"Quinn once had sex with a Latina lesbian!" Sam tells the Tea Party Patriot Club, blowing their narrow little minds. "Learned that in glee club!" And then he crashes into Quinn during his dramatic exit, making her dissolve in laughter. She's laughing so hard he has to help her out of the classroom. Out in the hallway he breaks down too, until they're both laughing so hard they're crying.

They catch their breath and Quinn asks, "Wanna go back to my mom's house? She has good wine and she won't miss a bottle."

Sam fake gasps. "But I'm not twenty-one yet!"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Quinn takes Sam to the library at her mother's house and asks him to start a fire while she gets the wine. This room intimidated the hell out of Sam when he and Quinn were dating. It still kind of does, honestly. It's a library in her house. At least he's not intimidated by all the books anymore, not after Quinn told him that no one had ever actually read them. Her dad just told the decorator to find books that looked impressive; it didn't matter what they were, as long as none of the titles sounded liberal.

Sam gets the fire started and looks at the bookshelves more closely. They seem different than when he was here last, and he figures out why: some of the books look like they've actually been read. There are even paperbacks replacing some of the old leather-bound tomes. He takes one down and flips through it.

Quinn comes in with a bottle and two glasses. "I know this one wasn't your dad's," Sam says, holding out the copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves he's been looking at.

"No, he would have died!" Quinn pours the wine. "I actually got that one for my mom, though I'm not sure she's looked at it. I have my own copy in my dorm."

They sit and look at the fire and drink. Sam can't tell one wine from another, but he trusts Quinn that it's good. Quinn's pretty relaxed by the time she's finished her second glass; she leans back against the arm of the couch and puts her feet on Sam's lap. He feels pretty relaxed too and rests one hand on her ankle. "You know, I actually am pretty jealous that you had sex with Santana and I never did. I dated her."

"She's a lesbian."

"Yeah, but it's not like she didn't have sex with other guys. Some who she didn't even date."

"You're just more of a gentleman than those other guys."

Sam nods. "This is true."

"Hey, remember that time I tried to seduce you and you turned me down?"

Sam spits out a little bit of wine, which lands on Quinn's leg. Wiping it off he says, "Wow, I haven't thought about that in a while. Though it wasn't much of a seduction attempt. More of just an offer."

It was pretty soon after he'd returned to Lima from Kentucky. Quinn had proposed they start dating again, in a way that was all kinds of messed up: the main thrust of her pitch was that he was good with kids and could help her raise Beth. So he didn't regret turning her down.

What he did regret, though, when he got to thinking about it afterward, was a comment he'd made about her having "rich white girl problems." Like, yeah, she was a white girl, rich enough to live in a house with a whole room just for books that had no purpose other than to look good, but he knew she had real problems. Her father had kicked her out of the house when she was sixteen and pregnant. And, yeah, her mom took her back eventually, but only because she'd thrown Mr. Fabray out for cheating. She stood up to her husband for that, but not for making their daughter homeless. That would be a hard thing for the daughter to just get over. Sam felt even worse about his comment later when Puck told him what a hard time Quinn had been having over other stuff that year, like Shelby showing up at McKinley but withholding visits with Beth.

So Sam pulled her aside after the next glee rehearsal and apologized. She had been there for him and his family when they lost their house, he said, and he was sorry he had been dismissive of her problems. He still didn't think they should date again, but he wanted to be a better friend to her. And she cried and thanked him and in pretty much the same breath asked if he wanted to come over to her place for sex.

"Why didn't you accept the offer?" she asks now, like she's actually not sure.

"Um…because it didn't seem like you were making it from a good place? And I didn't think sex could be casual for you."

"But that's so condescending! Shouldn't I decide whether I want sex to be casual?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam says, though he hadn't thought of it that way before. "But also…it couldn't have been casual for me. It would have been my first time, so…"

"Oh. Yeah, that is a good reason." Quinn finishes her wine and holds the empty glass up to the light. "Want me to open another bottle?"

"No thanks, I'm good."

"You were actually right that I probably couldn't have handled casual sex in high school. I mean, not after the way casual sex with Puck turned out. I wasn't suggesting it from a bad place, though. I didn't ask because I was sad and messed up; I asked because I wanted to have sex with you. Even when we were dating and I wasn't letting you, it wasn't because I didn't want to."

"Oh." Well, now Sam almost wishes he hadn't turned her down. He still thinks it was probably the right choice—he's glad his first time was with Brittany—but if he'd known at the time that Quinn actually wanted him, it would have been harder for him to make that choice.

