Glee 1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm really sorry I haven't uploaded anything in a long while. I'm still on my holiday-high so, yeah—couldn't concentrate. I have a **POLL** at the end so make sure to check it out if you're interested in the choices I have for you.

This is going to be a two-parter. This part is just mainly fluff though since I received a smut tip which says smut is most hot when there's a build up to it. I just hope this is the right kind of build up to the smut on the next chapter. I'll upload the next and last chapter tomorrow. I'm still proof-reading it and I'm kind of worried whether I did a better job at writing it than I did in my first smut.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. All mistakes are mine, etc.

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Title: **The Birthday Surprise**

Pairings: Brittany/Santana

Rating: M for sMut

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Brittany S. Pierce loves porn.

It's more than evident with how much space her porn collection takes up in her hard-drive—almost as much Santana-related pictures, videos, and audio there is, which, now that Santana thinks about it, a third of which can be considered porn materials. One also doesn't have to look further into her DVR to find obscure titles such as "Monstercocks, Inc.," and "Ass Ventura: Crack Detective," and "Beaver and Buttcheeks."

From the number of times Brittany had asked Santana to play Live Porn to the time Brittany got her a "sexy" (according to Brittany and only Brittany) unicorn costume for Santana's birthday a few years back after getting the idea from watching an Israeli guy fuck a camel—the latter, by the way, caused the blonde to get kicked out of their room and sleep on the couch for a whole month, given that the taller woman's only defence to a fuming Latina when asked about the costume was "I wanted to see what it is like to fuck a unicorn"—it is beyond reasonable doubt to say that Brittany S. Pierce loves her porn.

After a while of dating Brittany, Santana is not really bothered by the amount of porn Brittany owns anymore—most of the time.

Just don't remind her of the "Unicorn" incident. Or the "cattle call" game Brittany wanted to play once. Or the "Bungee Sex" (Brittany Pierce Original trademark) idea she had which would involve Santana hanging from the ceiling and bungee jumping up and down Brittany's cock—because, come on, WHAT. Or… You know what, let's just skip to it.

Anyway, the point is, Santana is no longer bothered by it anymore…

Most of the time…

Period.

She just chucks it off as a guy-thing or a girl-with-a-penis-thing (she thought it was a teenage-hormonal phase at first, but that bird just won't fly anymore since they are now in their mid-twenties and far from being teenagers). Besides, if there is one thing Santana knows more than Brittany's love for porn, it is Brittany's unquestionable, fathomless, and pure love and desire for her and only her. She had no reason to doubt it. More than once, she had caught Brittany unravel with Santana's name on thin lips as the taller woman watches some tan pussy swallow a fist while getting banged by a dick in her other hole.

Brittany is also more than pleased on showing Santana just how much she loves her every single day. From the little things really like asking for a dance in their quiet apartment, humming some random and off-key tune. Or telling her she's beautiful even when she's disgustingly sick with runny nose and all gross and sweaty. To grand gestures like serenading her in front of the whole school when she accepted her high school diploma. Or going down on one knee, asking for her hand in marriage (which ended in her going down on Santana, still on one knee).

So when it comes to deciding on the perfect birthday gift for her fiancé, it was no longer a question of which gift to give her but of _how_ she would give it to her.

xox

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Santana is nervous.

The whole Brittany day she had planned had been perfect so far. She made her fiancé breakfast in bed and delivered it naked except for the little fuck-me apron she specifically bought for the occasion. And even though they both ran late for their respective jobs, she couldn't refuse Brittany when the blonde asked her to get on all fours in the middle of the bed, still with the apron and heels on, and showed her exactly how much she appreciated Santana with the way pale and strong hips jackhammered into her over and over all the while plugging her other hole with her thumb.

The brunette's boss didn't like that she's late and she had to listen to him rant about how this is exactly why he doesn't hire failed, no-good actresses. But it was easy to block him out after the first few times he gave her that same talk especially while she thinks how awesome Brittany is and how effortless it was for the blonde to make her squirt and make her feel and anticipate more of her cock for the rest of the day.

The huge grin she received from the blonde when the Latina surprised her in her dance studio to take her out for lunch and give her head under the table was priceless as well and it gave her a sense of pride and contentedness knowing she was the reason for that twinkle in blue eyes.

