Quinn was so close to the edge that she could taste it. She needed just one more thing, one more thrust, one more tweak, one more something, and she was there. "Quinn?" Santana huffed.

Quinn hummed, because that was the best thing she could do. She swore that if Santana was about to do some sneaky bitch crap like demand that Quinn beg…well she would, but she'd make damn sure that Santana paid for it later. "Will you marry me?"

Quinn's eyes snapped open, and she looked into the brown eyes that were hovering over her. "What?" Quinn panted. This was new. It had definitely never come up in sex before. Santana's tongue gave a quick flip over the pebbled edge of Quinn's very stiff nipple, before she bit down on it. At the same time she curled her fingers inside of Quinn. "Marry me," Santana panted.

Quinn opened her mouth, and it was at that very moment that her orgasm spread through her body, and whatever she was going to say was momentarily forgotten as Santana's name was wrenched from her lips. Santana's fingers continued to move as he waves of her orgasm flooded her, and Quinn thought that it was because Santana was trying to help her through it, but then she felt Santana's tongue on her still sensitive clit. Santana's fingers started thrusting inside of her again, and when she gasped, Santana pulled out for a second to add another finger to the equation.

Her walls clenched against Santana's working digits, trying to draw them deeper inside of her. Quinn fisted Santana's hair, her hips canting into Santana's capable and willing mouth as Quinn was brought to the edge of her third orgasm of the night. Her nails dug into Santana's back, no longer scratching lightly, and it was all she could do to remember to breathe out. She wasn't going to last very long this time around; it was almost embarrassing that Santana could manipulate her body like this, and she was…wait. Was she slowing down?

Santana's fingers had nearly stilled, her tongue flickering lazily against her clit. What the hell? "San-," Quinn panted, arching her back.

Santana kissed at the clit. "Will you?" she questioned. She slammed into Quinn hard, her fingers going deep.

Quinn gasped. "Will I…oh, God…er…what?"

She brought her fingers nearly out, and pushed them back in, temptingly slowly. A moan slipped past Quinn's usually very composed mouth. Santana smiled up at her. "You like that?"

"God…yes!"

Santana continued to pump slowly, working Quinn to madness. She was going to give Santana the biggest case of blue…Quinn suddenly felt like Homer with a donut. Oh God, was she actually drooling? "Marry me," Santana whispered onto her knob, her voice throaty and raspy.

Santana's fingers started to work faster, teeth gently grazed her clit, and Quinn was surprised by the intensity of it when she crashed into her orgasm. She struggled to hold onto consciousness, vaguely aware of Santana's fingers still moving inside of her. She wanted to push her fingers away, but she'd forgotten how to move at the moment.

"Good?" Santana questioned.

Quinn's eyes fluttered open and closed so she didn't see the proud smirk that Santana was wearing.

"Mmm…yes." Quinn murmured, vaguely aware that Santana was bringing her to yet another climax.

"Marry me."

The part of her mind that was still working was amused. Santana asked me to marry her. She lost her fight when the fourth orgasm gripped her. Well, okay¸ she thought. "Why not?"It was her last thought before she blacked out.

She woke up with that feeling that she had slept for too long, but she felt deliciously detached from her body, weightless. She smiled. She usually only felt this way after a night with Santana, because despite all of her faults (and believe her she had a lot of them), only Santana knew how to fuck her until she forgot her name. She stretched, sore, and slightly confused by the warm feeling on her lower abdomen. She looked down to see a hand wrapped possessively around her.

Her eyes narrowed. "The fuck," she whispered.

She studied the head that was pressed into the pillow beside her. It definitely belonged to a woman, and if the passion fruit and sex smell that permeated the air was any indication, it was Santana. She knew she was in Santana's bed. These were Santana's sheets. She recognized Santana's shoulder blades; she'd watched them move gracefully over her the countless times Santana had topped her. Yep, they were hers, but the tanned, muscular arm that rested on top of her stomach couldn't be Santana's. She and Santana didn't cuddle. Like ever. Quinn was actually surprised that she was still in the bed.

Oh, God, Quinn realized with a groan. Santana finally got me to have a threesome!

