to the fact that it looks like she’s going to be sharing a room with Puck, who throws a wink her way when she glances over at him. She shudders.
“So, I’ve made a list of who will be sharing what room-“
There’s a burst of outcry and Quinn’s heart leaps.
“Hey, pipe down guys” Mr. Schue says, raising his hands, “We’re here for a show choir competition alright, not a romantic getaway. No couples are sharing rooms”
There’s a groan and Quinn eyes the couples quickly. Ha.
“Alright, Finn, you’re with Puck. Artie with Blaine. Rachel and Tina. Mercedes and Brittany-“
Which meant… Quinn’s heart thuds.
“Quinn and Santana. Kurt with Mike”
Quinn’s secretly thrilled; it’s reminiscent of old times, when all she had to worry about were breakouts and swatting away Finn’s ever persistent hands instead of having to plot ways to get her baby back from Shelby.
She turns to Santana, a small smile spreading across her face and is met with a scowl.
The pout on Brittany’s face is enough to explain why Santana’s upset, “Mr. Schue, why do I have to bunk with Tubbers? Britt needs me- she gets nightmares”
Brittany looks confused for a second before Santana nudges her, and straightens, playing along, “Sometimes I dream I’m going to be eaten by a giant pencil sharpener”
Will sighs, exasperated and taps his hand against his clipboard, “Room arrangements are final Santana. I’m sure Brittany will be fine”
Quinn’s a little put out that Santana looks like she rather share a room with a pack of hyenas than with her, but she brushes it off and sends a subtle victory glance Brittany’s way.
Santana’s bunking with her tonight.
It turns out bunking with Santana is a lot harder than it was two years ago.
For one thing, when she was head cheerio and Santana was her second in command, she had been complimented, almost daily. Sure, they were sugar-coated and full of utter bullshit but a compliment was a compliment, and almost always better to have a fake compliment than a sentence full of insults.
Santana makes fun of almost everything she does; from her nightly prayer to the kiss she presses to a photograph of baby Beth. She snaps back a lame, half-assed attempt at a comeback, “Shut up Santana. You’re such a bitch”, and clambers up her bunk, her eyes stinging painfully (she is not crying).
Whatever. She doesn’t want to be Santana’s friend again anyway.
She hears Santana shuffle around for a few more minutes, making a pointed attempt to ignore her, and sighs into her pillow when the light shuts off and Santana settles down.
What is it about her? How is she capable of being so sweet to Brittany and being such a bitch to the rest of the world? Brittany’s her best friend, she gets that, but what is she? Why isn’t she Santana’s best friend?
She’s like Brittany, but better. She’d been a cheerleader. She’s athletic. She’s blonde.
She’s ten times smarter than Brittany would ever be.
Or is that it? Did Santana choose her because she was intellectually stinted? Or maybe because she dropped her panties on request. Brittany put out.
“I’d put out” Quinn thinks miserably, holding back a sniffle, “I’d put out for her”
She backpedals immediately, sitting bolt upright in her bunk. Did she really just think that? Did she really just think that she’d prefer Santana sleep with her rather than Brittany?
She stares disbelieving at the dark walls. She doesn’t like Santana like that. She couldn’t. She had meant that she wanted Santana to spend more time with her as a friend. Yeah. That was it.
Her stomach sinks. She doesn’t believe a word of it.
A sudden movement from Santana’s bunk startles her, and she lies back down, squeezing her eyes shut. She hears Santana move and then there’s warm breath against her cheek. Her heart thumps.
A beat. And then Santana’s gone.
“Britt. She’s asleep” Santana whispers and with a jolt, she realizes Santana’s on the phone.
There’s another bout of shuffling and Quinn feels Santana settle back into bed, the glow of her phone evident from the nightstand.
“Rachel just left,” Brittany says clearly. Santana must have her on speakerphone, “She went to talk to Mr. Schue about something”
“Awesome,” Santana mumbles, “What are you wearing, Britt?”
The reality of the situation hits her as she hears Brittany’s sultry giggle and she curls her fingers around her bed sheets, eyes widening.
Santana’s hum of approval comes at the same time as Quinn’s horrified gasp.
“Really? Nothing?” Santana flirts, her body shifting.
‘This isn’t happening. This isn’t real’ Quinn thinks, squeezing her eyes shut, ‘This is a dream. Wake up, Quinn. Wake up!’
“Nothing” Brittany repeats with a giggle.
“Well, I feel a little overdressed” There’s a pause and Quinn catches sight of a pair of panties being flung across the room. She whimpers. This is so not a dream.
She briefly considers making a noise, something, anything to get them to stop. But she’s frozen in place, eyes glued to the flaky lining of the ceiling.
“Are you naked yet?” Brittany asks eagerly and Santana chuckles, “Hold on Britt, I’m getting there”
A tee-shirt lands next to her suitcase. And then a bra.
“I’m naked Britt” Santana says huskily. Quinn’s stomach twists. Santana was naked underneath her.
“I wish you were here” Brittany sighs, “I want to see you, San”
Santana chuckles and twists onto her side, staring at her phone, “I know B. I want to see you too”
Quinn’s stomach twists again and she recognizes the feeling immediately. Jealousy.
