A/N: Do you guys know that feeling when you get into a new show or something and you see some cute characters, and you tell yourself, "I'll just ship this a little." Lemme tell you something: THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS ONLY SHIPPING SOMETHING A LITTLE. Not even in a show like Family Guy. Shippers go big or go home apparently. I also would like to apologize for the awful title. They can't all be winners, and some are downright terrible puns.

Anyway, I blame this on my binge-watching of Family Guy since classes let out two weeks ago. I've graduated and I don't have a job yet, so Quagmire/Meg fanfiction seemed like a good use of my time. I am so, so sorry, but it's hinted at in, like, every other episode. Whatever this turns out to be, I hope you enjoy it at least. Reviews are more than welcome, as always. I'm going to give it my very best effort to NOT make this a PWP fic, but whatever happens, happens. It's going to start out terribly unsexy and quite honestly, it might even be a little frustrating, but there will ultimately be some graphic content, so I'll adjust the rating when we get to that.

DISCLAIMER: I obvs don't own FG or associated characters. If I did, there would be a lot more sexual tension.

On with the show!

Meg shivered as she stood on the stoop, staring at the Palladian moulding around the door as snow gathered along its edge. She wrapped her arms around herself as she took in every notch, every panel, anything she could focus on to keep herself from knocking. Shuffling her feet, she tensed against a bitter gust of wind. Meg hated this. No date was worth this. If she'd known hours ago that she'd be standing in front of Quagmire's door, at the mercy of the elements, she never would have agreed to meet this Toby guy.

How easy it would have been to just say no. She wouldn't even have to have done that. She could have just logged off and planned out her Valentine's Day like every other one for the last three years: by herself in her room with Coldplay and a box of chocolates. The thought alone was depressing. Even she couldn't pretend like the thought of being alone again didn't terrify her more than meeting some guy from the Internet for a day together ("and maybe a nite 2" he'd messaged her, followed with a winky face). She'd felt the rush of excitement just before the sinking dread of realizing she was not in any way prepared to spend time with a boy. Physically, she supposed she could manage. She'd grabbed a razor and some Nair and in under an hour, she considered herself a decent specimen, worthy of romantic entanglement. But mentally, she was still a scared little teenager, in way over her head. It didn't help that she'd told him she'd had "her fair share of experience" when he'd asked. If she didn't count the mess with Jimmy Fallon or the time she'd spent with Quagmire after she turned 18, then she hadn't had an "experience" to speak of. In fact, the close encounter she'd had with her neighbor had been the closest she'd come to having a complete relationship. Who else was she going to ask for help in this?

Another gust managed to weasel its way past her scarf and whittled away the last of her resolve. If nothing else, she wanted in out of the cold. She rapped her knuckles a few times against the heavy door. Moments later, the latch clicked and it swung open to reveal Glenn Quagmire in one of his trademark Hawaiian shirts, a relaxed grin on his face.

"Meg," he greeted warmly, stepping aside to beckon her in, "What brings you around?" She felt warmth wash over her as she stepped into his retro living room. He shut the door behind her, taking her coat as she slipped her boots off in the entryway. "Can I offer you some coffee, or hot cocoa?"

"Cocoa sounds wonderful, Mr. Quagmire, thank you," Meg shivered, slipping her scarf off as he hooked her coat on the hall tree and disappeared into the kitchen. She left the scarf with her coat and wandered over to the couch, settling in next to the freestanding fireplace. It crackled merrily alongside the popping sound of Bing Crosby drifting from the record player.

"So what are you doing out in the cold, Meg?" Quagmire inquired from the kitchen. Meg could hear cabinet doors open and close as he prepared the cocoa. She was struck by a moment of panic when she remembered his affinity for roofies, but she dismissed it. Getting knocked out would just mean that she wouldn't have to go through with this presumably awkward conversation, and anyway, she was too cold to turn down a mug of cocoa.