"Mmm…stop moving so much," Santana mumbled, sleepily. That voice was definitely Santana's, and there was no one else in the bed, so there had been no threesome. So why was Santana's arm around her? Santana pulled her closer into her, her leg entangling with Quinn's. Quinn froze. Something was happening…or was it had?

She struggled to remember the events of the night before. It started with a phone call. "Quinn! Drop whatever lame ass thing you're doing tonight, because tonight you're doing me!" Okay, that wasn't unusual. Santana's pick-up lines were always half-assed because honestly she didn't even try anymore because they both knew Quinn was Santana's go to hook-up. Although…now that she thought about it, it had been a little early in the evening when Santana called; the sun had still been up.

Quinn went over to Santana's place. That was normal. Santana pinned Quinn against the door as soon as she walked through it, kissing her roughly. Still normal. They drank some. Santana called her beautiful. That was…odd. Music was turned on, they kissed some more, Quinn and Santana had a show of dominance. Quinn won. She pushed Santana down onto the carpet, and brought her to orgasm…still nothing unusual. They ended up in Santana's bedroom. That was a given. (Well, not really. There were plenty of times that they never made it to the bedroom).

Okay, so they were in her room. Santana pushed Quinn down onto the bed. Mouths were everywhere, breasts rubbed together, Santana was on top and had her leg wedged between Quinn's, her knee occasionally hitting her core. Santana had gone slow. Teasing her towards an orgasm, but backing down before she could achieve it. That was…fun. A lot of the time their transactions were just that, transactions. Sometimes they drank before sex, sometimes they made out. Most times they didn't. Well, didn't kiss on the lips, anyway. Sometimes one or the other would spend the night, but it was rare for the other to bother with saying good-bye before they left, but they always left with the other satisfied. Sexually.

Quinn dismissed Santana's teasing. She could have just been bored last night and didn't have anything else to do. Quinn finally came, hard, she blacked out, and now she was here. With Santana cuddling her. She felt like somewhere in there she had missed something.

"You're thinking too loudly," Santana grumbled. Quinn lifted a hand to push Santana off of her, and saw something small, and glittery, wrapped around her finger. If Quinn didn't know better, she would have thought it was a ring. If Quinn really didn't know better, she would have thought it was an engagement ring.

Her hand paused in the air.

Okay, it was definitely time for Santana to be up. Quinn shoved her, nearly pushing her off the bed. "San!"

Santana growled, actually growled, as she sat up on her side. "Quinn, I swear my apartment better be on fire. What. The. Hell!"

"What did you do?"

A confused frown appeared on Santana's sleepy face as she thought about it. She was sure that she'd turned the stove off, and she was doubly sure that she had given Quinn multiple orgasms the night before so…that covered everything right? She bit down on her bottom lip trying to figure out what had Quinn's panties in a bunch. Quinn watched the action, disgusted with herself. Was she really getting turned on over a lip bite? Like really? Now?

Santana seemed to give up. "I don't know, Q, what did I do? And while we're playing 21 questions, why am I not sleeping right now?" A thought seemed to occur to her, and Santana suddenly looked hopeful. "Hey, since you're up, you wanna make me breakfast?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Fucking Un. Believe. Able."

Hope vanished from Santana's face and she looked utterly miserable. "So…no?" When Quinn didn't answer, Santana rolled back over, pulling the sheets around her.

Quinn pushed her again. "You're not going back to sleep!"

"Q, you're giving me whiplash!" Santana protested. "Make up your mind! Sleep or breakfast?" Another thought seemed to possess Santana, and Quinn was astounded at how quickly Santana turned around and was on top of Quinn, tugging her hand between their bodies. "Or you could give me a morning quickie."

Quinn pulled her hand away. "I'm not giving you a quickie!"

Santana grunted and rolled off of her. She shook her head. "Unh, I need coffee." Without bothering to dress, Santana got out of the bed and headed for her kitchen. She started the Keurig, listening to it warm up. Quinn, after pausing to put on a shirt and pull on shorts that belonged to Santana, came stomping behind her, coming into the kitchen just as Santana was peeking into the refrigerator. Quinn couldn't help but be appreciative of the sight of Santana's bare ass in the air, swaying in tune to the song Santana was singing under her breath. Quinn stood in the doorway, just staring.