Brittany had always been the more romantic—and not to mention, the kinkier—of the two so it had usually been Brittany who picks what they would do on date nights and thinks of ways on getting Santana naked, and the brunette wonders if this is what Brittany feels and this is what she sees in her face every single time the blonde does all these cheesy romantic stuffs that never fails to make her swoon and fall in love just a bit more.

But then, the closer it gets to the end of the day, the more anxious Santana gets. She had to pick Brittany up straight from work to make sure the blonde won't ruin the surprise she had set up in the living room before she left. She had brought a change of wardrobe and had to cover it up with her favourite knee-long coat all through dinner. Brittany had asked her many times if she was sick and cuddled Santana to her side instead when the Latina refused her offer to go back to their apartment and call it an early night.

Cold beads of sweat are forming in her forehead, her hands are getting sweaty. Her thighs and feet feel like lead as they walk back to their apartment. Brittany had offered to just take a cab but Santana insisted that it's too nice a night for it to end so abruptly. Brittany still looks worried as she replaces the damp strands of raven hair back in place, not realizing the turmoil behind brown eyes.

Of course, Santana is just stalling. She can't stop her mind from thinking about the repercussions of what she was about to do. She can't stop the what-if's that had been plaguing her mind since she had set up everything she would need for tonight. What if other people find out? What would they think of her if they do? What if she's not good enough to pull something like this out? And the most important question of all, what if Brittany didn't like it? Santana doesn't think she could live knowing she had turned Brittany off. It doesn't take much to turn Brittany on, and it would more than suck if she won't now.

As a just recently-converted cynic who once dreamed of fame and glam and fortune, Santana doesn't take rejection very well. She had faced so much rejection almost all her life as she knocked on each and every audition room only to get the door slammed to her face and she still had this fear at the back of her head which surfaces every other time that Brittany would wake up one day and realize that Santana's not good enough.

It's fucked up, Santana knows. She has the ring on her finger to prove that Brittany is not going anywhere. That she's _it_ for Brittany. That Brittany is so deeply and madly in love with her that she is _blinded_ from all her faults and imperfections and everything that Santana is not—and Santana has _a lot_ of faults and imperfections. But as she looks back on her past career which had ended before it even began, a dam breaks and suddenly Santana's drowning from all her insecurities. Brittany's gonna break up with her. She may as well call it a night while she's still ahead.

Santana is snapped out of her dark musings when she feels Brittany's warm hand craddling a cold cheek.

"Love, you don't look too hot."

Santana blinks. "You don't think I look hot?" she whispers sadly, hearing the confirmation to all her fears turn real.

Brittany scrunches her forehead in confusion, keeping the kind smile on her face. Santana had been acting weird all night but she chucks it off as just her fiancé not feeling well.

"You always look hot, Tana," Brittany maintains, laying a soft kiss to the best set of lips she had ever laid her eyes on. "And beautiful. Hot and beautiful," she adds reverently as she gazes at her features. "But you look pale, love. I'm just worried about you."

Santana lets out a sigh of relief. Brittany had been so attentive to her all night and she feels like the luckiest girl on earth to have found her and bagged her for her own. She feels a tad guilty though making Brittany believe that she's sick. It's not like she confirmed that she was, but still. And by the rate she is worrying, she feels like she's well on her way to becoming sick for real.

An empty taxi drives past them and Brittany wonders how she could lure Santana to ride one. She kind of feels that Santana only insisted on walking just because she wanted to spend more time with Brittany on her birthday even if she, herself, doesn't feel well. The day had already been perfect. The last ten years of her life had been perfect with Santana on her side, and she couldn't ask for anything more. And right now, all Brittany wants to do is to take her fiancé home as soon as possible and take care of her.

"Do you want to ride me the rest of the way?" Brittany cuts through Santana's musings, making her realize she still hasn't pacified Brittany's concerns yet.

Santana bites her lip, a naughty smile trying to fight its way to the surface. "Wanky," she sing-songs, forgetting all her apprehensions for the meantime.

Brittany's eyes widen and her whole face immediately tints with embarrassment. "I meant like… you know… I can give you a piggyback ride or you know, carry you or something…"

Santana's smile turns into a full-blown laughter and her head tips back at Brittany's deer-in-the-headlights look. Brittany can't help the tender smile that formed in her lips as she watches Santana laugh at her expense. Santana, carefree is Santana at her most beautiful.

