Entry tags:
Fic: Dictionaries For Dummies (Sexicon Remix) (Glee, Brittany/Santana)
Title: Dictionaries For Dummies (Sexicon Remix)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing(s): Brittany/Santana
Word Count: 1341
Rating: R
Summary: Four words Brittany doesn't know (and one she kind of does).
Notes: A remix of Bibliophilia (and other words Brittany doesn't know) by![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sangerin. Wirtten for Remix Redux 9: Love Potion No. 9. Follows no logical timeline whatsoever.
abstinence, n. The act or practice of refraining from indulgence in an appetite, as for certain foods, drink, alcoholic beverages, drugs, or sex.
"Sex ed has really gone down the drain since Ms Holliday left," Santana says, apropos of nothing. Well, not really nothing; she's looking at Brittany, who still looks confused, and she still can't get the image of -
Well. She's definitely never eating cucumbers again. She's debating never even having sex again.
"Yeah," Brittany agrees. "She was hot."
"You think everyone's hot, Britt."
"Only hot people," Brittany says, and she can't really argue with that. "And that guy from the computer ads."
"Right," she says, moving on. "Anyway, I was thinking we need some private lessons. Come over after school?"
"Sure," Brittany says. And then, "We don't really have to study, right?"
"Right," Santana says, but she's still prepared for when Brittany shows up with her textbooks.
At midnight.
"What are you doing?" she asks, but quietly, and she opens her bedroom window anyway; her parents are probably in bed already, asleep or close to it, and there's no way she wants to wake them up. "I thought you were coming over this afternoon."
"I was," Brittany says. "But I couldn't find any abstinence."
Santana's screwing the lid back onto her nail polish, and that almost makes her smear it all over her sheets. "What?"
"Abstinence," Brittany says, like it should be obvious. Santana's pretty sure Brittany thinks everything she says should be obvious. "In sex ed they told us it was the only way to prevent pregnancy."
See, this is what happens when you pay attention in class. (This, and cucumber phobia.)
"Britt," she says, as gently as she can. Brittany's already climbing into bed, snuggling under the sheets, and Santana climbs in beside her. "Abstinence means not having sex."
Brittany looks confused for a minute, and Santana brushes a kiss against her shoulder. Finally Brittany says, "Why would anyone do that?"
"Beats me," Santana says, and rolls over so she's on top, kissing Brittany's collarbone, hands tangling with Brittany's beneath the sheet. "Plus, you know I can't get you pregnant, right?"
Brittany gasps and Santana's hand moves lower, underneath her Cheerios uniform. "But you're so sexy."
"I know," Santana says; she palms Brittany's stomach, and she's not sure if she's trying to prove her wrong, or right. "But you're just going to have to trust me on this."
"I do," Brittany says, and Santana forgets about sex ed completely.
-
exhibitionism, n. A tendency to display one's abilities or to behave in such a way as to attract attention.
"You have a hickey," Santana says, except it comes out wrong. She feels jealous, maybe even angry, but her voice just sounds kind of flat.
"How can you tell?" Brittany asks, reaching for her neck. "I'm wearing a scarf."
"You're wearing a headscarf, Britt."
"Oh." Santana's not sure Brittany gets it, but maybe she sounded angrier than she thought, because Brittany isn't fighting back, isn't saying anything at all.
"I can't believe this," she says. "Mercedes is dating my boyfriend -"
"But -" Brittany starts, and Santana rolls right over her.
"Mercedes is dating my boyfriend," she says again, "and you're off getting hickeys from Kurt?"
"This isn't from Kurt," Brittany says. "I think."
Santana doesn't care; before she can think about what she's doing, she's grabbing Brittany's hand, dragging her into the library, and shoving her up against a bookshelf.
"I like it in here," Brittany says, and Santana ignores the non sequitur.
"I'm going to make you forget all about him," she says. When she bites Brittany's neck, it's only softly, but right over the spot where she's bruised. "Deal?"
"Mmm," Brittany says, and Santana stops until she says, "deal."
-
infidelity, n. Lack of faith or constancy, esp. sexual faithfulness.
"It was a total waste of time," Brittany says, sighing so hard Santana can almost feel it through the phone.
"I still wish I'd seen it," Santana says. "I bet you looked good in Hammer pants."
On anyone else, it'd be a joke, but Brittany -
"I look good in everything."
"True," she says, and then, "you look good in nothing, too."
"Yeah," Brittany says. Breathy, like maybe she's wearing nothing right now. "Are we having phone sex?"
"Yes," Santana says, more sharply than she means to. "Keep up."
"Oh," Brittany says. "Okay. But how is this different from regular sex?"
"I can't see you," Santana says. "I can't touch you, either. But you can touch yourself."
Another sigh, and she could swear Brittany's breath hitches. "It still feels like cheating."
You're still doing it, Santana wants to say. Instead she says, "We've been over this. It's not cheating if you're with a girl."
"Oh," Brittany says. And then, like she means it this time, "Okay. But you have to touch yourself, too."
Santana smiles. She slips and phone between her chin and her shoulder, sliding further down in bed, and asks, "Where?"