Quinn was sure there was a reason she'd gone chasing after Santana, but all Quinn could think about in that moment, was pushing her into the fridge door, hiking her leg up, and taking her right there. Quinn had actually taken a few strides to do just that, when she shook her head. Now was not the time. Santana noticed Quinn had joined her. She closed the door. "Babe, I really think that you should be making me breakfast since you woke me up at like," she checked the clock. "9:00 a.m. On Saturday!"

Quinn briefly remembered that she had things she was supposed to be doing today, the start of which was waking up in her own bed. She was wasting time by being here. "Don't call me babe," Quinn said crossly.

Santana shrugged. "Okay, Quinn. Breakfast?"

"I'm not making you breakfast, Santana!"

Santana pouted. "Boo. You're a terrible wife! No sex, no food. What kind of woman doesn't make her wife breakfast after dragging her out of bed?" In a huff Santana pulled down a mug, and slapped a carton into the brewer.

Santana's words brought Quinn back to where her mind needed to be. "Okay, first, I'm not you're wife, second…did you really freaking propose while we were having sex?"

A twisted smile appeared on Santana's face, and she looked pretty proud of herself. "Yea. I was going to put the ring on my clit and tell you to go down on me, but I thought that the way I did it was a better touch." Although, now that she was thinking about it, Santana really wasn't sold on the clit not being the better choice. Quinn was amazing with her tongue.

"You can't ask someone to marry you in the middle of sex!"

"What?" Santana questioned. She had been envisioning Quinn sucking the ring off of her clit and had got distracted. "Why not?" Quinn was startled to realize that she was absolutely serious. "You said yes."

"Cause I was out of my mind,"

Again with the smile. "I know." There was no mistaken it that time. Bitch was proud of herself. The machine stopped pouring and Santana squealed. "Whoo, coffee's done!" She paused in a moment of consideration. "I'm not really used to doing the morning thing with you. Do you want a cup, too?"

Santana didn't wait for an answer. She sat the cup in front of Quinn and immediately went to brewing another. Quinn, though slightly touched by the gesture, was not to be distracted. "We're not getting married, Santana!"

"You said yes," Santana said matter-of-factly. "No halfsies, no take-backs."

Quinn rolled her eyes and her fingers tensed as she willed herself not to smack the woman standing in front of her. The naked woman in front of her. The naked women drinking coffee in front of her. What was she doing? Oh, right. "You can't use playground logic on a wedding proposal."

Santana smiled down happily into her cup of coffee, but then looked up and squinted at Quinn. "Why not?"

"Are you serious?"

"Totally. You said yes."

Quinn couldn't believe that she was having this conversation! Santana proposing wasn't a surprise in the 'Oh my God, I can't believe that the person that I'm completely in love with wants to actually spend their lives with me' kind of way. It was a surprise the way Hiroshima was a surprise to the Japanese villager who didn't know that they were at war. She and Santana had definitely, definitely not made it to this point in their relationship.

Actually, they didn't have a relationship. They weren't dating. They had a mutually beneficial symbiotic connection that started in college, and kind of just never ended. Every couple of months or so, they'd run into each other seemingly by chance (though at first it was all planned because you can't accidentally run into someone you live a hundred miles away from, even if Santana always said surprise!), they'd have sex, maybe for a couple of days or weekends in a row, and then they wouldn't talk for a couple of months.

It worked for them. They had never exchanged 'I love you's', they never cuddled, most of the time one of them left in the middle of the night because they both preferred their own beds. They were fuck buddies, nothing more. After all this time the most adoration Santana had ever expressed was sending Quinn flowers one year on Valentine's Day (which Santana later sent her the bill for) when she needed an emergency rescue from a jerk at work, and the most concern Santana had showed for her general well-being was Santana telling her, after she had gone down on Quinn, "Oh, yeah…so I kind of had sex with some really sketch chick last month and didn't use a dam, so you might want to get checked out." Well she did follow that up with an 'Everything check out?' text a month later, which was instantly negated by the 'Cool, so wanna bump uglies' one that came after Quinn texted her back 'yes'.