A smirk replaces the smile on thin lips as blue eyes narrows in on the still unaware Latina with mischief. Brittany crouches her upper body low and tackles Santana head on, standing up straight just as quickly as soon as she made contact.

Santana let out an "oof" sound as she feels Brittany's right shoulder hit her right across her lower stomach and she suddenly finds herself scooped up by a strong arm and the world is immediately turned upside-down. When she realizes what had happened, Santana shrieks in between renewed laughter as she thumps her small fists onto Brittany's back.

"Put me down, you goon!" she yells, trying to sound firm and annoyed but failing despite her best.

Brittany just continues to laugh victoriously as she holds on to the backs of Santana's thighs with one hand, the other inside her jean pocket, as she carries Santana on her shoulder like a handbag.

"Don't move around too much, Tana. You're giving the pretty old lady a show," Santana hears Brittany warn her around a laugh as the brunette continues to pound onto her fiancé 's back and sometimes poke at her sides to get the taller woman to release, but all to no avail. "Nice evening for a walk," Santana hears Brittany say conversationally to a stranger she walks past by.

An old lady comes into the Latina's view and grins back kindly at Santana, the one she assumes Brittany had greeted and implied before. "I'm really sorry for how my fiancé is acting. She's a caveman and she just joined civilization a while ago."

To Santana's further embarrassment, Brittany only grabs one of her ass cheeks and imitates the sound of a gorilla while pounding on her chest which earns a laugh from the amused woman and other passers-by.

xox

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Santana's anxiety comes back in full force as they stand in front of their apartment door. Scrap that, Santana Lopez is actually terrified.

Brittany had only let her down when they got to the elevator of their building. Santana had been enjoying her date with Brittany considerably and Brittany made her laugh so much so she felt like she was about to puke what little meal she managed to eat due to her apprehension from before that she forgot what was waiting for them in their living room apartment. Somewhere along the way, the Latina decided against giving Brittany _this_ gift in particular and thought it would be easier if she'd just tie a ribbon around her breasts and let Brittany have her way with her.

But Brittany already has the key jammed into the keyhole. Before Santana could say anything and make a lame excuse to get Brittany away from the apartment for a while as she removes all evidences of what she had planned for Brittany, the blonde had already opened the door wide and flicked the switch on revealing half of Santana's surprise.

Santana internally face-palmed.

xox

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A/N #2: Anyway, I've been reading a few Brett stories and I'm loving it and now I'm like, "the more, the merrier." I'd appreciate it if my boy!Britt-loving readers could point me to some pictures of how they think Brittany would look like if she was a guy or if there's a manip of Horris somewhere on a hot guy's body, that would be swell. (Could you also perhaps point me in the direction of pics of uniformed!Brittany's (army, cop, etc) if there are any?)

So now I have a little **POLL** for you guys: would you rather see

**a) G!P Brittany**

**b) Genderswap!Brittany**

in my first smut multi-chapter story?

It's still in the works and I think it would be wiser to write a clear outline for each chapter first such that I'd get to update quicker and not just grasp at straws at every chapter so. Help a girl out, why don't you. I'm more than open to both but since I'd be sharing them with you, it would be nice to know which you'd rather read. The more of you participating in this poll, the clearer reading I get of my readers' pulse. :)

Anyway, thanks for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: And the fandom has spoken: **G!P** it is! :) Thank you to all who let their voices heard and all those who commented on the story. I hope I won't disappoint. And also, a million thanks to the anon who gave me the links to the Brittana fan arts! I really appreciate it! xx

**Re: why it took me longer to post::** I know I said I would post the next chapter yesterday but while I was proofreading and editing, I kind of didn't like how the whole chapter went (I just thought it didn't come as organically as it could have been) so I had to scrap everything all together and rewrite everything again and try and reintegrate the issues I have evoked (even if it's just for humour) on the first chapter on to the whole story. And I hope you'd appreciate that when you read this chapter.

**Re:** **SMUT:: **I'm sorry but, I kind of… lied. Not really. I figured it would be better to make this a three-parter, rather than a two-shot, so all the ridiculousness that is going on wouldn't take your attention away from the actual rough-pounding, heavy-panting smut. I swear that would be the last and you'd finally get your smut if that's the only thing you came here for so please don't hurt me.

