Quinn wasn't sure why, but she hesitated on the doorstep of Santana's apartment not wanting to cross over the threshold. This evening had just been kind of perfect; it had reminded her of high school Santana, and high school Quinn, not when they were battling for dominance, but when they had spent time with each other for no other reason than because they wanted to spend time with each other. When their lives had practically revolved around their friendship, and they had spent every other weekend at each other's homes.

When Santana had brought up that they had once been really good friends, she had scoffed because it was so easy to remember the bad: how Santana hadn't been there for her during her pregnancy, how she had gotten wrapped up in Brittany and Quinn was suddenly on the outside, how Quinn had sold her out to Sue in order to be made cheerleading captain, and had gotten pregnant by the guy that Santana had been sleeping with at the time.

But that'd only been half of the story. The other half was the fact that Santana had been there for her on the day that Quinn had found out she was pregnant in the first place, and although she went AWOL for most of the pregnancy, she was there for Quinn the day that she had had to give up Beth. Quinn also remembered that when she was hurt and feeling alone in New York, Santana had been there to remind her that she wasn't. And (Rachel had been the one to tell her this one drunken night after a performance) after her accident Santana had been at the hospital almost every waking hour to hold her hand until she was finally forced by Dr. Lopez to go home and get some sleep, which explained why she wasn't there when she woke up.

Quinn would have blamed graduation for the change between them, but it she were being truly honest, she still found herself coming to Lima, (or flitting off to New York to save Rachel), for no other reason than the chance to see Santana again. It wasn't graduation that changed things, but the sex. After years of teasing, of crude comments, and sexual innuendo's, Quinn had finally gotten fed up enough with the train of assholes that seemed to be attracted to her to be vulnerable enough to be open to the idea of her and another girl, and Santana had been available, and willing. She quickly found out that the rumors of Santana's sexual prowess weren't hyped up. It had been phenomenal, exceptional-life altering might have been a bit much, but it might have been that, too.

Hands down it had been the best sex of Quinn's life, and then they didn't talk for a few months after because Yale was demanding and Santana was just moving into her life in New York, and maybe Quinn had had a minor moment of gay panic. None of that really mattered because at graduation they had reconnected, and it seemed that the key to their friendship was Quinn dating obtuse and simpering men, and Santana's life revolving around Brittany. Since both things with her and Puck, and Santana and Brittany, were 'open', they had continued to have sex. Quinn was certain that the only way a long distance relationship with Puckcouldwork was if sex was off the table, because Puck was never the kind of guy that phone conversations, emails, texts, and Skype were enough for, and the reality is that they could only see each other a few days every other month (if they were lucky) because you couldn't skip the military like you could skip class, and Yale didn't really give you the option of skipping class.

So a casual sexual relationship with Santana started up again. Sophomore and junior year they were still friends. They talked via text, email, and Skype about everything, except each other. Senior year they were still friends. When Quinn finished at Yale she moved to New York because so many of her friends lived there, and because she found a pretty nice paid internship at an investment firm in the city. The fact that it put her and Santana in the same city for the first time in four years? Purely coincidental. That was proven in August when Santana packed up her life in New York, and followed Brittany to Boston. It wasn't really until then that their relationship went from buddies who sometimes fucked to fuck buddies.

And now here they were, married, and had just gone on their first date ever, and Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that once the day was over, things would go back to the way they'd been lately, and she didn't want that. She didn't wantthisSantana andthisQuinn to disappear because she liked how they were together.

"You know what we should do?" Quinn questioned, taking the flowers from Santana's hand, to put them into water. "We should stay up all night, and watch movies, paint each other's nails, and eat junk food like we used to do when we were in high school." Quinn turned just in time to see a smile forming on Santana's face. She cocked her head. "What's the smile for?" she questioned.

Santana shrugged. "Can't I just smile?"

Quinn wandered into the kitchen instead of responding, sitting the flowers on the counter while she went searching through the cabinets. "We can watch RENT. Didn't you say I'm grossly overdue for it?"

Quinn felt a hand wrap around her waist before Santana pulled her into her arms. She smiled as she felt her head rest on her shoulder. "That sounds amazingly wonderful, but I can't, tonight. I have to be up for work in the morning."

"Oh yeah, that's right. You have to be up for your mysterious job."

She felt Santana's lips come in contact with her neck. "I think you're building this thing up so much in your head that you're going to be terribly disappointed when you finally find out what it is that I do."

In a voice dripping with both irony and sarcasm she said, "I could never be disappointed in anything that you did. Where do you keep your vases?"

Santana's lips pressed down lightly against her neck. "I don't have any."

Quinn frowned at her oversight; she didn't want to have to leave the flowers out for the night. She was paranoid that they'd wilt. "I wish I'd known that! I would have brought one over. Why don't you have a vase?"

