"Hey! Out of the way! I'm trying to get my shark on here, and you're blocking the view," Santana shouted, her words only slightly garbled around a mouthful of chips and salsa.

It was Quinn and Rachel's least favorite week of the year, that dreaded time when everything in their home lives ground to a screeching halt, seven days they despised and dreaded even more than Kurt and Blaine's annual apartment inspection: "Shark Week."

Sighing, they moved out Santana's line of sight of the enormous flat screen TV they now wished they hadn't bought prior to last year's "Shark Week," eliciting a grunt of approval, but no actual expression of thanks, from the transfixed Latina who sat, riveted, on the couch in her official uniform for the week - a T-shirt emblazoned with the words "Shark Week, Fuck Yeah!" and a pair of loose, baggy sweats. Santana had, of course, taken these days off from work so as to ensure she didn't miss a single rerun, let alone a second of new programming. To say that she was fascinated by all the aquatic goings-on would be an understatement. The rueful joke between the other two members of the household was that Santana loved sharks more than Rachel loved show tunes - a statement that would be completely unbelievable to any of their other friends, had they not witnessed Santana's mesmerized state for themselves.

"Should we call an exorcist? Cause I think she's been possessed by a shark demon," Brittany had asked worriedly the previous year, and Rachel and Quinn had actually looked at each other in silent consideration of the idea before laughingly dismissing it as just another whimsical Brittany-ism. Tina had commented that if Santana were a shark, she would be dead, because sharks have to swim continuously to stay alive, and the ex-cheerleader hadn't moved for the entire three hours that she'd been visiting.

Glumly, they made their way out of the living room and retreated to the kitchen, trying to think of a way to drag Santana's attention away from the television and onto them.

"Maybe if we threw some raw meat her way?" Quinn asked, referring to the way the intrepid film crews and show hosts attracted sharks to their boats in order to observe and record them. "I mean, I know we just had the carpet cleaned, but...desperate times and all that."

Rachel shook her head, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the thought. "Ew, no. Gross, Quinn," she exclaimed. "No, we'll have to think of another way. Maybe if we wore shark suits and sang 'Baby Shark' at the top of our lungs?"

"That would only get us the wrong kind of attention. You remember how she punched Puck in the face just for humming the theme from 'Jaws' during a particularly thrilling moment, don't you?"

Sighing, Rachel nodded. "Yes. Unfortunately. We had to get the carpet cleaned after that, too," she recalled. "I've never seen anyone's nose bleed so much."

"On the plus side, it's kept him from visiting again. He keeps saying that he won't set foot in this apartment again until Santana apologizes, which we both know is never going to happen. An actual sharknado is more likely," Quinn laughed.

Suddenly, Santana's voice came to them from the living room, an angry bellow: "Keep it down in there, you two! And will someone bring me more salsa? I'm almost out over here, and that is nobueno."

Rachel sighed again. "No rest for the weary." She rose from her seat at the kitchen table to get the industrial sized jar of salsa out of the refrigerator. It was only Wednesday, and Santana had already gone through half of it.

"I'll bring it over," Quinn volunteered, extending a hand for Rachel to pass her the jar. "I might look like less of a tasty morsel to Shark Girl over there."

"Is that a short joke?"

"No, it's just me saying I want to keep you out of danger. It comes purely from a place of love."

"Oh," Rachel brightened. "Well...that's okay, then."

Moments later, Quinn returned from the kitchen, having had the jar snatched from her hand with another grunt of acknowledgment as a great white stared menacingly from the screen with its cold, beady black eyes. The look Santana had given her had been frighteningly similar, sending a shiver of apprehension up Quinn's spine.

The blonde resumed her seat, clearly annoyed. "I think she's actually getting worse. Maybe we should do what Brittany said that one time. At this point, I'm willing to try anything."

"What's the going rate for shark exorcists in this city, I wonder? I don't imagine one would actually be cheap, if they, you know, existed."

"Funny. Points for you," Quinn replied. "There's got to be something we can do. It's like she disappears into a shark-induced haze, and nothing can get through."

A devious smile spread across Rachel's face then, and her eyes kindled with light. She rose from her seat with a determined expression and removed her black and grey striped top, revealing the lacy pink bra she wore beneath.

"Not that I don't appreciate the view," Quinn began, blinking in surprise as she watched Rachel shimmy out of her skintight yoga pants, "But - what are you doing?"

"You said you were willing to try anything, sweetie. So strip."

"Rachel - you don't think this is actually going to work, do you?" the blonde asked dubiously. "I mean, yes, I said what I said, but..." She shook her head, her short, lionesque mane of blonde hair bobbing along. "Okay, fine. It's worth a shot, I guess."

With that, she got up and pulled her floral print sundress up and over her head, careful not to pull her silky slip off along with it. Quinn had gotten past her issues with sexuality and body image a long time ago, but she still wasn't as comfortable in this semi-clothed state as Rachel was. She sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a sharp exhale.

"You look beautiful, Quinn." She gave the blonde a soft smile, knowing that was just what Quinn needed to relax and calm her vestigial nerves. She'd come a very long way since the three of them had first entered into their unusual trio relationship, but every now and then, she still needed a word of reassurance, and Rachel was only too happy to provide it. "Sexy and classy, as always."