Hope this is worth the wait though and you're still interested in this fic.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. All mistakes are mine, etc.

xox

Brittany Pierce stands dumb on the entryway of their apartment as she eyes their living room.

At first, she thought they had been robbed. She thinks back to all the news she had seen with Santana or their friend, Quinn, and she tries to remember whether there had been instances when robbers bust into people's homes to redecorate.

She takes a few unsure steps into their apartment as she further inspected the changes that had been made in their living room.

The sofa set had been pushed to the back wall and in its stead was Brittany's lone and comfortable recliner. The chaise longue they had kept in Santana's home office replaced where the component set had been parallel to another wall, directly across Brittany's recliner while the latter had been pushed to the side wall as is the flat screen tv. One of their bedside table has been placed in front of the longue with Santana's laptop on top of it. Brittany's polaroid camera sits neatly on top of Santana's chaise longue which had been artistically covered with a long silk cloth. Two video cameras stand in their sturdy tripods both pointing towards the chaise longue, one placed at the back of Brittany's chair, the other to the side at an angle, closer to the longue.

There were other things as well randomly placed around the carpeted floor which Brittany is fairly sure they did not own. Like the tall lava lamps on each side of the chaise longue, for example. Or the glowing neon signs hanging behind it where the television had once been. Or the old-school telephone with the swirly cord and revolving numbers which she's not sure still even works that was laid on the carpeted floor. Or the variety of wanking magazines near it, both for men and women, she's certain were not taken from her secret stash (at least, the men's ones) Santana didn't know about that she's hiding under their bed.

Brittany blinks, not knowing what to think. She doesn't know whether she had to thank the robbers for giving her possible new wanking and sex idea materials for her to try with Santana or be really pissed and angry someone managed to break into their home, compromising Brittany and Santana's safety. She mostly feels the latter but she's also a tad curious what the new magazines contain. She was about to reach for one of the magazines when she remembers she's still with Santana.

"Those are not mine, I swear!" Brittany immediately scrambles out as she turns back to her fiancé, face flushed like a child caught red-handed doing something naughty who still insists it was their imaginary friend who has done it. Brittany tilts her head to the side when she realizes Santana is wearing a similar look. "Have we been robbed?"

Santana just gnaws on her lower lip, her eyes intent on watching her heeled foot make the squeaking noise on the wooden floor. "No, Britt. I did it."

Brittany's eyebrows shoot to her hairline, not knowing what to say. "Um…" Her eyes scan the newly redecorated room. It would be real swell to have Santana in her lap always when they watch telev- (she remembers the flat screen tv has also been taken down from the wall)—watch dirty neon signs. But she doesn't think it would be practical when their friends come over for game night if the sofa set is all the way in the other side of the room.

"I… like it?" Brittany lies, biting a corner of her lips, still looking at the new arrangement of their furniture. She squints her eyes thinking that she's probably not seeing the bigger picture here of why this new arrangement is better than their previous one. But she still doesn't get it. And what's the deal with those cameras? And Santana's chair? And those new magazines? And Santana's dildos? And her fiancé's journal?

Wait.

Brittany does a double-take and narrows her eyes. She hasn't seen her biggest frienemies in a long time.

It was probably three or four years ago since she last saw them and their parting had been real nasty. It was after that blasted "unicorn" incident and Brittany had to sleep on the couch for a whole month, her right hand her only friend as she listens in on Santana enjoying their _pre-marital_ bed with her very colourful and very _vibrant_ toys. When Santana eventually forgives her after weeks of apologizing and pleading and wooing, Brittany's second order of business—after a whole night of make-up sex—was to make sure Santana's friends would never see the light of day. Ever. Again.

Brittany didn't know anyone else would think of looking under the bed.

Brittany is struck when she looks back at Santana in the midst of crying. She glares at the stupid dildos one last time, promising that the thing between them is still not over before she fully turns all her attention to her fiancé. "Hey, hey, don't cry, Tana," she coos, hugging the smaller woman closer to her chest. "I love how it looks, I swear! This is exactly how I envisioned a living room should look like! I mean, who needs television, right?" she tries appeasing her Latina.

Brittany jumps when Santana slaps her in the arm. "This is not permanent, Brittany!" Santana whines over a sob.