"I actually was wondering if you had time to talk," she lied. In reality, she'd been hoping there would be no answer when she knocked, but she wasn't going to tell him that as she warmed her hands by the fire. She heard the familiar click and whoosh as the stove was lit and a pan was settled on a burner.

"All the time in the world," he assured her as she swore under her breath, "They cancelled all the flights out of Quahog because of that storm blowing in tonight, giggity, so I get to relax until we're cleared to fly again." Meg started as his head appeared around the corner. "Marshmallows?"

"Yes, please," she smiled gratefully as he disappeared back into the kitchen, "That must be nice, to get a day off." She immediately scowled at herself. Yes, let's get him talking about work, she thought viciously. Everyone loves talking about work. Idiot.

"Actually, it is. They've had me flying all over this week, mostly down to Florida. People are trying to beat the storm, take a vacation for a little action, all that jazz." She sighed as the feeling returned to her fingertips. Well, maybe she wasn't a total disaster at small talk. "It's a shame to miss out on the cash, but other than that, I'm not complaining."

"It must be nice to get to see so many places," she remarked absently, wondering just how wonderful it was to jump in a plane and fly away from this mess of a city.

"Best thing in the world," he smiled broadly as he strolled around the corner, a mug in each hand, "I can't imagine doing anything else." She thanked him as he handed her the mug, relishing the warmth it brought to her cool hands. "So," he began, setting his mug on the glass coffee table, "what did you want to talk about?" Meg felt herself freeze up. Quagmire had always been impossibly direct and she stared at the puffy, white marshmallows bobbing in her mug as she struggled to organize her thoughts.

"I, uh - this might come out a little strange, but I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor," she muttered, making pointed eye contact with the girl on the front of a coffee table Playboy. Why couldn't she just ask that girl instead of her neighbor? Surely it would be at least a little less awkward…and anyway, there was no way a magazine cover could judge her for what she wanted to ask.

"You know you can ask me anything, Meg," Quagmire reassured her with a smile, relaxing in the lounge chair as he draped an arm over the back, "I mean, c'mon, if we're not there…" He chuckled, and she nervously chuckled with him, taking a tentative sip of her cocoa, which was still much too hot. Sucking on the stinging spot on her tongue, she smiled awkwardly.

"It's funny you should say that," she tested the waters, slowly raising her eyes to meet his. He looked as relaxed as ever. It frustrated her how cool he could be when she sat here and struggled to ask a simple question, and so she just burst out with it. "I was hoping maybe you could teach me a couple…things." The reassuring smile was replaced by a look of shrewd curiosity.

"Things, huh?" Quagmire repeated.

"Yeah," Meg confirmed.

"What kind of things?" he asked. She felt her heart begin to race. He was going to make her say the words. Surely he could infer what "things" she was talking about. What else was she going to ask him about? She suddenly became very aware that the record had stopped and the only sounds she could hear were the crackling of the fire and her heart pounding in her ears.

"Well, y'know, I don't have a lot of experience with…intimate things," she muttered timidly. His expression didn't falter except for a slight eyebrow twitch, but it went unnoticed by Meg. "And I kinda maybe told a guy I did, and so I was wondering if there was anything that you might be able to teach me." He stayed quiet. She searched his face for clues as his eyes narrowed in thought. She was overcome with horror as he stood and walked away. "But only if you want to, of course!" she heard herself jabbering quickly into her cocoa, "It's not a big deal, I just thought if I should ask someone, it should be someone I know, and I know we kind of almost - and that probably makes this really weird. If it's a bad idea, just tell me, I totally won't be offended - I'll just go, no big deal, we don't have to ever talk about it again. What do you say?" She felt light headed as her frantic babbling ran out of steam. He paused next to the record player and gently lifted the needle, flipped the vinyl, and set the point back down on the edge of the record. Bobby Darin crooned softly along with his brass accompaniment as Quagmire sauntered back to his seat and settled in, scooping up his mug of cocoa and taking a sip.