-
discretion, n. The quality of being discreet, especially with reference to one's own actions or speech; prudence or decorum.
They're in the middle of drawing stupid moustaches and devil horns on all the pictures of Rachel Berry in the yearbook when Brittany's foot slides up Santana's leg. Santana pauses for a minute to look sideways, but Brittany doesn't react; just flips to the next page, like nothing's happening at all, and Santana lets it slide.
Until it happens again. This time, Brittany's hand slips under the table, too, brushing the hem of Santana's Cheerios uniform, just like all the times they're alone together, only this time, they're not.
They're in the middle of the library.
"Britt," she says. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Brittany says, as simply as if it's the truth. "This is fun."
Santana's not really sure which part she means. Except then Brittany's hand goes higher, trailing up the inside of her thigh, and she thinks she does.
And then she thinks, screw it. The library's for vandals and dorks, let them see whatever they want.
So she slides her legs apart, just a little, and Brittany's hand follows.
"You're right," she says, and it's difficult to get the word out without choking on them, but it's so worth it. "This is fun."
-
bibliophilia, n. The love of books.
"We always end up back here," Santana says, one hand either side of Brittany's shoulders. Her fingertips curl into the top of the shelf, brushing dusty spines, and she shifts so they're curling into Brittany instead. "I don't get it."
Brittany shrugs, her shoulders shifting under the weight of Santana's hands. "It's just a library."
Santana kisses her then, because she can't not, and because nobody's around; more than kisses her, and she doesn't stop until Brittany's legs are tangled in hers, Brittany's skirt riding up against Santana's thigh. She traces her lips down Brittany's jaw, nips at the delicate skin of her neck, and whispers, "Exactly. It's just a library."
There are so many better places they could be doing this. Quieter places, places that don't smell like books and school. But Brittany's already breathing heavily, and Santana's barely touched her, so that's got to mean something.
"What's the appeal?" she asks, and nudges her thigh up, feels Brittany rind against it.
"I love books," Brittany says, and Santana could think she's joking, she doesn't even think Brittany reads, only she doesn't say it like it's a joke.
"Why?" she asks. Slides her fingers under Brittany's skirt, teases at the edge of her underwear; they're definitely getting somewhere.
Brittany moans, but doesn't answer, so Santana repeats the question.
"Why?"
"They know so much more than I do," Brittany says, and Santana rewards the answer, slips her hand into Brittany's underwear, not quite surprised to find her already wet.
"And that gets you hot?" Obviously.
"You have no idea," Brittany says, but Santana does. Right now, she does.
"I know more than you, too," she says, and it's not unkind.
Brittany shivers. And then, her chin out, challenging, "Prove it."
She's more than happy to.
Fandom: Glee
Pairing(s): Brittany/Santana
Word Count: 1341
Rating: R
Summary: Four words Brittany doesn't know (and one she kind of does).
Notes: A remix of Bibliophilia (and other words Brittany doesn't know) by
sangerin. Wirtten for Remix Redux 9: Love Potion No. 9. Follows no logical timeline whatsoever.abstinence, n. The act or practice of refraining from indulgence in an appetite, as for certain foods, drink, alcoholic beverages, drugs, or sex.
"Sex ed has really gone down the drain since Ms Holliday left," Santana says, apropos of nothing. Well, not really nothing; she's looking at Brittany, who still looks confused, and she still can't get the image of -
Well. She's definitely never eating cucumbers again. She's debating never even having sex again.
"Yeah," Brittany agrees. "She was hot."
"You think everyone's hot, Britt."
"Only hot people," Brittany says, and she can't really argue with that. "And that guy from the computer ads."
"Right," she says, moving on. "Anyway, I was thinking we need some private lessons. Come over after school?"
"Sure," Brittany says. And then, "We don't really have to study, right?"
"Right," Santana says, but she's still prepared for when Brittany shows up with her textbooks.
At midnight.
"What are you doing?" she asks, but quietly, and she opens her bedroom window anyway; her parents are probably in bed already, asleep or close to it, and there's no way she wants to wake them up. "I thought you were coming over this afternoon."
"I was," Brittany says. "But I couldn't find any abstinence."
Santana's screwing the lid back onto her nail polish, and that almost makes her smear it all over her sheets. "What?"
"Abstinence," Brittany says, like it should be obvious. Santana's pretty sure Brittany thinks everything she says should be obvious. "In sex ed they told us it was the only way to prevent pregnancy."
See, this is what happens when you pay attention in class. (This, and cucumber phobia.)
"Britt," she says, as gently as she can. Brittany's already climbing into bed, snuggling under the sheets, and Santana climbs in beside her. "Abstinence means not having sex."
Brittany looks confused for a minute, and Santana brushes a kiss against her shoulder. Finally Brittany says, "Why would anyone do that?"
"Beats me," Santana says, and rolls over so she's on top, kissing Brittany's collarbone, hands tangling with Brittany's beneath the sheet. "Plus, you know I can't get you pregnant, right?"
Brittany gasps and Santana's hand moves lower, underneath her Cheerios uniform. "But you're so sexy."
"I know," Santana says; she palms Brittany's stomach, and she's not sure if she's trying to prove her wrong, or right. "But you're just going to have to trust me on this."