"Oh. Right," Brittany offers an embarrassed look. "Then, why are you crying then?"

Santana sniffles. "It's a surprise and now you ruined it and I don't want to do it, anymore!"

"Baby, how did I ruin it?" Brittany laughs at how adorable Santana is being as she watches her fiancé stomp her foot on the floor and cross her arms around her chest like a petulant child. No one would believe her if she tells any of their friends that 'the wicked bitch of West Avenue' is actually an adorable kitty-cat with all paws and no claws. "I told you I was surprised! I still _am_ surprised! I can't believe I would see the day you'll give up in your _excessive_-compulsiveness."

Santana glances at Brittany, not bothering to correct her, before she resumes scowling at the floor. _How did Brittany ruin my surprise when it's no longer the surprise I was supposed to give her?,_ she asked herself. "Well…" Santana starts, suddenly embarrassed. "I was supposed to lure you into the apartment without turning on the lights… Then I'd sit you on your chair… and on my way to turn the lights on, I'd strip my coat off…"

Brittany's eyes start to widen and her throat suddenly feels dry. Santana hasn't even said anything remotely kinky or dirty, but the blonde is already sure she would like how this story is going. All the best stories in the world start with someone stripping. She's still not sure how she ruined anything but she's willing to admit any accusations if Santana keeps talking dirty…

Well, to be fair, everything sounds dirty when Santana talks… Or maybe, it's just Brittany.

"Can I see?" Brittany asks, her eyes already burning holes into Santana's coat.

Santana rolls her eyes but unties her coat all the same, opening the flaps wide and letting them hang on her sides as Brittany drools on the floor.

Brittany lets out a noise of appreciation, her blue eyes turning grey as she scans Santana's body languidly. Heat starts to spread like wildfire along her body from her flushed cheeks all the way down to her crotch. She feels her cock twitch and she barely has the right mind to strip right there and then.

"Fuck, babe. Is this my surprise?" she asks unbelievingly, her eyes never leaving Santana's barely clothed body. "You know I love me some sexy librarian costume."

Santana blinks at Brittany. She looks down at her clothes. She is wearing a black pencil skirt which barely covers her ass and is short enough to expose the black studded garter belts connected to her stockings and a tight blazer with a low neckline enough to reveal she's not wearing anything underneath and enough to show her underboobs. She looks back at Brittany with wide, incredulous eyes.

"This is _not_ sexy librarian. This is _sex_-etary!" she scoffs, insulted. "I ordered the exact same thing the sex-etary in one of your porn was wearing online."

Brittany's eyes glimmer despite the chiding. She honestly doesn't see the difference and she doesn't care either way. Santana is dressed to be fucked and Brittany's more than willing to play whatever role she will be handed. "Can I be the bossy boss who-"

But through her frustration, Santana isn't hearing anything else—too focused on getting all of these pent up emotions out of her system. "And _this_ is not your surprise," she points to her clothes with her hands. "_These_. All these is your surprise," Santana gestures to the whole living room and to herself.

Brittany tries to get some dirty comment out but is immediately shushed by the continuation of Santana's rant.

"I was supposed to give you live porn… like _real_ porn… with all the dialogues and everything…"

Brittany let out a Cheshire grin, thinking of all the possibilities and she's determined to tell Santana her appreciation and all her ideas on how the porn could go about but again Santana is still not finished with her ramblings.

"But then I realize I'm an awful actress and instead of getting turned on, you're going to laugh. And instead of turning your whole body into mush, you're gonna want to bleach your eyes out. And instead of stroking your junk, you'd rather play Angry Birds on your phone even if you're still stuck in level 5." Santana was hardly taking a second to breathe. All her insecurities, all her fears, everything clashed and culminated in her mind turning her sadness and anxiety to aggression.

Brittany blinks as she finally _hears_ Santana's words. Her thoughts of sex and porn and lust and desire taking the backseat as she listens to Santana's heartfelt ramblings.