Quinn studied the girl that she's known for more than a decade. They probably knew each other better than anyone else ever would, and yet nothing in their past suggested that those particular words would come out of her mouth, and certainly not be directed towards her. Maybe Santana forgot she wasn't Brittany. "You're actually serious? Like you are seriously proposing that you and I get married?"

Santana gave her head a firm nod. "Yep."

"Why?"

Santana looked Quinn in the eye, her face adopting a serious look. "I don't know, Q, I just guess I woke up one day and I realized that the only person who ever truly got me was you, and…," Santana burst out laughing, spilling coffee as she did so. "Dude, I can't. I almost gagged just trying to say that sappy crap." Santana shrugged. "Think about it, Q. We've been friends for years, we're already having sex and we enjoy it, and you know, maybe I love you."

Quinn's lips pulled into a straight line, in a very school teacher kind of way. It made Santana wonder why Quinn never wore her hair up and her glasses on when they had sex. "We need a ruler," Santana mumbled.

"What?"

Santana shook her head. "Huh? Nothing. Did you say something?"

Quinn was still wearing the stern teacher look. "I said, 'do you really'?" She repeated, probably in as sarcastically a voice as she used the first time she said it when Santana wasn't paying attention. Santana knew that Quinn took her response for the utter bullshit it probably was.

"Dunno. I'm not used to that question being posed without music being involved. Why don't you sing me something so I can be sure? I'll hum in the background if you need me to."

Quinn took a much needed step back from the counter. "Okay, I'm going to go take a shower, and then I'm getting dressed and going home."

Santana scratched at her ear. "Er…okay. Like I said, I'm new to this, but I thought that maybe we'd hang today, or something, but I guess if you have things you have to do I understand. Can I tell my mom, though, or do you…is that something we should do together?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "We're not getting married, Santana!"

"God, you're just being confusing now! We both agreed that there's no take backs. I asked, you said yes. It's too early for all this back and forth, Fabray! I hope we're not going to be like this our whole marriage."

Quinn felt like pulling her hair out. "Santana, what is this really about?"

Santana sipped on her coffee innocently. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid, and neither are you. Where is this coming from? Why are you really asking me to marry you?"

Santana decided to level with Quinn. Maybe it would help. She sat her mug on the counter. "Okay, so I may or may not have made a bet that I'd get married before Puck would, and I just found out…you know Puck's getting married in a month?"

Quinn's jaw actually dropped open at her words. "This is about a bet? You proposed to me because of a bet?"

"Well…yeah. I mean, I could have asked a stranger or something, but we have great sex and you're kind of hot…I mean we'd make a cute couple, I think."

Quinn wanted to make sure that she had all the facts. "You want to get married because of a bet?"

Santana looked seriously into her eyes. "I really hate losing, Quinn."

"I'm not gay, S. Why in the world would I marry you?"

Santana shrugged, closing off the distance that was between them. She looked in Quinn's eyes. "Well, I do do that thing with my tongue that you really like." Santana purred, letting the tongue in question slip over her thick, plush lips. Quinn's eyes followed the movement. She felt heat move to her abdomen at the sight. She shivered. Santana backed her into the counter. "And, you'd get to have sex with me whenever you want."

Quinn swallowed. "And…uh…how is that an incentive?"

Santana postured. "You get to have sex with me whenever you want. How is that not an incentive? I mean have you had sex with me?"

"Yes, and it wasn't great enough for me to want to marry someone over it."

"I beg to differ," Santana protested. "You're not even walking straight right now!"

Quinn flushed. "Only cause my back pain keeps flaring up."

Santana chuckled. "Right, Quinnie. Your 'back' is about as queer as the rest of you, and you're pretty gay, Quinn, hate to break it to you."

"You still haven't told me a logical reason for marrying you."

"Oh come on, Quinn, I'm like the best relationship you've ever had." Quinn scoffed. "Alright, fine, I'm the longest relationship that you've ever had."