Santana shrugged, kissing Quinn again on the neck before she pulled away from her. "I never get any flowers."

Quinn turned her head to look at her. "Never?"
Santana leaned against the opposite counter so she could watch Quinn. "The last time I got flowers was from Brittany right before we went to Lesbos."

That'd been nine years ago. "What about birthdays, Valentine's Day?" Quinn knew the general disdain that Santana had for the holiday, but the thought of her never getting anything on Valentine's Day, of no one ever sending her flowers on any occasion, just seemed sad to her. She knew that Santana prided herself on her image of badassery, but Quinn knew, too, that most of it was an act; a way to get through and pretend that she was above it, that things didn't bother her. Santana had gone on and on about the mixed tape Brittany had (almost) made for her, because it'd been the first Valentine's Day gift she'd ever gotten outside of the Lollipop grams they used to send each other and the necklace she had bought for herself and had tried to get Puck to pay for.

Santana shrugged in a kind of 'fuck it' way. "I don't exactly date the kind of girls who bring me flowers."

There had been nothing pointed in her statement, at least Quinn didn't think there had been, but that didn't stop her from feeling somewhat guilty. She turned back to the cabinets, finally pulling down Santana's Big Gulp cup; it'd have to do for now. She filled the cup with water, and picked up the flowers, placing them in the cup, wrapping paper and all. "They should be fine there for tonight, and I'll get a vase tomorrow. I have one at my place that would be perfect!"

She propped the cup against the counter to make sure that it wouldn't fall over from the weight of the bouquet. Santana watched for a few seconds before going into the bedroom to change into night clothes which, because of the heat, wasn't much.

"That's not fair," Quinn protested when she saw her. "You can't say that we can't sleep together, and then wearthat."

Santana grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled her into her. "Oh? You're not planning on sleeping here tonight?" she questioned.

"You know what I mean," Quinn returned. She took a few minutes to get a better taste of Santana's lips, but pulled back before things could get too heavy. She didn't want to start something Santana wasn't going to finish.

Quinn changed into her own night clothes, and crawled in beside her wife. She started to lay down beside her, but paused. "Santana?"

She looked up. "Yeah, babe?"

"Why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what?"

Quinn struggled with her thoughts. "Ever date the kind of girl who would buy you flowers?"

Santana sighed. "Why are you asking me this?"

"I just want to know," Quinn responded. She watched Santana's brown eyes flicker through emotions, as she contemplated the question.

Her eyes seemed to harden, becoming a perfect match for her tone. "Because one night stands don't usually offer more consideration than getting you off."

Quinn flinched, but she didn't back down. "Dani didn't?"

"Dani wasn't the flowers kind of girl, no. Maybe if we'd lasted longer. Seriously why are we talking about this? You got me flowers. They're nice. Actually, they're beautiful. Why does anything else matter?"

Quinn almost agreed with Santana's question, and she didn't really know why she was pursuing it. Maybe because she was just starting to realize how great of a person her wife was, and she was amazed that it had taken her so long to figure it out. And she was angry that everyone else had seemed to be just as clueless as she had been (but then again if there were wiser people out there, Santana would have been married to someone else by now). "You deserve to have flowers, Santana." Quinn hadn't meant her voice to sound all hard-edged but she couldn't help it. She was frustrated. She was frustrated with Santana, because why did she never demand more? And because being frustrated with Santana was a lot easier than being frustrated with herself.

"So why did you never send me any, then?"

Quinn wasn't expecting Santana to turn the tables on her like that. "That's not, this isn't-"

Santana sat up suddenly, tucking her feet beneath her. "Isn't it, Quinn? Whatever your reason for never sending me flowers, that was everyone else's reason, too. Is that so impossible to understand? I was a fuck to everyone. Nothing more."

The feeling of guilt was overwhelming, so Quinn did what she always did, she turned it back on her. "You never sent me flowers either. And the one time you did, you sent me a bill for it."

Santana nodded. "Yep. So there's no issue. Q, we were fuck buddies. I've had a lot of them over the years, hence no flowers. So, now that we've established that, can we please lie down, go to sleep, and dream about what breakfast you're cooking for me before I go to work tomorrow?"

It was easier to go along with the change in the conversation than to continue down the road that the prior one would lead. Santana had never beenjust a fuckto her, and she was sure that the other girl knew that, but that revelation led to others, and Quinn just didn't want to go there, even though she had been the one to initiate the conversation. So, she let the subject change, and protested, "Tomorrow's my sleep in day!"

Santana shrugged. "Okay sleep in. There's a Dunkin' Donuts right across the street from the job, and they'll serve me no matter what the time."

"You sound like I neglect you!"