"So _no_, I'm not doing this anymore! I'm sorry if you think it's selfish and I'm sorry if I can't make your wildest dreams come true, but I'm just looking out for myself here. You'd probably won't want to do anything with me after you see me act and you're surely gonna break up with me and I can't have that, Brittany, because I love you and I don't want to lose you, dammit!" As soon as Santana breathes out the last word, she suddenly feels weightless. Everything that she was harbouring inside of her just vomited out in the form of words. And she feels all her energy drained out of her as she slumps to sit down on the cold hardwood floor, her legs wide open, knees bent outwards, and her shoulders slouched. And she doesn't understand why, but she suddenly starts sobbing.

Brittany comes up to her side slowly. Santana looks like a child, all innocent and fragile—which is kind of an inappropriate a comparison now that she thinks about it considering what the Latina is wearing. Still, Brittany kneels down next to her fiancé and gathers her in her arms as Santana wipes her tears—and snot—on the blonde's shirt. But it doesn't matter, nothing else matters. As Brittany always says, everything takes the backseat when it comes to Santana.

Brittany cups Santana's chin when Santana finally stops crying and slowly lifts her gaze to meet her sincere eyes.

"Hey babe, I don't care about some stupid porn. You've already made all my dreams come true when you said yes to being my wife," Brittany whispers solemnly.

Santana lets out an uncontrolled sob, as a few happy tears escaped her eyes. "Really?"

"Really," Brittany nods, smiling. "And I don't know what all those damn casting directors were smoking because, babe, Angelina's lips has nothing on you. And you don't have to do anything you don't want to do or you're not comfortable on doing because of me, love. _I'm_ not going to let you.

"But if all you're worried about is turning me off…" Brittany pauses as she blindly reaches for Santana's left hand and guides their entwined hands towards her crotch, her hard on still evident since she saw what Santana was wearing under her coat. "You must know by now that that is just not possible."

Santana smiles a teary smile. Talking about cocks and sex should not be this sweet. But it just so is and Santana may have fallen more in love with Brittany, but that is a given by now.

"Really?" Santana asks shyly again. She feels like a lunatic now going off on Brittany the way that she did.

Brittany grins and squeezes Santana's hand effectively encouraging a caramel hand to grab her bulge more firmly. "Really, really."

Santana grins back at Brittany when she feels her fiancé's cock throb beneath her hand, asking to be pet more and Santana obliges for a while until Brittany, herself, stops her movement when the taller woman lets out a moan.

"So, you want to call it a night? I'll even let you cuddle with me," Brittany teases, wagging her eyebrows as if they don't cuddle every night.

Santana grins but then she remembers something. "I'm sorry I ruined your birthday with my nagging," Santana whispers sadly, realizing the entirety of what she had done.

Brittany just kisses her soundly on full lips effectively breaking Santana's pout. "Are you kidding me? It has been the best birthday ever! Besides, you can never ruin my day even when you get all crazy on me," Brittany jokes.

Santana finally laughs, delivering a playful smack on Brittany's arm. "I'm not _that_ crazy."

"If you say so," Brittany grins, conceding like she always does. "So, bed then? I'm kind of tired. The kids I was teaching today ganged up on me," she pronounces through a huge yawn.

Santana pouts, feigning sympathy as she cradles Brittany's face with both hands. "Aww, poor baby," Santana coos, kissing Brittany's entire face delicately. "I guess, you're no longer up for that very real, very live porn?"

Brittany's eyes bug out and she immediately scrambles her way towards her recliner, tripping herself twice before she manages to sit herself in the most comfortable position possible, not planning to move for a long while as she waits patiently for Santana to stop laughing at her eagerness, turn on the cameras, and start the show.

xox

* * *

"So, can I play the sleazy boss?" Santana hears Brittany ask as she goes through the scenes she had written in her journal one last time.

"No, Britt."

"How about the creepy copier girl who makes hundreds of copies of her schlong and sends them to the slutty sex-etary?"

"Honey, you can't. You're just the really horny pervert who likes to watch porn behind her fiancé's back."

"Ouch. That kind of hurt a bit," Brittany grumbles, but her face immediately lights back up. "How about the creepy pizza delivery girl who delivers the pizza and her_ schlong_ straight into the slutty sex-etary's mouth?"

Santana bites her lip, trying to fight a giggle. She should have asked her fiancé for help on making the story. It took her two whole weeks to come up with the story she had written and all it all boils down to is: "the horny sex-etary masturbates while her boss is away." And now, Brittany is coming up with all these awesome sex scenarios—which could really happen to anyone!—at the top of her head. It's totally brilliant!