This stopped Quinn short because sadly that was true. And incredibly sad. She was 29 years old for crying out loud. What the hell did it say about her that the only thing that had been consistent in her life all this time was Santana? "I don't really have sex with other women when we're on anymore, and I bet the only time that you sleep with someone else is when you realize that you haven't been sleeping with anyone but me."

Now that…was scarily accurate. But it was a recent development. As in the past four years recent development. It was just that this thing that she had with Santana was easy. She didn't have to try. She didn't have to put in work. All she had to do was call Santana when she needed a tuning, and Santana would show up. She only broke with that agreement when she realize that she was never going to ever get married if she didn't date, so she'd go out with some John from work, but she never seemed to connect with anyone. Other than Santana. Good God, if Santana somehow turned out to be the love of her life she was going to shoot herself. Or the Geico lizard because, seriously, it was time.

"And I'm kind of fond of you Quinnie," Santana said teasingly, but there was some truth to it, too. Quinn could hear it in Santana's voice. "Tell you what: if you say yes, I'll get up and cook breakfast for you every other Saturday."

It was a suspiciously generous offer considering how late Santana liked to sleep on the weekends. "For how long?"

"A year."

Quinn's brow furrowed. "How long do you think we'd be married?"

"Forever. I'm Catholic, babe."

"You're also gay."

"Minor details. I'll carry our first child."

Quinn wasn't sure which part needed to be addressed the most. The word first, child, or the fact that she was even entertaining this conversation.

"Umm…how many children would you want? Hypothetically speaking of course because we're not going to get married."

Santana shrugged. "At least two. If we just have one then we'll give birth to the next Rachel Berry," Santana shuttered and Quinn laughed. "The world wouldn't survive."

"You know you love her."

"In small, small doses," Santana responded. "I'll even let you raise the kids Catholic."

"I'm Protestant, Santana."

Santana winked at her. "I know…that's why I'm saying I will let you. It's an honor, take it."

"We're not getting married."

"I won't buy you corny crap on Valentine's Day, but I will dedicate a whole day to you somewhere between March and June and make you feel really special because I want to and not because television tells me I have to."

"No."

"I'll watch Sex and the City with you when you get your period like I know you like to do, and I won't even complain."

"You won't complain."

"Much. I'll even make sure that you have chocolate, and I'll rub your belly."

"No."

Santana realized that she was going to have to pull out the big guns, though she was foggy on why she even had to bother since Quinn had already said yes. It was only fair that she went through with it. "I'll like only sleep with you, and stuff. Unless you want to have a threesome. Or foursome. Or an orgy, I'm not picky, but I'll at least tell you beforehand if I'm about to have sex with someone else."

"You already do that anyway," Quinn pointed out.

Santana thought about it. "Do I? Shit, I really am in a relationship with you, aren't I? Well, then, it makes even more sense that the two of us get married since I mean we practically already are."

"How many times do I have to tell you-,"

"Get off of it, Quinn, you're totally going to marry me. We're like perfect for each other, and stuff. I never really thought about it, but there's probably a reason that neither of us have had serious relationship with anyone else, and our periods have already synced up." Santana nodded as it was settled. "And, if you say yes, when we buy a house, if there's only a one car garage, I'll park out on the street, and you can have the driveway?"

Quinn actually paused. So did Santana. "Really, Q? That's what gets you?"

"What?" Quinn questioned innocently. "You've seen my hair when it rains!"

"You'd marry me for a parking space?"

Quinn was actually starting to consider the idea. She shook her head. "Course not."

"Hey, and when we get old, and wrinkly, and you're not so hot anymore, and you stop having sex with me, I won't put you in a nursing home."

"Really?"

"Nah, I'll like, move you to a back room in the house, and move my young girlfriend in, but I totally won't abandon you."

"Why do you sound like you mean that?"

"Cause I do."

"I can't listen to this anymore. If I say yes, will you finally shut up?"

"You already said yes," Santana pointed out.

"Fine, fine, yes, I'll do it, but only because Russell hasn't disowned me yet, and the news of me marrying another girl will probably send him to an early grave...and then I'll get my inheritance."

"Vicious."

"You love it."

Santana gave a half nod. "I think maybe I do."

"But I'm not changing my name."

"Of course you're changing your name. What's the point of marrying me if you're not going to become a Lopez?"