“San?” Brittany questions and Quinn doesn’t like the sudden edge to her voice.
“Yeah, Britt?” Santana answers sweetly.
“Play with your nipples?”
A surge of arousal courses through Quinn’s body as a whimper sounds from Santana’s mouth. She’s complying; it’s the only think that snakes through Quinn’s mind. The thought of Santana pinching her own nipples has another rush of heat surging down to her abdomen.
“Feel good, baby?” Brittany asks, her voice full of lust.
“Mmm” Santana murmurs, “Stay with me Britt. Touch yours”
Quinn’s body prickles uncomfortably as she shifts to try and stifle the throbbing between her legs. She can hear Brittany’s breath catch as she presumably pinches her nipples, a sound that has Santana perched up immediately, “Britt-,” She starts, her voice laced with unadulterated arousal, “Touch your pussy”
Quinn doesn’t contemplate the consequences; she can feel herself soaking through the material of her cotton panties. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and slips a hand into her pajama pants, fingers slipping in between her swollen folds.
Brittany gasps, long and shallow as Quinn finds her own clit, pressing down desperately.
“S-San-“ Brittany groans, “San, I’m so wet”
Quinn bites back a moan and pinches her clit a little harder as Santana’s raspy voice sounds, “Me too babe, me too”
Santana lets out a whimper that catches both Brittany and Quinn’s attention; Quinn’s body flares with another shoot of arousal while Brittany speaks, “Are you touching yourself, San?”
The visual has Quinn’s cheeks flaring red and she snakes her fingers lower, tracing her entrance.
“Yes” Santana mews, “Britt, babe... talk to me”
Quinn sinks a finger inside of herself, head twisting into her pillows.
“Spread your legs for me San,” Brittany purrs, “Are you wet?”
“So wet,” Santana says, “So wet for you, Britt”
For a moment Quinn imagines the phone cutting out. She imagines slipping off her bunk and climbing into bed with a wet and willing Santana, grabbing her, kissing her... making love to her.
She slips another finger into her warm heat and bucks against her hand, mouth falling open.
“Circle your clit” Brittany commands, “With one finger. Not too fast”
Defiantly, Quinn pumps her fingers in and out of her pussy, moving up a hand to grope a clothed breast. She let out a quiet sigh.
Santana’s breathing is shallow as she complies and Quinn imagines what she must look like. Hair disheveled, bare body laid out, hand between her legs, playing with herself. Quinn shudders in pleasure at the thought.
“M-more Britt” Santana pleads, “I need more”
“One finger,” Brittany says breathlessly, “Go slow, San”
“You too” Santana says, her voice firm, “Are you inside yourself yet B?”
Brittany lets out a quiet moan, “Yes San... oh”
Quinn angles her fingers, frustrated with her current position. As quietly as she can, she manages to slip her pajama pants down to the ankles.
“San,” Brittany mumbles, “Two fingers. Go faster”
Santana’s appreciate moan is more than enough for Brittany, who sounds like she hasn’t waited for permission. Quinn thrusts her fingers inside herself, pressing her cheek into her pillow to try and muffle a moan.
“Ahhh,” Santana gasps, “Oh god, Brittany”
Quinn doesn’t have to strain her ears to her the wet slapping sound Santana’s fingers make as they thrust into her dripping pussy. She shifts again, spreading her legs further and bucks onto her fingers.
“Oh San” Brittany moans, “Faster, San”
Quinn bites down on her pillow as she slips a third finger into her soaking pussy. She’s humping her hand now. She lifts her hips off her mattress and pounds herself onto her fingers, Santana’s gorgeous moans of pleasure only spurring her on. She can feel her wetness dripping down her inner thighs, sticky and warm and curls her fingers. Oh.
It’s absolute torture, Brittany’s gasps are in perfect sync with Santana’s whines and it’s like they’re making music, soft and sensual. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes as she pounds herself harder, desperate for release.
“B-britt” Santana gasps, “I’m gonna come”
“Me too” Brittany responds, her voice an octave higher, “Come for me San”
Santana’s final moan is enough to send Quinn over the edge, her fingers flail inside of her as she rides out the shock waves of her orgasm, and then collapses onto the bed.
She puts all her focus on trying to regulate her heavy breathing, clasping a sticky hand over her mouth to keep quiet.
She can feel Santana writhing in her bunk, and squeezes her eyes shut as she hears Brittany speak, “I love you, San”
The reality comes crashing down and Quinn almost lets out a loud sob.
She feels dirty, her pants hanging around her ankles, sheets soaked with her cum. She’s a voyeur, a pervert, a sicko that got off to a lesbian couple having phone sex. Tears flow down her face freely.
“I love you too, Britt” Santana says, almost sleepily. Quinn can hear the smile in her voice.
She yanks her pants back up stares at the ceiling, hot tears streaking down her face. She’s never wanted her name to be Brittany more.
They say their goodbyes as Quinn buries her head under the sheets, her mind racing. She clutches at her aching heart and crinkles her face in anguish.
She hates bunking with Santana.