Summary: Santana Lopez thought being a security officer would be a lot more exciting, but literally nothing ever happens on her shifts- until she meets Brittany Pierce. AU Brittana. Two-Shot. SOLOSMU #4

A/N: Hello all! Hope you are having a great start to your week. :) As you can see, I'm back with another fic for the SOLSTICE OF SMUT, and this one will be a two-shot. I should have the second part up early Wednesday morning. (My days run on a different time than everyone else's, in case you're all wondering, since I sleep during the day like a vampire- no, no, not like that!)

Anyways, thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, followed, whatever'd the last story. And I hope you didn't miss out on jellymankelly's latest fic of brilliance. Because if you did, that would be sad.

This fic is dedicated to my tumblr wifey and favorite cereal, killercereal, who prompted the situation and a lot of the silliness in here. Hopefully it lives up to her expectations, and yours!

No smut in this first part, because, you know, plot. But don't worry, the second chapter should fulfill your desires.

Enjoy~

Santana Lopez takes her job very seriously.

It's not the most glamorous job in the world, and it's definitely not the job she'd like to have, but the economy sucks, times are hard, and nobody is hiring-

Except rich people.

So as Santana parks her beat-up Toyota in her designated parking spot behind some bushes and straps her gun to her waist, she clears her thoughts and focuses on her upcoming shift. Nothing ever happens at her job site, but she has to be prepared for anything in her line of work.

She's brave.

She's strong.

"Good morning, Sergeant Lopez!"

She's a security officer.

"Morning, Karofsky," she greets in her no-nonse voice as she enters the small office that they use as their head of security base. "Anything to report?"

"No, ma'am," Karofsky says. "Been quiet so far."

She nods absently before signing in, collecting her keys and radio, and walking out to complete her patrol vehicle inspection. Just another average, boring day.

Santana's been a security officer for a little under two years. She'd only taken the job because it was the only thing hiring at the time, and she needed something to support her while she waited for her true calling- the FBI- to open up. She figured it would look good on her resume, but she never planned to be here longer than six months. Now she's a little edgy about getting out, about moving on; she feels trapped. She doesn't want to get stuck here. That's not in her master plan.

Truthfully, she hates it.

She thought it would be more exciting. She thought she'd be handling a lot more incidents. Her devotion to her work had gotten her promoted to Sergeant in under a year, and now she's in charge of running various shifts on her site. She's always taken her jobs seriously, because it reflects on her character- eventually, when the FBI does hire, they'll want references. She can't just blow this off, it's important. So she dots her Is and crosses her Ts and bides her time, trying to make the most of her shitty career limbo.

It's not so bad, she supposes. She gets a nice holiday bonus, her weapons and uniforms are supplied to her, she gets to cruise around in a Dodge Charger all day and look official, and the residents who live in the community are nice enough. There are worse jobs.

It's just- nothing ever happens.

(Until one day, something does.)

Santana starts her Friday mid-shift just like any other. It doesn't have any meaning for her- unlike most people, she's not blessed with weekends off. She spends a good part of her morning driving around, patrolling, and making various runs between the three gatehouses at the entrances to the community. Nothing is out of the ordinary. No alarm calls. No burglaries. Perhaps she and the rest of her team do their jobs too well- not that that's a bad thing on her record, but she really would like some action.

Her radio beeps at her to tell her it's dying, so she swings into a parking spot at the office located near the main gate to swap the battery out for her spare. She's standing at the front desk, fiddling with the battery release lever on the back of the radio, when someone enters the office, and her entire life changes.

"Excuse me," the voice of an angel says, and Santana turns to behold the most gorgeous girl she's certain she's ever laid eyes on. Blonde hair frames a flawless face. Playful blue eyes stare at her intensely. The woman is tall, and lean, and her legs seem to go on for days. Speechless, Santana brings her gaze back up to the woman's face before pausing- those legs, though-

The girl catches her drifting gaze and stares into her eyes, and is a lot more obvious in her appreciation of Santana's body. She licks her lips- Santana nearly faints from the sight of her tongue darting out- scans her gaze down Santana's chest, and all at once Santana feels too hot beneath her uniform collar, and she clears her throat, flustered.

"Yes?" she asks, her voice hoarse. She's surprised she found her voice at all.

"Hi," the woman purrs, and Santana feels her knees shake a little. "I'm Brittany Pierce. I'm new here."

"Pierce?" Puck asks from behind the desk, and Santana startles a little. She'd forgotten Puck was even in the room. She'd forgotten the room even existed. She'd forgotten anything even existed besides the beautiful, perfect woman in front of her. The angelic, gorgeous, sexy, flawless-

"Mmhm- Doug's daughter?"

