A/N – Still working on my other fics. AMW is making some good progress. I had writer's block and then Glee 100 happened and my writer's block became writer's galore lol. I don't even know if ppl are reading fics because the real thing is damn awesome buuuut here is this thing for those who are.

I hope you all like it! There is sex and talk of killing, be warned.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or profit from this fic.

/

How You Want It

/

"Ms. Pierce?" Brittany's latest assistant, Dottie, asks while nervously adjusting her glasses.

"Yeah Dots?" She answers absentmindedly, glancing through the latest intel given to her on the Changs while preparing herself a snack.

Things bewteen her and them were going to get very bloody very soon. Dottie used to work for them, which just one small victory in the power-war. Brittany was a little behind but that would change. She loved a good game of chess, especially when she knew she was about to call checkmate.

"Um… I know you have your quirks but… um…" Dottie smiled sheepishly at her, "I feel it is imperative I tell you that you have aerosol cheese no longer on just your bread but also on your hands, blouse, and all over the counter too."

"What do you mean I have my quirks?" Brittany furrows her brows in ask before looking down and realizing that, yes, she had forgotten her finger had been against the tip. There goes her snack. She liked cheese, but not that much.

"Well…" Dottie dorkily adjusted the glasses on her nose, "I don't mean o-o-offence Ms. Pierce. Great minds like yours work in mysterious ways. So, what were you thinking about? A hit? Should I call up Lopez?"

Brittany flushes as she starts cleaning up the cheese with paper towels in the office kitchen. That name gave her tingles.

"Damn you're good," she told Dottie.

"Oh," Dottie looked taken aback. "But… huh?"

"Nobody gets my jokes," Brittany pouts at Dottie.

"Sorry," Dottie starts helping her clean the cheese, "it's just… I don't know what I did?"

"That's the joke," Brittany smirks.

"So what were you thinking about, if you don't mind me asking?"

Brittany gently cleared her throat, not sure if she should clue her new help in on her predicament.

Then again, what was the point of having an assistant if they weren't helpful?

"I was thinking about someone I like," she told Dottie, kind of enjoying the way Dottie's eyebrows shot up high and her mouth fell upon.

"Are you joking again?" Dottie asked after a moment of contemplation.

"No," Brittany told her plainly. "So since you're my assistant you have to keep a secret, right?"

"I do?"

"Yeah, totally."

"This is oddly exciting." Dottie says like she doesn't know that if she told a secret Brittany trusted her with she'd be dismembered. "Are you going to tell me who you like?"

"Yep. Aaaand…" Brittany waved the cheesy paper-towel at Dottie's face, "you're going to help me out with it because I've gotten nowhere."

Dottie smiles and Brittany kind of likes her so she's honest with her gentle reminder, "if you cross me you know very well what I'm capable of."

Dottie just clears her throat and adjusts her glasses again. Of course she knows what Brittany is capable of.

/

At ten pm exactly, Santana Lopez shows up. Every once in a while they meet like this at the club Brittany inherited when she first started realizing she liked playing dangerous games with dangerous people.

Brittany doesn't glance at her but instead keeps her eyes on the two girls making out on stage for the general audience's pleasure and entertainment. She cringes when some guys nearby get rowdy, she's had her fill of rowdy men from last night's all-boy-Friday.

"Donald," she calls over the nearest guy, her club manager.

"Yes Ms. Pierce?" Donald has to bend halfway at the waist to meet her and is already looking where she's looking like he knows what she's going to say.

"Kick them out."

"My pleasure," he stands up straight again, looking surprised that she didn't request something more violent, and then goes to handle the drunk men. He tends to use brass knuckles and Brittany likes that about him.

She also figures that after the fight he had with his boyfriend he needs to toss some men into a dumpster to feel better. She felt kind of bad for him, his boyfriend was such a slut.

"Dottie was asking me weird questions today," Santana finally says over the music of the strip-club.

Brittany glances over and wishes she didn't because Santana's eyes are now unabashedly admiring Misti, the young Afircan-American new girl who was flirting with the nearest pole on the stage now that the girls had finished kissing and made their exit for her act.