"Why am I the one changing my name?"

"Do you know how lame Santana Fabray sounds? And anyway, I'm like the butchest of the two of us so you should have my name."

"Butch, please! You get a manicure every weekend."

"I know how to change a tire. And the oil. Plus: I was a cheerleader."

"So was I."

"Yea, but I was a cheerleader longer. Which makes me more athletic, and athleticism totally makes me the dude."

"I have a tongue ring and a tattoo."

"Of Ryan Seacrest! And you took the tongue ring out!"

"You read fashion magazines!"

"You actually had a thing for Robert Pattinson!"

"I did not."

"Oh, you so did."

"I'm on top more."

Santana blushed, licking her lips subconsciously. "Yea, well, that's just because I worry about your back. I'm totally the real top; I just dominate from the bottom."

"How does Quinn Lopez, Lucy Lopez, sound any better than Santana Fabray?"

"Are you kidding? Lucy Lopez is totally way better. First it's because it's Lopez. Secondly, if you were to get a monogrammed shirt it would look like it says L.O.L."

Quinn was honestly doubting her sanity. Did she really say she'd marry this woman? She rubbed at her temple. "What if we combine them?"

"Seriously, Q? You're supposed to be all smart and that's your solution? You want to make some poor child walk around with the name Fabrez or Lopray?"

"Err…right. What if we hyphenate it?"

"That's so gay!"

"And marrying a woman isn't?"

"Oh, point. Okay…but my name goes first."

"Why does your name go first?"

"Because Lopez-Fabray sounds better than Fabray-Lopez," Santana stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Fabray-Lopez sounds much better," Quinn insisted, saying so only because she didn't want Santana to get her way.

Santana shrugged a shoulder. "Fabray-Lopez it is. God, you're such a sucker, Quinn. No one's going to bother with saying the Fabray. You totally just took my name!"

Santana did a little victory dance around the kitchen. It was so ridiculous, and so freaking cute, and Santana was still so absolutely naked, (and Quinn had just agreed to marry this girl, so it was her right anyway), that Quinn couldn't help herself. She wrapped an arm around Santana's forearm, roughly pulling Santana to her. Their lips slammed together almost painfully, joining together in a kiss that could only be described as nothing short of carnal.

Quinn felt Santana pull back her lips enough to smile into her own for a quick second before she started to kiss her back, a hand dropping to lewdly cup her ass. "I knew you'd see it my way," Santana smirked.

Quinn was absolutely fed up with Santana. "Shut. UP," Quinn grunted, biting down on Santana's lip. It did the job because she stopped talking. Quinn quickly licked the spot she had bit to soothe the burn, and Santana's tongue chased after hers, seeking contact. Quinn practically pushed Santana into the countertop, before she lifted her up, and sat her on the counter. Santana kicked her legs open, giving Quinn a front row seat to her glistening sex. "Well, well, Fabray," Santana said seductively. "Now that you've got me here, what are you going to do with me?"

Quinn licked her lips, and Santana tensed in eager anticipation thinking that Quinn was about to go down on her, but she didn't. Quinn settled herself in between Santana's legs, wrapping those sensuous appendages around her waist, Santana's unclothed sex, pressed against her barely covered core. Santana moaned softly every time the bottom of the shorts hit her in just the right way. "What should I do?" Quinn teased.

"Anything you want, baby," Santana returned.

Quinn's mouth came back down on hers, and Santana didn't even try to fight for dominance, letting Quinn's tongue lay claim to her mouth, tasting her thoroughly. Kissing, especially like this, wasn't something they did often. Usually it was done just to speed them towards the end, and for sure they both knew exactly where this was going, but it wasn't quite the same as any of those other times. Santana's hands trailed up Quinn's arms to her hair and neck, pulling her even closer to deepen the kiss. How had she never known how hot kissing Quinn was? Why didn't they do this more often?

The answer came to her immediately: because it was intimate, and intimacy was one thing that they didn't do. Santana was liking this, though. She was seriously thinking that she wouldn't mind if this became their Saturday morning routine. Well, correction, she wouldn't mind if this became their late Saturday morning routine cause it was still too freaking early.

