Author's Note: Most of these were originally posted on tumblr but were never archived until now. They are included in posting order. Unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

The first ficlet is set directly before Just Give Me A Little Bit More.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

Every Girl and Boy Needs A Little Joy

Every girl and boy needs a little joy.
All you do is sit and stare.
~Do You Wanna Touch Me, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Rachel never had the opportunity to be a true college girl in the sense that other college girls did. Social activities at NYADA usually consisted of backstabbing fellow students for a role—not that she ever personally did (very much of) that—rather than just hanging out at a coffee shop and chatting about something as mundane as the weather with an eclectic mix of fellow students from all manner of scholastic interests. She'd always been just a little bit jealous of Quinn during those weekend visits to Yale because she'd been immersed in the quintessential—no pun intended—college experience. Rachel suspects that if she'd actually been close enough to Santana during their college years to bother to visit the sprawling blocks of the Upper West Side that housed the Columbia campus, she'd have been equally jealous of her college experience as well.

She finds it amusing that she's actually been on campus to visit Santana more now that Santana is in med school and, therefore, actually on campus less. They're getting along better these days—Rachel knows it's less that Santana genuinely wants to spend the extra time with her and more that Rachel is Quinn's girlfriend now and has become a somewhat tolerable substitute when Quinn's not available. On their better days, she entertains the notion that maybe—just maybe—Santana actually likes her for more reasons than just their shared affection for Quinn. In any case, Rachel will never turn down the offer of a free cup of coffee from the Joe Coffee in Morningside Heights, even if it means listening to Santana bitch and moan about her insane schedule, her fellow med students, and the intricacies of endless medical terms that Rachel is, frankly, leery to ask for clarification on. Mostly, she just hums and grunts encouragingly in what she deems are the appropriate places.

It's Santana who actually turns their latest conversation toward the personal when she complains that, "I don't even have the time or energy for a decent mattress tango anymore. How the fuck am I supposed to unwind? I needs a warm body under me or I get twitchy?"

Rachel rolls her eyes into her coffee cup as she takes another sip. "Not that I am in any way soliciting the details of your sexual antics, but I thought that you were currently engaging in one of your little, mutually beneficial non-relationships. Chloe, isn't it?" she asks. "The psychology major?"

Santana shrugs. "I had to cut that one off short."

"Don't you cut them all off short?" Rachel wonders, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but Chloe was too kinky, even for me. I like me some toys as much as the next lesbian. Give me a good strap-on and a woman who knows how to use it," she murmurs, smiling fondly for a moment as her dark eyes taking on a distant look before she snaps back to the present with an exaggerated grimace. "But I draw the line at nipple clamps. Those little fuckers hurt like a bitch."

Rachel's lips part silently as she watches Santana take a sip of her coffee. Once again, it's more information than she was looking for, and she shudders in sympathy at the thought of nipple clamps (because ouch!), but—well, she can't help wondering—

"You…um…you've used a…a strap-on?"

Santana gives her a weird look, and then she starts to laugh. "Aw, are you and Q not past the baby-lesbian stage yet? Still getting your fingers wet?" she taunts, curling her own in a lewd motion.

Rachel reaches over and closes her hand around Santana's, pushing it down as she glances around the coffee shop self-consciously. Santana only laughs harder. "Forget it," Rachel mutters, feeling her face heat even more.

"Come on, Tiny. Man up," she snickers at her own joke. "If you wanna play with the big-girl toys, just say so. Don't let Quinn top you every time."

"She doesn't," Rachel defends heatedly, regretting it the moment that she sees Santana flash a wolfish grin.

"You're way too easy," she teases wickedly. "I didn't even have to get you drunk this time to get some details."

Rachel ducks her head and stares down into her coffee cup. "Can we please talk about something else?" she begs, wondering why conversations with Santana always and inevitably circle back to sex. Still, Rachel can't deny that the possibility of moving past the baby-lesbian stage—as Santana so crassly phrased it—with Quinn is certainly something worth thinking about.