Title: TFLN ficlets
Author: timorous-scribe
Length: varies
Rating: mostly PG to T-ish
Summary: Various little ficlets using Texts From Last Night posts as prompts.

(709) Anyways he came over at 3:30 am and ate me out while I ate pizza on the counter

"You had sex with Sam?!" Quinn is already short on patience given that it's a little after 5am, and instead of being asleep like a normal person, she's on the phone with a mildly drunk Santana Lopez.

"No, I didn't say that at all." Santana makes her words deliberately slow and patient, like Quinn is some kind of idiot for suggesting the idea and she has to speak slowly to be understood. "What I said, was that he came over after I got home-"

"At 3:30 in the morning."

"At 3:30 in the morning, yes, and-"

"Drunk."

"Well obviously, Quinn, why else would I be on the phone with Sammy fucking 'Trouty Mouth' Evans at 3:30 in the morning? God, can I finish this, or do you want to tell it?"

Quinn clears her throat but doesn't say anything else, waiting for Santana to explain to her how "he ate me out while I ate pizza on the counter" doesn't mean she had sex with Sam.

"So Lady Lips had texted me earlier in the night when I was still at the bar, asking about picking up those speakers he wants to use for the cookout this weekend?" It turns into a question at the end and Santana pauses. "You're coming, right?"

"Yeah, I already told you that yesterday. Finish your story." Quinn is practiced at navigating conversations with Santana when she's drunk, and she's honestly too tired to be delicate.

"So thirsty, Q. Damn. So he was texting me about that, and I told him I'd hit him up when I was headed home so he could swing by..." She trails off and goes quiet, and Quinn snaps her name when it becomes apparent that Santana's been distracted by something on the other end of the line.

"So what happened? He came by… and ate you out? What the hell, Santana; that doesn't make any sense. Why did you call me?"

"Oh my god, Quinn, calm down. Jesus. So I hit him up and I told him to bring a pizza because I was feelin' my H's coming on,"

"Hungry and horny?" Quinn supplies flatly, she's well familiar with how Santana gets when she's been drinking, and it's somehow heavily influenced by 90s pop culture.

"And hot, Q. You can't forget hot." Quinn can hear the smirk through the phone and just rolls her eyes.

"And then…? How'd you get from pizza to Sam going down on you? And I thought you weren't into guys."

"Lucy Quinn Fabray, are you jealous?" Santana has turned on her seductive purr, and though the silky tone vibrates a reserved corner of Quinn's memory, outwardly she just snorts.

"You're joking, right? Don't delude yourself, it's not healthy."

Santana picks back up in her normal tone, as if they hadn't even stopped for the minor come-on, and continues without addressing the question. "So he brought me the pizza and we were eating it in the kitchen just bullshittin' and whatever, and I caught him checking out the goods." Quinn's pretty sure 'the goods' were probably only covered in the barest possible passing for underwear, and feels a tiny bit of sympathy for Sam. "Weirdest thing happened, for once it didn't actually make me wanna hurl half-digested pizza all over my stylish kitchen tile. It's probably due to the massive overgrowth of lips on his face that make him look like a Russian sex-worker if you're sitting too close, but whatever the cause, I kissed him."

"Santana," Quinn knows she probably sounds weary, this entire conversation is some twilight zone weirdness that she is really hoping will end up just being a dream, probably induced by that spicy lime chicken she had for dinner. It occurs to her that it might actually be more disturbing to have come up with this on her own, and she dismisses the thought before it can get too alarming.

"He still kisses like his tongue is a drowning sea cucumber though, so I pulled my panties off and told him I was drunk enough to let him fuck me if he could make me come with his gigantic girl mouth first."

No matter how many years they've known each other, Santana still has the capacity to fluster Quinn with her nonchalance in talking explicitly about sex. They might as well be talking about what kind of pizza it was, Quinn doesn't think it would be much different in tone, and it baffles her (and maybe secretly thrills her a little bit, as well) to treat the topic so off-the-cuff.

"So he couldn't make you… I mean, you didn't-"

"Oh, yeah I did." Santana sounds pleased with herself. "I'm probably still drunk, but fishboy surprisingly wasn't too bad at it."

"I knew it, I was right! You had sex with Sam."

"Hell no, I didn't! Quinn, what the hell? It's like you don't know me at all." She's not sure how Santana manages to be disappointed in her for believing she'd keep to a deal when she made it, but that's what's happening, regardless. "I came, it wasn't bad, I told him to get out."

Quinn gasps and Santana cackles, a deep guffaw that Quinn can immediately tell is at her expense. "Wow, Q, I'm hurt. I'm a bitch but I'm not cruel." She definitely gives true meaning to the phrase 'all over the place,' and Quinn feels like her head is spinning trying to follow all the changes in direction. "I sat on his lap and tried to teach him how to kiss like a fucking person instead of a plecostomus. Went for the pity handy and it didn't take long."

"Oh my g-UGH. Santana! I don't want to-why did you call me at five in the fucking morning to tell me this?"

"You're one of my best friends, Q." She almost sounds wounded and Quinn is back to the spinning feeling. "Besides, who else am I gonna tell? Brittany? Mercedes? They wouldn't get it, that it was just a thing that happened, and now it's over and that's it. That there doesn't have to be more."

Quinn can't help but feel like she's being baited a little bit, coaxed to respond to some unspoken question.

"Well I guess you picked the right person to tell, then, didn't you. I know exactly what you mean."