"Oh," Puck says dumbly. He hasn't stopped staring. Santana hasn't either. Her mouth might even be hanging open a little, she doesn't know.

"Oh," Santana echoes, sounding even dumber than Puck, if possible.

Brittany, the perfect woman, giggles, sounding playful and somehow so sexy it makes Santana's heart ache. "Daddy's on an expedition to Tristan da Cunha, so I'm staying here for the month he'll be gone to take care of Commander of the Armies of the North."

"Uhh…." Santana blinks, dumbfounded. She has no idea how to process anything that Brittany's said. Truthfully, her mind is still back on legs.

"Daddy's dog," Brittany explains with a pleasant smile that makes Santana's knees weaken even further. How is she even still standing? How is this woman so unfair? "I'm going to need a transponder for my car, right?" Brittany pauses. "I mean, I could drive Daddy's car, but I'm really more comfortable in my Audi. That Range Rover is just too big, and one time when I was seventeen I backed it into the garage door and we had to have the entire thing torn down and reconstructed, it was awful."

Santana stares. Puck stares.

"Sorry," Brittany apologizes, her cheeks coloring a pretty pink. Santana wants to press a kiss to the blush. She clenches her jaw. "Is there a form I can fill out, or..?"

"Of course," Puck says, snapping out of his stupor. He pulls open a drawer and rifles through the files to pull out the paperwork, suddenly all smooth charm. Santana hates him for having such finesse- she's never had any game, but a quick glance to Brittany shows that the woman hasn't taken her eyes off her, and the realization has her stomach coming up with this neat game of tying itself into knots.

"What's your name?" Brittany purrs softly, ignoring Puck as he searches for her forms.

Santana's throat feels like she ate an entire pillow's worth of cotton, like the people on My Strange Addiction. When she speaks, her voice is raspy and she wants to mentally punch herself for sounding like such a loser. "L-Lopez."

Brittany giggles again, teasingly, taking a step closer, and Santana's completely smacked in the face by the scent of perfection. Brittany smells so good, it's taking all her willpower not to lean in and inhale her like a cocaine addict doing a line. Maybe she belongs on My Strange Addiction, because she thinks she might be hooked on everything about the woman in front of her after having known her for less than five minutes. "I can see that." Brittany points to Santana's nametag, which reads Sergeant S. Lopez, and Santana wants to punch herself again. "I want your first name. Or shall I simply call you 'S'?"

If anyone else would have said those words, Santana might have gotten fired up. She might've put the verbal smackdown on the person, cutting them with some vicious words. But the way Brittany said it, almost fondly, has her practically stumbling over her own tongue to answer her.

"It's Santana."

"Mm," Brittany hums with a nod, and it sounds like a borderline moan. Brittany licks her lips again, as if she just swallowed Santana's name and decided it was delicious, and smiles. "Gorgeous."

"Uh-" And okay, Santana's really got to start learning how to speak.

"I'll see you around, Santana," Brittany says with a wink, and the way she says it, like a promise, lets Santana know that she definitely means it. Brittany turns to leave, and Santana's eyes are immediately drawn, as if by unknown forces that run the entire universe, to her ass, watching the way her hips sway as she walks out of the office.

She takes a deep, shaky breath. The door closes. It's silent for a moment, and then Puck whistles.

"Damn."

Santana can't even answer. She picks up her radio in a daze, wandering outside to her patrol car like a zombie. All she can see is blue eyes. All she can think about is the way a pink tongue looked wetting totally kissable lips. All she can hear is the way Brittany said her name, her mouth caressing the vowels. All she can remember is how pretty Brittany looked when she blushed, when she winked at her. She winked at her!

She drives around for the rest of her shift, patrolling; but if asked, she couldn't tell you a single thing that happened, other than which house Brittany's blue Audi is parked at.

Santana's never looked forward to going to work, but the day after she meets Brittany Pierce, she arrives for her shift vibrating with an excited, nervous energy. She's not fooling herself by thinking Ms. Pierce would want anything to do with her. She's long-since convinced herself that Ms. Pierce was just being overly friendly, and that she's a naturally nice, flirty person. It has nothing to do with her.

Besides, her job is to protect the residents. To make them feel safe. She can't very well go being unprofessional. She has an image to maintain, and career goals to aspire to. No matter how beautiful and perfect Brittany Pierce seems, she drives an Audi, and Santana drives a Toyota. They come from two different worlds.