She bites down her inner impulse to have Misti kicked out too, and instead feels a sudden wave of insecurity. Does Santana prefer women of colour? Intel (Dottie) says Santana's latest bed-friends have been black or Hispanic women, and one random Philippine native.

"Her name's Misti," she says instead, catching Santana's attention. "I can introduce you."

Santana snaps her eyes shut, "sorry," she says before opening them again and looking less animalistic. "It's been a while, I'm just looking. Strippers aren't my type."

"My mother was a stripper," Brittany says to her crush, a little annoyed with the judgment.

Santana doesn't disappoint, however. She's always been Brittany's soft spot because her view on things is attractive and what she says just proves Brittany won't be getting over this attraction anytime soon.

(And because she's so damn…)

"My line of work means I can only tangle with certain anonymous women," Santana's eyes jump back to Misti's thonged ass as the young woman walks in front of them with a flirtatious smile that pisses Brittany off (even though she pays for that charm to exist). "You know that. Why would I want to bring a nice girl into this excuse of a life?"

Brittany swallows her dry throat and gestures at the bar so her people know she's thirsty.

"You don't have to tell Misti about your job, secrets are normal... and I own this establishment so you can guarantee anonymity if that worries you."

"Whatever, I've gots a booty call if I need one," Santana smirks proudly.

"You shouldn't be so damn boring, Santana." Brittany advises her, "Maybe look outside your usual box of closet-cases. Hell a stripper is a better alibi than Elaine Karofsky if you ever mess up someday."

She enjoys how Santana takes that as a challenge, getting offended that she could ever get caught. She's that confident in her kills which is what makes her both an effective contract and a liable one.

"I don't know," Santana kicks her legs onto the low table in front of them and crosses her ankles. "I'm not the lying type, I prefer when she lies for me. What a fucking joke, huh?"

"I like that about you," Brittany finally says. "The honest assassin… It's poetic and sounds like a fucking novel."

When champagne is brought to them in flutes, Brittany uses it as an excuse to stare at Santana so hard she might as well just x-ray the woman. Her gaze isn't noticed though, because Santana is too busy getting distracted by 'casing' the joint. It's her habit, being hyper-aware of her surroundings and figuring out the best shooting position even when it's not necessary.

Brittany relates the habit to that of a cat. She likes cats.

"Why are you flattering me?" Santana asks after a while, nervously perhaps, because everyone who's anyone is nervous around Brittany if they're smart. Even if they get along with her like Santana always has, they should never be foolish enough to think they're safe.

"What do you mean," Brittany hopes she hasn't been found out. The situation is kind of embarrassing, one-side pretending this is a date and all.

"Champagne," Santana drawls with a grand gesture and then adds lowly, "Misti offers…"

"I like to reward my employees."

"And Dottie asking me about my favourite colour? The tail you put on me all day during my coffee run and trip to the mall? Do you think I'm keeping something from you? Because, Brittany," she calls Brittany 'Brittany' which no one else does these days, "I thought I've proved my loyalty, in fact I thought it was never questioned. What's going on?"

Brittany has to lie because being honest with the woman she likes, who happens to sniper-shoot and occasionally slit the throats of people Brittany wants dead, that she wants to go on a real date with her is scary.

"I want to get to know you more. You do exceptional work and I wanted to treat you."

"Huh," Santana looks thoughtful and then gulps down the champagne. "In that case I will take your advice. Introduce me to Misti, I've never gotten a lap dance before."

Brittany smiles and goes through with the request, but inside she has the urge to order Misti get strangled instead.

/

Brittany is not a good person. She's obsessive and controlling and guilt-free– she has to be in her line of business.

She's also, very rarely, a stupid idiot. Like right now. She's torturing herself because she's the one who offered Santana the green light to have fun in a strip club – and Santana doesn't even have to give out money of her own because her boss owns the damn place.

Misti is also really damn talented, probably really going for it because the Ms. Pierce told her to make sure Santana enjoyed herself.