Quinn watched Santana's thoughts flicker in her eyes. Santana, seeing her stare, met her gaze. Their heated moment had temporarily passed; Quinn couldn't even tell you when they stopped kissing. They took a moment to just enjoy being together like this. A short moment. Santana's need became more pressing, and her hips started to rock slowly on the countertop, seeking out some needed friction. Quinn's fingers crept down Santana's torso, crawling over her abs until they slid between Santana's legs. Santana's legs parted for the finger that Quinn drew along the folds of Santana's core, teasing.

$ "Quinn," Santana pleaded. Before the word was fully out, Quinn slipped two fingers inside of her, coming across very little resistance because Santana was so freaking wet.

Quinn placed a very light finger onto Santana's clit, eliciting a garbled groan from Santana, who bucked forward. "I want to watch you to fuck yourself," Quinn purred. Santana's hooded eyes, dark with lust, didn't leave Quinn's. She nodded, obediently rocking her hips slowly on Quinn's fingers. Still maintaining eye contact, Quinn leaned forward to initiate another slow burning kiss, her lips slowly moving downward to lay claim to Santana's neck. Santana started to throw her head back to give Quinn easier access, forgetting where she was sat. Before her head smacked against the counter though, Quinn placed a hand behind her head. When Santana's head smacked into it, it caused the both of them to giggle at what had just happened, but Quinn's hand didn't move, and Santana never stopped moving against her.

It was hella sexy. Santana was just so freaking sexy, and Quinn realized that she never fully noticed before because she never allowed herself to. Things between them had always been temporary, and maybe they still were, but for the moment Santana was allowing her to claim some permanence, and Quinn was surprised by how much she was enjoying the thought.

Without a break in her movements, Santana leaned forward, and pulled Quinn's shirt off, smiling at how hard her nipples were, how obvious Quinn's arousal was. Quinn didn't have much in the breast area, just a handful, but Santana wasn't complaining. She knew how to work with what she had, and she knew how to make a woman feel appreciative of her skills. Quinn leaned into her caress, shuttering every time Santana's fingernail scraped against her nipples.

Still slowly working herself on Quinn's fingers, Santana slipped Quinn's shorts down just far enough that she could slip a hand inside of them, using a steadying hand on Quinn's back to pull her closer. When Santana's fingers came in contact with Quinn's heated core, Quinn wondered for a minute if she should feel embarrassed over how wet she was, but the thought had barely time to settle before Santana's fingers were inside of her, working her over. Santana's fingers kept pace with her own thrusting hips, her thumb casually flicking over Quinn's clit every now and then.

It was an incredibly intimate moment. They moved in tandem, barely touching each other at any point other than their hands. Santana's spare hand had moved and was stilled on Quinn's breast, and Quinn's was lightly touching Santana's cheek. Nothing was said between them as they moved in the same rhythm, eyes staring into each other, quiet moans and gasps the only sounds that entered into the moment.

Santana reached her climax first, and Quinn came tumbling down almost immediately after. It was perhaps one of the gentlest orgasms either had ever given or received and after, they both just stared at each other, their bare chests heaving as they both tried to regain their breath. Quinn wasn't sure, but she was almost positive that something monumental had just happened.

This gentle quiet lasted for maybe another minute or two before Santana jumped down from the counter. She pulled the shorts back up for Quinn. "So I can tell my mom now, right?"

Quinn's head merely moved up and down in stunned agreement. "Awesome! She'll be so happy, and now I no longer have to hear her ask me when I'm going to get on with it. I'm going to go take a shower." Santana started to dash away, but paused for a moment to kiss Quinn on the cheek. She took two steps towards the bathroom before she paused, again, this time stilled by the sudden realization that she and Quinn were actually going to get married. Santana turned back towards Quinn, gave her ass a firm slap, and whispered 'eggs' into Quinn's ear.

"I thought you were doing Saturday breakfasts," Quinn protested, but Santana was already gone and had the shower running before the words were out. Dumbfounded, Quinn just kind of stood there until she did the only thing that she could. She went searching through Santana's eggs for a frying pan, and made Santana her damn breakfast.