"How do you feel about casual sex now? With an ex?"

"Like, hypothetically? Or…"

"I'm not gonna ask you again if you're still not interested."

Is Sam imagining this whole conversation? Is he drunker than he realizes? But no, two glasses of wine aren't enough to get him actually drunk. "I'm interested if you're serious."

Quinn sets her glass on the coffee table, then takes Sam's and sets his down as well. She hikes the skirt of her dress up to her mid-thigh and says, "I'm serious if you're interested."

So okay. This is not at all how Sam expected his day to go. Not that he's complaining! He strokes slowly up Quinn's leg, over her knee, up her thigh to just under the skirt. He almost asks if she's really sure, but he doesn't want to be condescending again. But there is another thing, if he's not presuming too much. "What are we talking about exactly? Because I'm interested in pretty much anything, but I should tell you I don't have any condoms."

Quinn wrinkles her nose. "I hate those things. Anyway, they're not as effective as what I'm using." She stands up, and Sam starts to get up to follow her. But it turns out they're not actually going anywhere: Quinn pushes him back down and straddles him on the couch. She takes his hand and puts it back on her thigh, higher than he had it before, and kisses him. Her kisses start soft but progress pretty quickly.

Sam lets one hand slide slowly toward her ass. Even though Quinn's the one who suggested they do this and who started everything, he half expects her to stop him at any moment. She doesn't. When his hand is finally on her ass, one finger a little bit under the leg hole of her panties, she moans softly into his mouth and starts to grind on him as she kisses him harder.

She moans harder—and grinds harder—when Sam lets his other hand roam up her side and cup a breast. He just wishes she were wearing a shirt he could get his hand under, since she seems to like him touching there as much as he likes doing it. In fact, she seems to be thinking the same thing, and she tells him to unzip the back of her dress. He does it one-handed, not wanting to take the other hand off her ass. He discovers that she's not even wearing a bra, which just about kills him.

Sam helps Quinn get her arms through the sleeve holes and pushes the top of her dress down to her waist. She let him feel her up a couple times when they were dating, but only once under the bra and then only for a few seconds. He's never actually seen her topless. Her tits look as round and perky and perfect as he thought they would. He knows there's no chance she'll let him take a picture, so he just stares and tries to memorize the sight.

"They're not as nice as Santana's," Quinn says.

"They're better," Sam says. They're better because they're right here, and he can touch them, and they're all soft and warm, with cute little nipples that harden right under his fingers. (But yeah, he's seen Santana's and they're also perfect, and now he has an amazing mental image of Quinn seeing and touching them and Santana seeing and touching Quinn's, and holy fuck.)

Quinn tugs on Sam's shirts, and he leans forward so she can pull them both off him. She kisses his neck, his collarbone; she lets her hands trail down over his pecs, his nipples, his abs. She gets off his lap and sits next to him while she undoes the button and the zipper on his jeans. Sam holds his breath, not sure if she's really going to…

She slides her hand inside the front of his jeans, though not inside his underwear, and places her palm flat against his dick. Sam gets harder and harder the longer she holds her hand there, until he can't help but move his hips a little to rub it against her.

"I always wanted to touch this," Quinn whispers in his ear. "You want me to? You want me to reach under your underwear model briefs and touch your cock?"

"Oh god!" Sam has never heard Quinn even say cock before, and it's the word as much as her hand that makes the referenced organ twitch. "Uh huh. Please?"

She strokes it, still over the underwear. "If you want me to, say my name. My name."

"Quinn," he says heavily. "Quinn."

"Oh, that's good."

Her hand slowly glides inside his briefs—but next to his dick, still not actually touching it. Her pinky grazes the side of his shaft like she's teasing him on purpose. He thinks she might want him to beg, even though she's the one who said she wanted to touch it. It doesn't matter; he'll beg if that's what she wants. "Quinn, please. Please, Quinn."

Quinn tugs at the waistband of Sam's jeans and he helpfully lifts his butt off the couch so she can pull them down along with his underwear; she leaves them both around his knees and stares for a minute.

It's sort of uncomfortable. Sam wonders if Quinn felt this way when he was staring at her tits. Maybe that's why she said what she did about Santana's? Should he say that his dick isn't as nice as Puck's? But…what if she agrees?

Before Sam can get too panicked about this possibility, Quinn stops staring and finally starts touching, just lightly with her fingertips. It almost feels like nothing. It almost feels like everything. She keeps stroking just like that for an achingly long time. Just when Sam is starting to think maybe this is all he's actually going to get, she wraps her fingers firmly around the shaft. "I can feel your blood pulsing," she says.