She can't blame Misti, she can only blame herself for not taking what she wanted, which was her usual method for things she wanted. Santana's involvement jumbled everything up in her head as usual.

Her anger starts to build, watching Santana whisper something that makes Misti smile flirtatiously while removing her bra.

God damn it, Santana said strippers were not her type.

"Enjoy yourself?" she asks Santana later, when the woman returns from her first experience.

Santana sighs, "I kind of hate myself right now but that was awesome... she's smoking."

"It's just a dance from a stripper," Brittany teases her aroused state and emphasizes Misti's status to impress Santana's mind into thinking Misti isn't worth her time. She's very good at manipulating people, and she wishes she could be more confident to get Santana's attention like that of a stripper.

"I'm confused," Santana glances at her, "your mother was a stripper?"

Brittany rolls her eyes. "That's not what I meant. Everyone who works for me gets one at least sometime, you're just so green about it which surprises me."

"Well you do own this fine establishment – the spoils of war," Santana chuckles while nodding, recalling when this building belonged to Russian mobsters and how their bodies had yet to be found (she's got a proud reminiscent twinkle in her eye that gives Brittany good chills). "I never see you get one when I'm here though. You just sit and think."

"I need them to be afraid of me, I can't have them thinking they can get emotionally close." She quotes Santana to add, "my line of work, right?"

Santana is relaxed right now, licking her lips and speaking a little sluggishly to Brittany who passes her a fresh flute of the champagne they've been drinking.

"You know what I find weird?" She says.

"What?"

"That I can silence with no remorse," she smacks her lips and takes a sip, "but I always feel guilty for touching a woman. Like… like my…"

Brittany is surprised at this. Santana's personality has always checked out with the in-house psychologist she made her people see so that she would know everything about them.

No remorse kills, gets the job done the best, a sociopath with great physical fitness and combat training for hands-on hits but with a preference of long-distance strikes. She's not supposed to… feel any kind of guilt. She's supposed to be like Brittany.

Brittany feels her cold heart swell all of a sudden. Santana has never discussed this with the psychologist but she was discussing it with her. That must mean something?

"I'm a good hitman," Santana brags, "probably the best. I enjoy it, you know?"

"Sure."

"And then I have needs. I meet pretty women and they don't know that the hands I touch them with have ended lives."

"You do realize I don't care, don't you?" Brittany cuts her off, not wanting to hear about how Santana touches women.

Santana's raises an eyebrow at her. "Bullshit Brittany."

"Excuse me?" Brittany hisses, slamming her glass down.

"Woah, calm down," Santana says softly, reaching out and touching her hand. "I meant that you do care about me. I know you do."

"That's…" Brittany turns her flushed face away, "you're my only friend."

"I know," Santana could be manipulating her for favours now with her approach of trust, but Brittany doesn't care because this intimacy is intoxicating and on second thoughts Santana isn't the manipulative type. She likes to keep things black and white for simplicity's sake. She's honest. "And you're my only friend too. I'm lonely, there's…"

Brittany slowly turns and then pulls Santana into a hug, holding her close. She knows a lot of things. She knows hugs last an average of eight seconds, that they release oxytocin which triggers trust emotions, and that they can be therapeutic.

There's no therapy in the world to cover the minds of people like her and Santana, but goddamn if a hug doesn't feel amazing. She's lonely too.

Santana ruins the moment thirty seconds later, however.

"And I'm going to follow your friendly advice," she leans back and smirks a little devilishly, "I'm going to go fuck that stripper. Mini or whatever."

Brittany feels like she's been dipped in ice water and once Santana is heading for the backroom where Misti is on break, she lets the scowl overtake her face and changes her mind.

"Donald," she calls him.

"Yes Ms. Pierce."

"Make sure Misti and Lopez can't talk."

"How should I do that?" He asks.

"How the fuck should I know! Make it happen."

/

She wires money into Santana's account after a few jobs a month later and knows that Misti ended up having to dance all night and that Santana hasn't been back to her club since that evening.

Sure Santana has visited Elaine Karofsky and Brittany contemplated sabotaging that too, but had to focus more on the Changs.