"Just relax," he advised, and the smile was back. She was at a loss; it was clear that, if he'd heard her rant, he'd ignored it. He licked his lips and settled the mug in his lap as he crossed an ankle over his knee. "What do you want to know?" Meg blinked and took a few deep breaths. Why in the world would she expect Quagmire of all people to turn down talking about sex?

"I, uh, hadn't really thought that far ahead," she admitted, taking another sip. The cocoa was a much more tolerable temperature and she savored the rich chocolate flavor as she felt herself thaw. "I guess I don't really know what guys like."

"Well, have you tried talking about him?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded, "That's the only thing I think I'm doing right."

"It's a good place to start," he added, taking another sip as he relaxed into the lounge chair, "You have a guy in mind, right?" Meg grinned and considered the handle of her mug.

"Yeah, his name's Toby. We've been messaging back and forth a little," she remarked, gulping down some more cocoa.

"You met him on the Internet?" Quagmire asked, the shrewd look returning. Meg nodded again. "So you haven't actually seen him in person?" She slowly shook her head. Was that…disapproval on his face?

"Is that a bad idea?" she wondered aloud. She knew it could be dangerous, but of all the people to be judging her for risky romantic endeavors –

"No, not necessarily, it just means we don't have a lot to go off of," Quagmire mused aloud. Meg relaxed. The last thing she needed was one more person critiquing her life choices. "I was gonna ask if he perked up when you brought up anything in conversation, but it's hard to tell when he's not in front of you." She watched as he ran a slender finger against the rim of his mug in thought. "The Internet, though, that's exciting, huh?" He took a drink.

"Yeah," Meg nodded, "And I don't think he's a drug dealer or anything! We're supposed to spend Valentine's Day together, and he said maybe we could spend the night together, too, and at first I was really excited…" She trailed off, sipping at the cocoa.

"But?"

"Well, it's just that I don't really know what to expect and I sort of told him that I did and," she sighed as the panic returned, "now I'm kinda worried that he'll be put off if I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing." It was Quagmire's turn to nod as she stared at him helplessly. "Do you think there's any advice you could give me?" He laughed.

"Meg, you've come to the right place," he assured her, leaning forward to set his mug on the coffee table again, "I'm a veritable well of information on all things hot." She smiled nervously as he leaned forward in the chair. "How about this? You go home and start thinking about questions you have and I'll put together some, ah, materials for you to review."

"What, like a curriculum?" she questioned. As if she didn't spend enough of her time in class as it was.

"Yeah, something like that," he grinned, "A curriculum for being sexy. What say you come back around seven?" She glanced at the sunburst clock ticking away on the wall. That would give her an hour for dinner and another hour to compose herself and think up something more useful to ask than how to take her clothes off.

"That sounds perfect," Meg agreed, setting her mug on the heavy glass as she stood, "Is there anything I should bring?"

"Just an open mind," he winked at her as he snatched up the mugs and made for the kitchen. Even though she was still warmed by the hot chocolate, it felt like an ice cube had dropped right into the pit of her stomach. It was as if she'd made the worst doctor's appointment ever. Meg supposed she wouldn't have to show up if she died from embarrassment in the meantime. She heard the sink run and took that as her cue to leave, padding across the carpet. She slipped her feet into her boots and caught a glimpse of Quagmire rinsing the mugs out. It startled her how domestic he could be. Sure, it wasn't like he had a wife or girlfriend to do things like that for him, but it clashed sharply with the sex-maniac image she had of the man.

"Hey, thank you, Mr. Quagmire," she blurted out, fumbling to get an arm into her coat, "for the cocoa. And the advice." He set the mugs in the dish rack and leaned against the kitchen archway.

"Of course! What are neighbors for?" he smiled, hands in his pockets, cool as a goddamned cucumber. Meg scoffed inwardly; she could think of a million things that neighbors were for, but sexual tutoring somehow did not make it onto that list. Wrapping the thick scarf around her neck, she waved goodbye and slipped out into the cold.