But Santana can't deny, Brittany is nice to look at. Which is why, as she's driving her patrol car around, she almost crashes into a mailbox when she spots Brittany in the driveway, wearing a bikini and soaping up her car.

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head as she spots all Brittany's tan skin, all her lean, toned muscle, all her perfect ass and breasts. Brittany's bent over, washing the hood of her car, her blonde hair in a loose ponytail. Soap suds drip down her calves and forearms, and the sun reflects off of random drops of water covering her skin. Santana has to swerve to avoid crashing into the neighbor's mailbox. She slams on the brakes, taking a deep, calming breath to try and slow her pounding pulse, feeling embarrassed, because she knows Brittany saw her.

Sure enough, when she peeks out the window, Brittany's standing next to her Audi in all her scantily-clad glory watching her, and Santana can't help but stare at her clearly-defined abs in return. Her eyes drift lower to her toned thighs, and as the most inappropriate thought of what they'd feel like wrapped around her forces its way into her brain, she hears Brittany call her name.

Her eyes snap up to Brittany's face, which is smiling at her, making Santana wonder if she noticed her staring. Brittany waves, friendly and excitedly, and Santana waves back timidly, hiding behind her aviators, and realizes they're probably why Brittany didn't notice her creepy leering. Swallowing, she grips the wheel tightly and focuses her attention away from Brittany and her sinful perfection. She drives away at a crawl, blushing like mad.

But she can't get the image of soap suds dripping down Brittany's body out of her brain, and it follows her around the rest of the day.

Santana doesn't know if she should be thankful or resentful that she hasn't been able to make it through a shift without running into Brittany Pierce all week.

Even when she spends the whole time avoiding driving by Brittany's house, she'll see Brittany jogging through the neighborhood, dressed in nothing but a bright pink sports bra and the tiniest running shorts that ever existed, sweat dripping down between the valley of her breasts and driving Santana absolutely insane. Usually by Brittany's side is a very large brindle-colored pit bull, whom she assumes is Commander of the Armies of the North, keeping pace with her and looking like a beefy body guard. Every time Santana passes them in her patrol car, Brittany offers her an enthusiastic wave and a smile that makes her want to curl into a ball and die from being so incredibly beautiful.

She's got to stop watching TNT movies.

Douglas Pierce's house is in a little cul-de-sac at the end of a long, curved street. It's a huge mansion situated next to the lake, perched on a slight hill. Santana doesn't have to drive by it- since it's kind of offset from the rest of the community, with the closest neighbor being on the opposite side of the cul-de-sac- but she takes her job very seriously, and not patrolling an area just because she's afraid to see whatever suggestive activity Brittany Pierce is up to would not be an example of her properly performing her duties.

She's not really afraid.

And besides- Brittany isn't doing those things on purpose, right? Santana just takes them as being sexual because she finds Brittany attractive. Which is unprofessional.

And if Santana Lopez is one thing, it's professional.

"Central to 624."

Santana clicks her radio. "624, go ahead."

"10-20."

Location? Santana glances up. "8478 Korat."

"There's a Signal 22 at 5681 Chartreux. Response code 1."

"10-4." Santana nods to herself, turning her car around and running through the address in her head. Signal 22- disturbance. 5681 Chartreux Avenue-

Pierce residence.

Shit.

Santana slams her foot on the gas, her heartbeat accelerating as fast as her car. Her stomach tenses as she flips on her flashing lights, and drives- as quickly as the speed limit will allow, she's not a cop after all- to the Pierce house. She hopes it's nothing. She can't remember the last time she had a Signal 22, and if it was anyone else's house she was driving to, she might be excited that she was finally seeing some action.

But all she can feel as she flips her lights off a block away from her destination and pulls her car over one house away, is fear.

After radioing in that she's arrived on-scene, she exits her car, listening for any noises that might tell her something is out of place. As she walks carefully up to the house, her nerves vibrating and her senses on high alert, she can hear Commander of the Armies of the North barking viciously, and her hand immediately drifts to the pistol on her left side. She raises her right hand to knock, aligning herself strategically with the door, and when the door opens, Brittany looks completely stressed.

"Santana!" she says, relieved, and before Santana even realizes what's happening, she's being drawn into a tight hug and Brittany's burying her face into her neck. "Thank goodness you're here," she breathes.