"Yeah, uh. That's where it's all rushed to."

"Wanna feel where mine has all rushed to?"

Embarrassingly, the only reply Sam can come up with is: "Uh huh."

"Uh huh?"

"Uh huh, please? Quinn?"

Quinn reaches under her skirt and manages to remove her panties without revealing any skin beyond a little bit of thigh. She holds them out to show to Sam. They're white cotton with stripes the same shade of blue as on her dress: not especially sexy by themselves, but one of the hottest things Sam has seen in a long time. Even better than the sight of them is the smell of them when he brings them to his face and inhales deeply.

Sam tosses the panties aside when Quinn turns toward him, pulls her skirt up to the middle of her thighs, and spreads her legs. She doesn't spread them that much, not enough for him to fuck her (yet), but it's so deliberate. Just as deliberately, Sam places his hand on her knee and moves it slowly up her inner thigh.

His hand reaches her mound. "So hot," he mutters to himself. He means it literally: there's so much heat between her legs. She's neatly trimmed but not completely bare, exactly how he imagined. Quinn spreads her legs farther apart, and Sam finally lets his fingers slide down onto and then into her folds. Quinn gasps softly. "So hot," Sam repeats, and this time he doesn't mean it literally. "So wet."

"You have no idea how wet I always used to get for you when we made out. How much I just wanted to push you down and climb on your dick," Quinn says, stroking it.

Fuck. Sam really did have no idea. "You could have," he says.

"I couldn't, not then."

"But now you can."

"I plan to. But not yet."

Sam whines, just a little. It's not that he's impatient for this to be over (and he has no illusions that there'll ever be a repeat), it's just that…It's just that her saying that made him think…

"Aw, you wanna be inside me, don't you?" she teases.

"Really bad," Sam admits. He always wanted more when they made out too, and now to find out he wasn't the only one? "I wanna be inside you really bad, Quinn."

Quinn straddles him again, skirt pulled up to her waist. She rubs against his cock but doesn't let it inside, making Sam groan. She takes his hands and places them on her breasts; Sam holds them as hard as he can without actually squeezing, which he isn't sure she'd like. She puts her mouth next to his ear and says, in that husky whisper that's always driven him crazy, "I want to taste you first."

Words completely fail Sam; he doesn't even manage an uh huh, just a sort of loud gulp.

Quinn slides gracefully to the floor in front of him. Sam is a lot less graceful at getting out of his pants, even though she helps him with them. But soon enough they're off and thrown aside, and Quinn is kneeling between his legs.

She licks all over his cock, slowly and firmly. Thoroughly. She gets it completely covered in her spit and then she wraps her mouth around the tip and gently sucks on it. Sam puts his fingers in her hair, though he's careful not to pull or to seem like he's trying to move her head faster. Soon he's afraid he won't be able to help doing one or both of those things, so he moves his hand off her entirely and grasps at the couch cushion instead. He tries to prevent his hips from moving, and he's able to for a little while. But not for long. Quinn stops sucking, and he says, "Sorry!"

She looks up at him. "Sorry? For what?"

"For…" Did she really not mind that he was sort of thrusting into her mouth? "You stopped so I thought…"

"I stopped because I want to climb on your dick now. If you still want me to."

"Yeah!" Even though Quinn was just sucking it, Sam still isn't used to the sound of her saying dick…much less the idea that she is going to climb on it. "Please."

Quinn stands and lifts her skirt. Sam somehow finds it hotter that she's half—well, like three-quarters—out of her dress than if she took it all the way off. He holds the skirt for her while she puts her knees on the couch on either side of his thighs, grabs the base of his cock, and starts lowering herself onto it.

It takes her a long time, eyes squeezed shut in concentration, muttering to herself, "Fuck…oh fuck…god, it's so big…"

Sam doesn't want to apologize for being too big, but he doesn't want to hurt her. Also he never got a chance to taste her, which he'd really like to do. "I could make you come first," he offers.

"I'm not worried I won't come. I just need time to adjust."

So okay, no tasting. Sam's disappointed, but he's willing to take what Quinn is offering, he's willing to let her do this the way she wants. He places his hands on her ass, mostly just to help her steady herself as she sinks down on his cock, and he tries very hard not to move. It takes her forever, just inching her way down, bouncing back up a little, inching down a little more. She feels so wet and hot and tight around his dick, and none of that is helping him not move. He tries to concentrate on her face instead, but the way she's biting her lip, the way her cheeks are all flushed, the way one strand of hair is sticking a little to her damp forehead—none of that helps him not move either.