But as much as Santana would rather choke on Brittany's cock and deep-throat her while she rides Brittany's face and tongue, she can't really back out of her plan. Brittany had been so awesome in spicing up their sex life for the whole ten years of their relationship—even if she does tend to go overboard sometimes. Santana thinks it's only fair to give in to Brittany's voyeur kink. That's why people watch porn so much, right? To _see_ other people doing the nasty?

The red light flashing on the cameras pointing at her are taunting Santana. Her mind goes back to all the times casting directors and producers mock her acting skills—and lack of it. Telling her she's not good enough. That a stray, vicious dog does a much better job at playing dead than her even though she had followed each and every acting tips she got from one Cooper Anderson like a religion. And she thinks she got everything to a T.

Acting actually comes easy for her, she really thought she was a natural. I mean, how hard should it be? When a scene calls for sadness, you scowl. When the script says to rejoice, you scowl while jumping up and down. When the character is mad at another character, you smile. And most importantly, when the character has a speaking part, you _point_.

That's how you get to stand out and get the producers to notice you—at least, that's what Cooper says and Cooper is a big, big star! His ad about some insurance company became viral and even grabbed the attention of critics calling him "a mediocre genius." So Santana really doesn't understand how the producers and talent directors couldn't see how amazing she is at her craft. And it still hurts like a knife to the chest thinking back to all the nasty things she was called for doing what she loves.

Santana looks back at Brittany squirming so badly in her comfortable seat in her recliner, short on jumping Santana with the way she's staring between her legs and Santana has to smile at that. "You promise not to laugh?" she needs to know, one last time.

"I swear on Lord Tubbington's grave," Brittany assuages her fear as she unbuttons her jeans for easier access later.

Even though Santana is still scared shitless acting in front of her fiancé for the first time and acting in front of the camera yet again, it's much easier now to hold it all back after Brittany's assurance. She takes a deep breath, reigning all her bad memories of being in front of the camera. She looks back at Brittany one last time. It could be hot. And it _would_ be hot.

xox

* * *

Brittany bites the inside of her cheek to keep her face neutral. Heaven knows she loves Santana but Brittany may have jumped the cow there–or was it 'jump the fence'?—when she said she wouldn't laugh and that Santana is the best actress in the whole world. She knows she should release her junk out of its cages by now and wank off at the… show… Santana is putting on for her. But she's kinda scared Santana would go off on her if Brittany did and her fiancé notices that her cock is still not at its fullest length.

It's not that it's not… _hot_. Because it's Santana, and everything Santana says and do is hot. It's actually even kinda hot in a really weird, really funny, inappropriate kind of way, bordering on pedophilia. But…

Brittany blinks as she watches Santana type randomly in her laptop as she dramatically goes on about how her boss is out in a meeting and how she is so bored she wanted to touch her pussy, all while pointing at her desk with each statement she makes. Suddenly, Santana calls out. "Ring, ring!"

"Oh, that must be Ms. Pierce, my very hot boss, who is calling to check in on me and my slutty work! I should get that!" She states out excitedly with the tips of her hands on each side of her lips, winking at the direction of Brittany and the camera behind her. She gets up and slides awkwardly to lay on the carpet on her belly and puts the old receiver to her ear. "Hello?" she winks again, in Brittany's direction.

"Oh hi, Ms. Pierce! Yes, I've been a very good sex-etary while you're away," she winks at Brittany again with her mouth wide open in a cheeky smile…

Brittany gnaws at her bottom lip, really finding it hard to contain her laughter. The only thing that is keeping her from doing so is the fear of getting her junk cut off—or worse, spending a whole year or forever sleeping on the couch even after they get married. Brittany internally shivered.

But Santana is just… too damn adorable when she's trying too hard. It's like watching a four year old kid put up her very first skit (thus, the inappropriateness of finding this… show… hot) and all Brittany wants to do is pinch Santana's cheeks and nip her nose and tell her how adorable she is. Brittany doesn't think Santana would like that though even if it's still a compliment especially when the Latina is going for hot and not adorable. So Brittany stares on as she watches Santana talk dirty in her adorable, giggly voice with the blonde's supposed alter-ego (which, _hello_, isn't like Brittany at all because frankly, she wouldn't go out on some meeting, no matter how important it is, if Santana is looking like that).