Santana is stunned into inaction. She's not sure if she should combust from the feeling of Brittany's arms around her, of Brittany's body pressed against her, or if she should hug back. She was already tense, but as Brittany's hands clutch at her uniform shirt, she feels herself growing even more rigid. Brittany's hair smells like what she imagines heaven will smell like, and her body is so soft and supple and-

A loud bark interrupts their moment, and suddenly, Santana's on high alert again, pulling away from Brittany, hovering her left hand over her gun. "Ms. Pierce, what's the problem?"

"There's an intruder in my house," Brittany tells her, and Santana swallows as her adrenaline kicks her reflexes up to the next level.

"Where?" she demands, her tone serious. She draws her pistol and brings it to the low-ready position, stepping cautiously into the house scanning for any sign of the intruder, her heart pounding madly both from the possibility of danger and from Brittany's close proximity. "Should I call the police?"

"No, that won't be necessary," Brittany assures. "Maximus has him cornered."

Santana tries to ignore her confusion over the dog's name, and follows the sound of his barking into the kitchen, clearing rooms as she goes. When she reaches the kitchen, she quickly looks around, but doesn't see anyone. "Where?" she asks tensely.

Brittany points to a corner dramatically. "There!"

Santana drops her gaze to the corner and sees-

A frog.

A fucking frog.

She's instantly angry. "You called me for a frog?" she demands heatedly, holstering her weapon. Someone could've been hurt!

"Of course. Who else am I supposed to call?" Brittany asks.

Santana's stumped. She's got her, there. And since Santana takes her job very seriously, she ignores Commander- Maximus- the dog- whatever- and tries to scoop the slippery little amphibian up, telling Brittany to, "Stay back, ma'am. I've got this under control."

The frog hops out of her grasp several times, and she spends the next five minutes frustrating herself chasing the blasted thing around the kitchen while the dog barks fiercely near her face. When she finally catches the squirming critter, she carries it to the backyard and releases it into the grass; it looks at her for a moment before hopping away. She sighs.

When she re-enters the house, she's met with a very angry pit bull.

The dog corners her and barks, and Brittany apologizes repeatedly from her kneeling position beside him on the floor, tugging on his collar and cooing softly.

"You should pet him, so he knows you're a friend," Brittany suggests, but Commander of the Armies of the North doesn't look like he's having any of that. In fact, he looks as if he might enjoy Santana's hand for lunch. Santana's not scared of dogs- but she's also not dumb enough to try and pet one that's eyeing her like he just found a new chew toy.

"Come on," Brittany encourages. She reaches for Santana's hand, and when their hands touch, Santana feels lame as fuck for admitting she feels tingles spread through her fingertips. Brittany directs her hand to Commander of the Armies of the North's head, and then unnecessarily guides her hand into petting over it, touching her for far longer than Santana's sure she needs to. Not that she's going to complain.

"There, see?" Brittany coos. She looks at Santana and smiles. "He likes you."

Likes is not really the word Santana would have used- barely tolerates, maybe- but she's not going to argue with the woman who is the only reason she still has two hands.

"Maximus Decimus Meridius is a Russell Crowe fan," Brittany explains, without actually explaining anything. "Just like Daddy. Aren't you?" she coos. She cups the dog's face and his tongue lolls out at the affection. She turns to look up at Santana, wrapping her arms around the dog's powerful neck. "They're super excited about his new movie," she says, and Santana takes a moment to connect Brittany's thoughts together. "They've watched all his Blu-rays together."

Santana shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. She scratches behind Commander of the Armies of the North's ear, and he sits, and Brittany beams, making Santana's heart ache. She wants to make Brittany smile like that, always.

"Thank you," she says. "He's going through a rough time. He's very sad Daddy's gone- aren't you, boy?" She scratches under his chin and his tail wags. "Aren't you just so sad?" She kisses his nose and rubs her cheek against his, and Santana feels stupid for being jealous of a dog for the very first time in her entire life.

"I really should get going," Santana starts, feeling on edge in the Pierce house, especially since she has no further reason to be there pertaining to her job.

"Okay," Brittany smiles at her, climbing gracefully to her feet. Santana avoids looking at her ass. Yes, she certainly does. "Thank you for helping me. Frogs are really dangerous, you know? They're harmful to dogs. Commander of the Armies of the North could've been poisoned and maybe even died. You basically saved his life."

Well, when she put it that way…

Santana straightens up proudly, feeling like she grew about another ten inches tall. "Just doing my job, ma'am."

Brittany smiles playfully at her and escorts her to the door. As Santana walks down to her patrol car, she notices that Brittany is still standing in her doorway, leaning against the frame, watching her go. She tries to stop her heart from doing a one-handed cartwheel, and instead climbs into her patrol car and places her hands on the wheel. She takes a deep breath, relieved that the Signal 22 turned out to not be anything major. She laughs to herself a little as she thinks about how funny the whole situation turned out to be, and then a thought hits her.