Dottie tells her that Santana has confirmed Uncle Chang's 7 and 5 as complete. Her police contacts all tell her that the men were found stabbed together on a long steel pipe through their stomachs post-mortem shots to their head. The Sniper is what the FBI classified to other similar headshots Santana has gotten away with. Santana needs to ease up on her sharp-shooting.

She takes it as an opportunity to phone Santana in for a personal meet rather than have Dottie involved. She waits at her office downtown, which is in her strip club, petting her cat on her lap as he purrs.

"Ola," Santana slips in and takes a seat, she looks excited to be here and Brittany wonders dreamily if its because she likes her too.

Of course that is quashed when the woman says in excitement, "this must be good if you want to meet personally. Are you taking it to head family? Their security is tight but I've been casing on the DL in case you ever needed an emergency slash. I can do his face-to-face so he knows who sent me."

"No," Brittany slides over a brown envelope with money in it, "this is your bonus. You're going to lay low for now, the FBI are getting oddly focused on your hits. The Changs appear to be retreating from Boston."

"What?" Santana leans back, thinking. "Shit – is someone on my trail?!"

"No," Brittany says to calm her down, and then drops her cat on the desk so her hands were free. "Two hundred K. Take it."

Santana takes the envelope but still looks alarmed, "what do they know?"

"The FBI is looking into a lead they have, I think it's a good time as any to enjoy a vacation."

"Fuck," Santana says after taking it in a moment longer. "I… can't just leave. My mom, Brittany."

Brittany knows this. Maribel Lopez is in a mental institute. She was tortured so much as a young military officer that it ruined her. Santana carries that rage with her, having witnessed the torture at seven years old.

"I can have her care transferred. Anywhere you want. Build a cover."

"How solid is this lead?"

"They're looking for a thirty year old woman with military training that is no longer an active-"

"Fuck!" Santana is on her feet and slamming the door behind her.

(Brittany decides mentioning that she'll visit her at a later date.)

/

"Brittany?" Santana greets her at the Fiji airport, looking gorgeous in white sundress.

"What brings you here?"

"I need a break," Brittany tells her, lifting her pet-carrier off of her suitcase and waiting for Santana to take it.

Santana rolls the suitcase and leads her to some cabs outside, giving an address to a driver whose car is a little shinier than the rest.

"Well," Santana says as the warm breeze beats through the open windows during the drive, "how are things?"

"Your name came up as a trained sniper," she refers to Santana's suspected alias, "but they can't prove anything."

Santana sighs demurely, "Fiji is alright anyways."

Brittany is settled in at her hotel, and then Santana comes hours later and invites her out for dinner.

She wants to fantasize that Santana has asked her out on a date but she knows better than that. She leaves some food for her cat and then puts on a short skirt and tight top.

"Are you sure you don't need a hand with anything?" Santana asks as they wait for their drinks later that night.

"I came to visit you," Brittany tells her, "Dottie can handle things for now. If she dies Donald knows what to do."

"Please tell me you don't have Finn out there faking suicides."

"He gets the job done," Brittany smiles in amusement as Santana huffs, "and suicides gives my club some breathing room. There was s fucking drug raid in there last night."

Their drinks come so Brittany decides to change the subject for something more personal and asks, "how's your mother?"

"Still crazy."

"How's your flat?"

"Right over the beach, it's awesome."

"Well, you've been a great employee so let me know if you want anything. I'll make it happen."

Santana pauses into her beer, but eventually nods and says, "thank you, Brittany."

"Okay, this isn't me," Brittany grimaces, leaning back. "Look. I want you."

Santana is silent, staring at her with wide eyes that hold nothing but disbelief.

Brittany too can't believe she just said that.

"Want me – want me to do something?" Santana tries to salvage what was said.

"No you idiot," Brittany feels embarrassed and absolutely hates this, feeling like some little girl who can't get a point across.

Santana swallows in thickly and whispers, "you… want me?"

"Yes."

She decides to drop her frustration when Santana looks like being wanted by her is a death threat. It's not, so she reaches over the table and tenderly grabs Santana's free hand.

