Author's Note: Occurs shortly after In Love With the Shape of You. I had originally started to write that fic in Quinn's point of view before changing my mind and switching to Rachel. This is the 'deleted scene' reworked into a short ficlet.

You Know I Want Your Love (In Love With the Shape of You Epilogue)

Girl, you know I want your love
Your love was handmade for somebody like me
Come on now, follow my lead
I may be crazy, don't mind me
~Shape of You, Ed Sheeran

Her first pregnancy hadn't been like this.

Oh, there are things that are the same—things that Quinn recognizes with a sense of bittersweet wistfulness—but there have also been a handful of little surprises that hadn't been present (or that she just hadn't really been present enough to notice) when she'd been pregnant with Beth.

Quinn had never marked those weeks with any joy or anticipation, and she certainly hadn't gone looking for information on her baby's development at each passing milestone the way she and Rachel are so joyfully doing with this baby. No, those weeks had mostly dragged along in hazy, slow motion as her body had changed and rebelled against her, evicting her meager meals for months and riling up her hormones in the most destructive ways before squeezing her out of her clothes more and more as her belly had grown. At the same time, the weeks had somehow flown by far too quickly for her to be at all prepared for the pain and heartache that awaited her at the end of week number forty. Well—Quinn hadn't actually quite made it to week number forty the first time around, but it wouldn't have changed anything even if she had.

Things are very different this time.

Quinn's copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting is well-read and dog-eared. It's only slightly less dog-eared than Rachel's copy and lacking the dozens of post-it page markers, neon yellow highlights, and handwritten notes in the margins. There are already onesies, baby blankets, and reusable diapers (that Quinn isn't one hundred percent sold on) tucked away in the closet, ready for their little girl's arrival in the world. They're even making plans to view a few of the more affordable apartments currently on the market in the Upper West Side. Moving will be hell whether they do it before or after the baby is born, but it will need to happen soon either way. Their family is growing—and so is Quinn.

She'd hated this part when she was sixteen—helpless to stop her stomach from ballooning up for all the world to see—and while it still bothers her to lose her waistline and kiss her favorite clothes (and shoes, damn it!) goodbye, she's mostly made her peace with her changing body by focusing on the end result. That's something she hadn't been able to do the first time around.

She also hadn't had Rachel the first time. It makes a world of difference to have someone to hold her when she's feeling fat and remind her how beautiful and sexy she is. Quinn can't say that she always feels beautiful or sexy, but her relationship with her own body is much more positive with this pregnancy. Maybe it's because she's actually happy this time. Or maybe it's because her partner actually loves and supports her. Or maybe she's just finally grown up and grown into her own sensuality.

And oh—the sensuality.

Quinn absolutely does not remember being this persistently horny during her first pregnancy. Oh, she remembers having a few urges, of course, and a fleeting sex dream or two, but since those had been all twisted up with her repressed sexuality and her unrelenting depression, it had been pretty easy to ignore the whispers of her long-suppressed libido. Besides, her only viable options at the time had been Finn or Puck, and the idea of having sex with either one of them (sober) had been enough to cure whatever little itch she'd felt.

That's so not the case now.

The itch has been a near constant companion ever since Quinn had hit the fifteen week mark and the nausea had finally subsided, especially when she has a gorgeous, sexy wife who's oh-so-willing to help Quinn scratch those itches.

Well—mostly willing. Rachel does need to get enough rest to keep up with her show schedule, so she can't be at Quinn's constant beck and call. And Quinn doesn't want to be constantly dragging her wife to bed (or the sofa or the shower or the kitchen table—though that one's gotten a little too uncomfortable now with her ever-expanding belly) when they both have more to do with their time than each other, but some days she just can't seem to help herself. It's a little embarrassing, actually.

She knows it's perfectly normal for her sex drive to be increased now that her energy level is back up to speed and the extra blood is flowing to the most sensitive parts of her body—all the pregnancy books say so—but she still feels like a wanton sex fiend when she's sitting across from her wife at their favorite corner diner on a Monday morning and all she can think about it stripping Rachel naked and having her for breakfast instead of the strawberry and banana covered waffle on her plate.

"This one is only three blocks from Santana," Rachel murmurs, staring intently at the phone she's holding in her left hand while the other juggles her fork. "I'm not sure if that should be considered a pro or a con," she jokes, glancing up at Quinn.

"Mmhmm."

Rachel's brows furrow slightly as she studies her wife with a mildly disappointed expression. "Quinn? Have you been paying attention at all?"

"Huh? Yeah. Three blocks from Santana," Quinn echoes, forcing her attention back to Rachel's words and not Rachel's delectably tempting non-wordy assets. She shifts restlessly in her seat, diligently attempting to ignore the very inappropriate tingles skittering through her lower body and the fact that it's been approximately twenty-three hours since Rachel last touched her there.

She really thought she'd be okay this morning, damn it!

Rachel's slowly lowers the phone in her hand down to the table as her expression turns knowing. "Quinn, baby. We really should take a look at some of these apartments today," she points out gently.

Quinn purses her lips, dropping her eyes back down to her plate. "I know," she confirms with a short nod. They really do need to find a three bedroom that they both like before Quinn gets so big that Rachel will need a forklift to move her along with the all of their belongings.

She hears a sigh from the other side of the table. "We're getting the check and going home, aren't we?" Rachel speculates in mild amusement.

Quinn scrapes her teeth over her lip as she lifts her gaze. "Can we?" she asks hopefully.

Rachel grins. "I suppose I can make the sacrifice."

Those tingles catch fire and race through Quinn's body until she's squirming in her seat. She leans across the table—as far as her belly will allow—and lowers her voice. "You can wear the strap-on."

Rachel's breath hitches and she drops the fork to her plate with a clatter. "Check, please," she shouts, lifting her hand into the air with an impatient wave to their waitress.

Quinn presses her thighs together in anticipation as she gazes hungrily at her wife, already planning to leave their waitress a really nice tip so she can hurry home to enjoy Rachel's much sexier service.