She still has to write an incident report.

It becomes a common occurrence for Brittany to call her for trivial things every shift, though after the second time, when she "thought she heard something" at night- which turned out to be a raccoon- Santana asked her not to call dispatch for problems like that.

Instead, she started calling Santana's cell phone.

Santana's not sure how Brittany got her number, or her schedule, but she suspects Puck or one of the other officers gave it to her. She never calls her when she's not working, and Santana's not sure if she's disappointed or relieved.

To her credit, Santana takes each call seriously, investigating Brittany's problems as if they are real crimes and writing detailed reports about them after, even though they always turn out to be something silly. The raccoon has showed up so often that Brittany named it Ralphy, and Santana can't recall how many times she's chased it from Brittany's yard. She's not sure why it keeps coming back, but she's not complaining. Secretly, she likes having the excuse to be near Brittany, even though she knows she's walking a very thin line.

She remains as professional as possible, even though Brittany has gotten more and more aggressive in her flirting and more and more obvious in her leering. The blonde uses any excuse to run fingers down her bare arm or to hug her. One time she fixed Santana's collar, which got a little rumpled when she was searching under the bed for Brittany's cat, Lord Tubbington, which Brittany was worried might have escaped. The two of them searched the entire mansion- which was no easy task- before finding the fat feline curled up in the catfood pantry, probably in a food coma after eating an entire bag of gourmet treats. He didn't even blink at them.

Santana's come to look forward to Brittany's calls, which have gotten more and more creative. She enjoys the blonde's company; Brittany is genuinely kind and unconventionally smart. She's clever in an ambiguous way, and if Santana wasn't focusing so hard on being professional, aloof, and keeping a straight, serious face, she'd be laughing and joking constantly in her presence.

She knows she's putting herself in a dangerous position, and she's torn. Even though she likes attending to Brittany's ridiculously concocted problems, she feels herself wanting to be closer to her- something she can never be. She tries to focus only on her work, but it's increasingly difficult with Brittany standing right next to her. She knows it's only going to get worse- it's only been two weeks.

"Sergeant, Pierce is waiting at the office for you," Puck crackles over her radio, and Santana nearly chokes as a million dirty scenarios rush through her mind. She picks up her radio.

"For what?" she asks hesitantly.

"Her transponder?" Puck replies in a duh voice. Santana feels her face heating up, despite the fact that she's alone. Of course that's what Ms. Pierce wants. Her transponder.

Feeling stupid and like someone kicked her puppy all in one, she makes her way to the office, her stomach tensing at the thought of seeing Brittany. When she exits her patrol car, she sees Brittany waiting for her, dressed to kill in short denim shorts and an off-the-shoulder shirt that exposes her collarbones and delicate neck. Santana swallows the surge of desire that wells up in her and squares her shoulders as Brittany's dazzling smile upon seeing her threatens to make her faint. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, looking incredibly soft, and wide sunglasses sit perched upon her head. She looks like she might be on her way to the set of a movie. A movie Santana would love to marathon.

"Ms. Pierce," she greets, tone serious. "Here for your transponder?"

"Among other things," Brittany purrs, eyeing her. Santana ignores the heat flooding through her from Brittany's gaze and keeps her posture stiff as she fishes for her keys in her pocket, walking around the side of the office building to a small storage room. She's hyperaware of Brittany staring at her as she makes about three separate attempts to fit the key into the lock. Brittany's gaze has her feeling flustered and she can't think straight.

After she drops the keys, she turns to Brittany and says tensely, "You can wait by your car if you want."

Smirking, Brittany turns silently to walk away, and Santana finally unlocks the door. She pushes on it, and when it doesn't budge she wants to smack herself. Brittany giggles, but obediently moves back to her Audi, and in her mind, Santana beats the shit out of herself as she pulls the door she's opened a hundred times in the past without any sort of problems open.

She really needs to get her shit together. It's not very professional for her to stumble and stammer around some girl- woman- who will be gone in another two weeks.

So as Santana digs for the solvent she will use to clean the small area of Brittany's window where she'll stick the gate transponder, she resolves to take her job more seriously.

Sooo what do you guys think? Think Brittany's going to succeed in seducing Santana? ;)

There's still 3 more fics to go in the SOLSTICE OF SMUT before the 21st, plus the second chapter of this, so stay tuned, and review if you feel like it. But if not, that's okay.

See you next time!