Brittany scrunches her eyebrows, her mind weighing and contemplating her options here. She knows this… show would go on and on until Brittany gets off at least twice even though she'd rather make love with her fiancé and show her how much she appreciates her birthday gift. She wonders if she could just blur out everything that is going on before her and just focus on how sexy Santana looks in her sex-etary attire and jack-off at the thought of motor-boating those soft, plump tits with her rock hard cock.

Brittany immediately feels her cock twitch under her jeans as she thinks this and she unconsciously guides her hand to stroke her hard on. She looks back at Santana and sees the glimmer and mirth on brown eyes as she gazes at the hand rubbing her dick to hardness. Santana throws a pleased smile at Brittany before the Latina goes back to talking to "Ms. Pierce" theatrically, still with her giggly voice, about how she wanted to be pounded by her cock like a "slutty hamburger patty".

Brittany feels guilty straight away. Here, Santana is, in front of her, trying her very best to give her "real porn" which she had obviously been working on for god knows how long, even after breaking down from her insecurities as an actress and Brittany is not even paying attention. She totally could run for the most horrible fiancé ever award and win by a landslide.

But it's not that Brittany doesn't appreciates all of these…

(Santana gives her another wink, and thankfully Brittany has enough good sense to mouth "hot" to her fiancé who is acting her ass off.)

Hell, Brittany appreciates and supports every and all things Santana chooses to do with her life. She's more than proud that Santana has finally found the courage to get back in front of the camera since she turned her back on Hollywood and all that it stands for two years ago and do what she loves doing best again. And Brittany can't help but fall more in love with Santana knowing that she is the reason why the smaller woman finally decided to face her demons.

But Brittany's really caught between a rock and a hard place here. She'd rather let her face get eaten off by a month-long starved Chihuahua than disappoint Santana. Unless she can find a way to end her own suffering without letting Santana down…

Brittany's eyes widening, a Cheshire grin on her face, and her cock twitching and throbbing in agreement and excitement, Brittany quickly sprawls out from her chair and scrambles towards the coat-rack.

xox

* * *

Santana scrunches her face in confusion as she watches Brittany ran towards the door. She was just getting to the best part… She was about to tell Ms. Pierce how big her shaft is—bigger than Big Ben!—and how she would deep-throat the living shit out of her wang until she pukes her guts out and cover that huge throbbing cock with her slimy, frothy-green-ish insides. _It's dirty talk gold!_

She glances back at the cameras and sees the red lights flashing at her so she has no choice but to keep up with her script, her eyes never leaving Brittany's movements as the blonde reaches for Santana's fedora hat, tucks in her button-down shirt, clips on her suspenders, and puts on Santana's leather trench coat.

When Brittany turns back to Santana, she is sporting a predatory smirk as she slithers towards the Latina, her phone in hand, only to hide it back to the coat's pocket. "Ms. Lopez, put down that phone, now."

Santana blinks, not putting two and two together. She glances back at the cameras again before she looks up at Brittany standing in front of her. "What?" Santana asks, dumbfounded.

Brittany still has her smirk as she kneels threateningly in front of her fiancé. "I said put that fucking phone down," she enunciates every word slowly as she lifts the receiver from Santana's slack grip and puts it back to its cradle.

"Let's see if slutty little girls like you can handle a real cock like you say you could," Brittany sneers.

Santana blinks again and she vaguely feels her wetness pooling down the insides of her thighs and dripping into the carpet.

_What. The. Hell. Is going on?_

xox

* * *

A/N #2: I'm sorry if adorkable!Santana and Brittany took you away from enjoying the possible hotness of the situation. I just think it would be fun to write Santana as a terrible actress like Naya had mentioned in an old interview.

Fun fact: I've originally written this with a very confident and sensual Santana being mainly a huge tease and masturbating in front of Brittany and a huge-mumbling-mess Brittany jacking off so yeah, I wasn't really happy with only that and I thought it doesn't go well with their characterization.

Again, I'm sorry if this is not exactly how you expected things to go. Review and let me know what you think! I'm open to your ideas on how you want the smut to go. I mean, I've already written some parts of the last chapter but it would be good to see if you have better ideas on how the smut could go about (as long as it's in the range of the story, ie, things won't magically appear near them to be used for foreplay) :)


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