"I do," Brittany says, and Santana forgets about sex ed completely.
-
exhibitionism, n. A tendency to display one's abilities or to behave in such a way as to attract attention.
"You have a hickey," Santana says, except it comes out wrong. She feels jealous, maybe even angry, but her voice just sounds kind of flat.
"How can you tell?" Brittany asks, reaching for her neck. "I'm wearing a scarf."
"You're wearing a headscarf, Britt."
"Oh." Santana's not sure Brittany gets it, but maybe she sounded angrier than she thought, because Brittany isn't fighting back, isn't saying anything at all.
"I can't believe this," she says. "Mercedes is dating my boyfriend -"
"But -" Brittany starts, and Santana rolls right over her.
"Mercedes is dating my boyfriend," she says again, "and you're off getting hickeys from Kurt?"
"This isn't from Kurt," Brittany says. "I think."
Santana doesn't care; before she can think about what she's doing, she's grabbing Brittany's hand, dragging her into the library, and shoving her up against a bookshelf.
"I like it in here," Brittany says, and Santana ignores the non sequitur.
"I'm going to make you forget all about him," she says. When she bites Brittany's neck, it's only softly, but right over the spot where she's bruised. "Deal?"
"Mmm," Brittany says, and Santana stops until she says, "deal."
-
infidelity, n. Lack of faith or constancy, esp. sexual faithfulness.
"It was a total waste of time," Brittany says, sighing so hard Santana can almost feel it through the phone.
"I still wish I'd seen it," Santana says. "I bet you looked good in Hammer pants."
On anyone else, it'd be a joke, but Brittany -
"I look good in everything."
"True," she says, and then, "you look good in nothing, too."
"Yeah," Brittany says. Breathy, like maybe she's wearing nothing right now. "Are we having phone sex?"
"Yes," Santana says, more sharply than she means to. "Keep up."
"Oh," Brittany says. "Okay. But how is this different from regular sex?"
"I can't see you," Santana says. "I can't touch you, either. But you can touch yourself."
Another sigh, and she could swear Brittany's breath hitches. "It still feels like cheating."
You're still doing it, Santana wants to say. Instead she says, "We've been over this. It's not cheating if you're with a girl."
"Oh," Brittany says. And then, like she means it this time, "Okay. But you have to touch yourself, too."
Santana smiles. She slips and phone between her chin and her shoulder, sliding further down in bed, and asks, "Where?"
-
discretion, n. The quality of being discreet, especially with reference to one's own actions or speech; prudence or decorum.
They're in the middle of drawing stupid moustaches and devil horns on all the pictures of Rachel Berry in the yearbook when Brittany's foot slides up Santana's leg. Santana pauses for a minute to look sideways, but Brittany doesn't react; just flips to the next page, like nothing's happening at all, and Santana lets it slide.
Until it happens again. This time, Brittany's hand slips under the table, too, brushing the hem of Santana's Cheerios uniform, just like all the times they're alone together, only this time, they're not.
They're in the middle of the library.
"Britt," she says. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Brittany says, as simply as if it's the truth. "This is fun."
Santana's not really sure which part she means. Except then Brittany's hand goes higher, trailing up the inside of her thigh, and she thinks she does.
And then she thinks, screw it. The library's for vandals and dorks, let them see whatever they want.
So she slides her legs apart, just a little, and Brittany's hand follows.
"You're right," she says, and it's difficult to get the word out without choking on them, but it's so worth it. "This is fun."
-
bibliophilia, n. The love of books.
"We always end up back here," Santana says, one hand either side of Brittany's shoulders. Her fingertips curl into the top of the shelf, brushing dusty spines, and she shifts so they're curling into Brittany instead. "I don't get it."
Brittany shrugs, her shoulders shifting under the weight of Santana's hands. "It's just a library."
Santana kisses her then, because she can't not, and because nobody's around; more than kisses her, and she doesn't stop until Brittany's legs are tangled in hers, Brittany's skirt riding up against Santana's thigh. She traces her lips down Brittany's jaw, nips at the delicate skin of her neck, and whispers, "Exactly. It's just a library."
There are so many better places they could be doing this. Quieter places, places that don't smell like books and school. But Brittany's already breathing heavily, and Santana's barely touched her, so that's got to mean something.
"What's the appeal?" she asks, and nudges her thigh up, feels Brittany rind against it.
"I love books," Brittany says, and Santana could think she's joking, she doesn't even think Brittany reads, only she doesn't say it like it's a joke.
"Why?" she asks. Slides her fingers under Brittany's skirt, teases at the edge of her underwear; they're definitely getting somewhere.
Brittany moans, but doesn't answer, so Santana repeats the question.
"Why?"
"They know so much more than I do," Brittany says, and Santana rewards the answer, slips her hand into Brittany's underwear, not quite surprised to find her already wet.
"And that gets you hot?" Obviously.
"You have no idea," Brittany says, but Santana does. Right now, she does.
"I know more than you, too," she says, and it's not unkind.
Brittany shivers. And then, her chin out, challenging, "Prove it."
She's more than happy to.