“Did you know that vibrators were originally invented by the Victorians as a cure for ‘female hysteria’?” Brittany asked around a mouthful of ice cream, blue eyes wandering the corners of the room before settling on Santana’s expression. Offering a careful smile before continuing. “The doctors got bored of having to give women orgasms by hand and they kept getting finger cramps. So they came up with Granville’s Hammer to do the job. I read about it when working on my time-machine.” She paused. Things between her and Santana had been…no different. Hooking up had been amazing, of course, but they’d yet to speak about it. In all honesty, they hadn’t even really acknowledged it; a fact that Brittany couldn’t help but revisit almost constantly. Perhaps it was silly for her to expect so much from so little; sex was often (too often) just sex. And although she was grateful that things weren’t weird or different between them, it hurt to think that maybe–maybe–it hadn’t meant as much to Santana as it had done to her. “I just thought that was cool,” she mumbled, glumly poking at her dessert. She shifted on the spot, long legs uncrossing and drawing up to her chest as she warily eyed Santana from across the bed. Almost shy around her friend. “So…are we playing?” The implications and consequences of the game were daunting, incredibly so, but still Brittany bit her lip in anticipation, hoping that Santana was equally as eager to get started.
For weeks they had tiptoed around, giggling and testing the boundaries of this new and improved relationship, so Santana had brought Brittany home for what felt like the first time, but in actuality was probably the fifth or sixth. After careful consideration of their needs, they had settled into something along the lines of best friends with benefits, but if her lifelong experience as Puck’s booty call was anything to judge by, this felt much, much different. “I did not,” she laughed around her own mouthful of ice cream, scooping at the rest of the mess in her bowl and looking away before Brittany could catch her staring. She had been doing an awful lot of looking lately. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, all things considered, but even that had changed somehow. Now, she paid less attention to the swell of her breasts, and more to the crinkle of her nose when she laughed hard enough, the divots in her cheeks when she smiled, and the length of her lashes, batted so frequently in her direction. She liked these fun facts, and the utmost seriousness in which they were delivered. She liked her honesty, and the stone cold frankness that most people overlooked. She liked sleeping with her, even when she nosed her way into her armpits first in the morning. And, yes, she had absolutely rigged the event for her own personal gain, but liking the sex, of all things, seemed insignificant in light of so many new discoveries. “It is cool,” she reassured her with a touch to the knee, “and since I know for a fact you’re better in the sack than Granville’s Hammer, we gotta play, so. Truth or dare?”
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