Finally she gets his dick buried all the way up inside herself and she lets out a long breath. Sam is biting his lip now, and his face feels as hot as Quinn's probably still looks, though he's had to close his eyes so he can't see it anymore. He is just barely able to keep holding still.

"Touch my breasts."

Sam covers both tits with his hands. That actually does help him a little to not move, not because her tits aren't great—they are!—but because he can't move her back and forth on his cock like he could have and was tempted to when his hands were on her ass. He massages gently and Quinn moans. He squeezes her nipples, not totally gently, and she starts to rock back and forth on him.

And now Sam can't be still anymore. He starts just rocking gently, but that's really not enough—he puts his hands back on Quinn's ass and helps her move harder, faster, as he thrusts up into her. Quinn holds his shoulders for leverage and rides him with total abandon, head thrown back, going, "Ah! Ah! Ah!"

Suddenly Quinn's voice gets much higher and louder. The nails of one hand dig painfully into Sam's shoulder, while she brings her other hand down to rub desperately at her clitoris. "Oh god oh god oh god," she gasps, half a second before her cunt starts to squeeze and convulse around his dick independently of the rest of her body. She grips Sam's one shoulder even tighter, and she mouths at and even bites his other one a little. It hurts, which is good—that pain is the only thing keeping Sam from coming right along with her. He wants to come, of course, but not until he's sure Quinn is done.

If he can hold off that long, that is. Quinn keeps coming and coming, and even with the teeth and the nails, it's a challenge for Sam to not let go yet. He does somehow manage to keep it together until Quinn quiets down and her thrashing turns back to gentle rocking. She wraps her arms loosely around Sam's neck, rests her forehead against his and says hoarsely, "Oh my god."

"Oh my god, Quinn," Sam echoes. "I wanna come in you so bad."

"You wanna fill me with your cum?"

"So much."

Quinn's rocking picks up again. "You keep talking like that and you're gonna make me come again."

"Yeah?" If Sam can get Quinn to come again—if he can get her to come again by talking about wanting to come inside her—then that would be totally worth holding off for. "You like that? Hearing how much I want to shoot my load inside you? Just fill your…." Sam hopes that he won't pick the wrong word here and ruin everything. "Just fill your pussy up with hot, creamy cum?"

"Fuck, Sam," she whines, riding him harder.

"It's so hard for me not to come right now. Not to just let my dick explode inside your tight snatch. But you know how I really wanna do it?"

"How?" she gasps.

"I wanna flip you on your back and put your ankles on my shoulders and just fucking nail you. Get you all full of my cum and then just stay inside you so it won't leak out."

"Oh god!"

Sam is so close to coming that it's really hard to talk about it so much without doing it. He really needs Quinn to come again soon. He finds her clit and rubs it furiously. "I have to bust so bad, Quinn. But you gotta come again for me first, okay?"

She does, she comes harder than the first time, screaming in his ear, and damn near milking the cum right out of him. Damn near.

The second Quinn's done screaming, Sam flips her onto her back as promised. She's limp and compliant as he positions her ankles on his shoulders. Loose as her limbs are, her cunt still feels as tight as ever when he slams into it.

Quinn moans. "Yeah, fuck!" She goes for her clit again. Her voice is weak but needy when she adds, "Fucking give it to me."

Sam really has no self-control left, but he gives it to her for as long as he can. He would love to make her come one last time before he does. But he's been on the edge so long already and she just feels too perfect, and he only manages a dozen or so more thrusts before his balls tighten and he's helpless to do anything but let his dick pulse and blast her insides with cum.

That's when Quinn comes again, just when Sam is almost done. He stays inside her as her trembling walls clench uncomfortably around his softening but still throbbing cock. It's a shorter orgasm this time, at least, as well as a quieter one. And then she relaxes completely, and Sam's dick just slips right out of her. "Sorry," he says.

"For what?" Quinn asks sleepily.

"That I can't actually stay inside you forever."

Quinn laughs. "Help me sit up." Sam helps her, and they sit next to each other on the couch, Quinn with her head on his shoulder. "I am really glad I came back for homecoming."

"Yeah, me too. I almost...no, I know you have to go back to Yale and everything, it's just kind of too bad this can only be a one-time thing."

"I mean. I don't have to go back right this minute."

"No, that's true. So…"

"So…did Santana ever tell you what she said to me when I told her that lesbian sex was a one-time thing for me?"

"No."

"She said, 'Why don't you stick around and we'll make it a two-time thing?'"