"I want you."

Her low voice and eye contact seem to have Santana at least consider it.

"But… but you're my boss – I mean, are you even GAY?"

Irritated, Brittany groans.

"Seriously?"

"Wait, wait," Santana quickly tries to sooth her. "You're my very, very hot boss I just… um…"

"I'm not going to kill you if you say no," Brittany narrows her eyes, "just fire you maybe. Let you live here in Fiji."

"Look, don't take this the wrong way but… we are talking about sex right?"

"I can't believe I thought you were a smart killer," Brittany deadpans before leaning back and gulping down her martini.

She could use another drink to get through this pathetic conversation.

Or so she thought.

Santana smirks at her, "I would totally do you, the only fear I have is that you'd want to like, strangle me in bed. You seem like you'd be into something freaky."

"Well I'm not," Brittany snaps just before standing up and exhaling her breath. "So if you're done annoying me, take me home."

/

Santana's body is everything she's ever dreamed it would be. It's fit from whatever exercise it is Santana does. It's also smooth and hairless.

She whimpers as her back is gently guided against the bed sheets. Santana lies flush against her while pulling the hotel sheet over them, her petite waist pressing down between Brittany's legs.

"How do you want it?" she whispers in Brittany's ear before nipping it between her teeth and rocking her hips in physical rhythm.

"It doesn't matter," Brittany arches up into her, clutching at Santana's back to get even closer. She grips tight and bucks up.

Santana kisses her and Brittany is aware that she's never been this intimate with any of her past lovers. This is full nudity in cool sheets like something out of a smutty romance novel.

She moans because it's that good, when Santana's tongue dips in her mouth and they can only breathe through their noses.

"You're so sexy," Santana says after letting her tongue and lips free so Brittany is able to gasp.

Brittany closes her eyes in ecstasy as kisses are gently trailed down her body, passing her neck and lingering at her breasts. Santana sinks from her hands to her elbow and whispers something she can't hear.

She clutches Santana's head against her chest, holding it when her nipple is sucked softly at first and then more severely.

"Oh…" she whispers, enjoying the way her body enjoys that.

Her pleasure urges Santana's left hand to cup her between the legs, and it's not embarrassing that she's soaking wet for it – it's fucking hot. She has never been so turned on in her life, her body is begging for it.

Santana shivers against her and then looks up with dark eyes that make Brittany's heart stop.

"You want me too, don't you?" she confronts Santana, letting go of her black hair to caress her lovely face. "Take me..."

Her order is carried through and Santana slips further down her body, using her fingers and tongue in tandem to really take her.

Brittany doesn't try to muffle the high-pitched moans that leave her as she grips the pillow on either side of her head. The mattress squeaks, her legs curl over Santana's shoulders, and she closes her eyes to desperately achieve the release she's been yearning for far too long.

When her body goes rigid and her throat builds up a moderate scream, Santana is already sliding back up while curling her fingers.

She's encouraged by a soft moan in her ear and she feels her whole body shake from satisfaction.

She spends a minute catching her breath, unable to not smile from how good that felt.

"That was amazing," Santana rolls off of her and says earnestly. "I've never felt like that with anyone."

The admission makes Brittany feel even better, and she turns her head on it's side to find Santana's chocolaty brown eyes giving her an adoring glance.

"That's because I know you," Brittany tells her, "I know about you and I still want you."

Santana releases a shaky breath of fear like she had at the restaurant when Brittany first said, "I want you."

"I'm here for you," Santana declares at last, her voice kind of choked up.

Brittany closes her eyes as a hand tucks some of her blonde hair behind her ear. It's a silly little gesture, but it means so much and it makes her feel so precious.

"That's all I need," Brittany confesses before scooting a little closer and laying her head down on Santana's shoulder.

"Can we just agree that if we have a lover's quarrel you won't kill me?" Santana jokes after a minute.

"Sure," Brittany smiles at her before taking her lower lip between her teeth and gently rubbing her right palm against Santana's midriff, "but first thing's first… tell me how you want it."

End.