Quinn blushed again. "Thanks," she murmured. "You don't look so bad yourself."

"Let's see if we look good enough to pry Santana away from the TV." Rachel's eyes flickered towards the giant TV screen, wincing at the scene being displayed. "Ugh, what does she see in these shows? She insists that she appreciates their educational value, but I think that's just an excuse for all the blood and gore."

"And to think we were so happy when she started watching these shows instead of playing those awful shoot 'em up video games she got hooked on back in high school."

Rachel flashed her a grin, then put on her game face once more. "Oh, to be young and naive again. All right, are you ready? Follow my lead."

"Haven't I been doing that since we were in Glee?"

"And look where we are now," Rachel said. "Come on, let's do this."

She sauntered out of the kitchen in just her pink underthings, swaying her hips in a jaw-droppingly confident, irresistibly sexy way that left Quinn nearly breathless, almost forgetting to follow. Then, remembering her own childhood dance training, Quinn trailed the shorter woman, their paths diverging around either end of the couch, ending with each of them flanking the television.

"Oh, Santanaaaa..." Rachel sing-songed, wriggling her body like the sensuous siren she was, signaling for Quinn to do the same.

The Latina looked up from her nearly empty bag of chips, blinking dazedly at the sight of her two girlfriends smiling and posing seductively, wearing almost nothing. The sound of the loud, annoying commercial presently being played faded into the background as her eyes flitted from Quinn in her short, slinky slip, to Rachel in her pretty pink bra and matching panties.

"Hey, baby," Quinn called. "Watch this, not that." She pointed to the screen, now playing a different, but equally loud and annoying commercial.

Rachel walked towards her, and Quinn strode over to meet her exactly in the middle - right in front of the television - and they both knew exactly what they had to do. The taller blonde angled her head down to meet the diminutive brunette's hungry gaze, and then their lips met in a passionate, searing kiss, almost instantly generating enough heat to melt everything in the room - including Santana, they hoped. Quickly, the kiss deepened, and Quinn couldn't quite keep herself from moaning into Rachel's open mouth. Rachel reached one of hers up and under Quinn's slip, while one of Quinn's came to rest on the other girl's perfectly tight, toned backside, which she gave a light squeeze.

"Mmmm," Rachel said, responding as she always did to the touch of either of her girls. "Quinn..."

They continued in this way, kissing and touching and making all sorts of erotic noises, as the reason for their actions faded into the background of their minds. Quinn squealed with pleasure when Rachel's hand found its way to one of her breasts. They found themselves getting lost in each other, lost in the pleasure they were sharing...

Until Santana's voice rang out over their sounds and those coming from the television, breaking them out of their waking dream.

"Hey, hey, could you please take your macking into the bedroom? Seriously, all that lip smacking is distracting as hell."

Quinn and Rachel looked at each other, dumbstruck. A moment of quick telepathic conversation later, they slunk away in defeat, shaking their heads on the way back to the kitchen, where they silently picked up the clothes they'd shed. Then they padded off into the bedroom, hearing the sound of Santana cheering on an apparently exceptionally vicious shark as it devoured another helpless bit of prey. Rachel plopped herself down on the bed as Quinn quietly closed the door behind her, then sat down as well.

"I can't believe she sent us to the bedroom," said the blonde, still upright, looking down at Rachel, who was lying prone and staring at the ceiling.

"Maybe she is possessed. I'm about to call Britt and ask her if she knows anyone who can rid us of her shark demon."

Quinn shook her head, laughing. She pulled her legs up and lay down on her side, idly playing with Rachel's hair. "Oh, it's not so bad."

"How do you figure that?" Rachel cried out in frustration. "Our girlfriend is out there, possessed by some dark god with...with fins - and gills, and - and rows of sharp, pointy teeth, and we can't get her back until the end of the week - again!"

Quinn's expression turned thoughtful for a moment, and then a smile bloomed across her pretty face, her hazel eyes sparkling. "That's true, unfortunately. But I look at it this way - let her have her sharks. We can make our own fun." She licked her lips suggestively.

Rachel turned over onto her side to face the blonde. "You know, I think you may have something there," she laughed. "How about we get back to our previously scheduled macking, already in progress?"

Quinn leaned forward to capture Rachel's lips with her own once more, and all thoughts of sharks were quickly forgotten as the simmering embers of the heat they'd generated before kindled into a roaring flame, hands and lips and tongues roaming with joyous abandon.

When Santana came into the bedroom after the evening's shark programming had ended, she smiled at seeing them sprawled out on the bed in a tangle of light and dark hair and limbs. She picked up the covers they'd thrown off the bad and pulled them over their naked, sleeping forms, then changed out of her clothes and snuggled into bed next to them. When the week was over, she made a silent promise that she'd make up for her lack of attention, as she always did. She loved her sharks a lot, but the truth was that she loved her girls more, and she would show them just how much, soon enough.

Thanks to DivineEscape for the prompt. I hope you all enjoyed this bit of 'Shark Week' fun. Let me know if you did by leaving a review!