"I would never suggest such a thing. I know you like to sleep in." Again, Santana didn't say it in a way that should have made Quinn feel anything, but she was reminded that Santanadidget up to make breakfast for her on Saturdays, but Santana had also promised to do so, and Quinn didn't. "Besides, the earlier I get up, the sooner I get off!"

"How long will you be at work?"

"Until 5:00, most likely. Unless I manage to go in earlier. Why? You cooking something special for dinner tomorrow?" Santana questioned hopefully.

Quinn laughed at the expression on her wife's face. "Surebabe," she said surprisingly. "What do you want?"

"Seriously?" Quinn nodded. "Lasagna!"

She shook her head. "Of course you'd want something that takes 3 hours to cook."

"You asked, I answered. I'll be sure to pick up some breadsticks on the way home from work so you won't have to worry about doing that."

Quinn quirked an inquisitive eye at this statement. "Why do you like Italian food so much?"

Santana sat up to give Quinn an incredulous look. "Q, that's crazy talk! 1) Who doesn't? 2) Seriously, who doesn't? And 3) what am Isupposedto like, and don't say Mexican."

"Well-,"

"I've never seen you drinking tea and eating crumpets, and I've never once seen your mother make a blood pudding, either, and I know your family hails from England."

"That's,"

"Different?" Santana questioned with an amused smirk on her face. "How? I was born an American citizen, and so were both of my parents. And just so you know, papi es boricua o puertorriquena y mami es mexicano. Those are two different taste pallets. Papi hates Mexican food, and mom's not too fond of Puerto Rican food, or 'soul food', so sometimes dinners felt like we were going to war, whereas whenever we had Italian food," Santana spread her arms in supplication, "there was peace for all. Neutral territory."

Quinn's lips turned down. "How did I not know that your father was Puerto Rican?"

"Bet you didn't know that my abuelo was black, either. You should see my uncle Emilio. He's darker than Jake."

Quinn studied Santana's features, as if to get some sort of clue from them. She was ashamed to admit that she never questioned Santana's background past 'Hispanic', and the only reason she knew that she was Mexican (well part Mexican) was because she talked constantly about her 'Mexican third eye'. She did know that that was a put on, something she had started back in middle school to underhandedly tease their bigoted classmates into being afraid of her. It was like her alter ego 'Snix'.

"What'syourfavorite color?"

Santana gestured wildly. "See: now you understand why I asked you that! It's amber."

"Is it really?"

"Yep. Because it looks like honey, and sometimes bugs get trapped in it, and they are perfectly preserved for thousands of years."

"I always thought your favorite color was black."

Santana gave Quinn a very serious look. "Black's not a color, Quinn, it's the absence of it. Black's a wave."

"God, you're such a smart ass."

"No, you know what's a smart ass? An ass that can sit down on a pie and tell you what flavor it is. That's a smart ass!"

Quinn groaned. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"One word: multiples."

A smile found itself growing on Quinn's face. "Oh right. There isthat."

Santana finally laid back down, and Quinn pulled her into her arms, making herself the outside spoon for possibly only the second time since they had been married. She was surprised at how much she liked the position; not only did it give her access to Santana's back and neck, putting it in the perfect position for her to lay kisses on it at her leisure, but it also meant that she got to be the protector, the comforter. She liked this, she liked being in this position, she liked beinghere. It was scary how much she liked being here with Santana, but it was just as scary at how easily she had walked out on it. On them.

Santana's fingers lightly trailed over the arm that was wrapped around her. "You're not allowed to be thinking anything bad right now, Quinn," Santana chastised as if she knew her thoughts.

"I'm not," Quinn lied.

Santana turned within the circle of her arms so that they were facing each other. "How about we both just agree that neither of us is perfect? You know, forgive trespasses, and those we trespass against, yadda yadda?"

Yes, but doesn't that only work with confession?As much as Quinn realized that she wasn't doing herself, or her marriage, any favors by not telling Santana about almost going home with another woman (and honestly, she didn't quite know that she wouldn't have gone through with it if the woman hadn't backed out on her), she just didn't want it to come up right now. She wanted to wait until they were at least on the other side of the honeymoon, which, she realized, wasn't without its own irony. She could now fully appreciate Santana not telling her about Brittany and the kiss, but that didn't make her any more anxious to spill her own secrets.

"Quinn," Santana said seriously. "I really, really enjoyed this. I really enjoyed tonight. Can't that be enough?"Did she know, or was that Santana's own guilty conscious talking?"At least for tonight?"

Quinn placed a kiss on Santana's forehead. Quinn didn't really know if it was an answer, and if it was, she wasn't quite sure she'd known what the question had been.

Santana had no intention of waking up Quinn when she woke up the next morning, and she'd tried her hardest not to, but sometime in the middle of the night the two of them had gotten so hopelessly entangled with the other that Santana had to give up on her attempts to extract herself without waking up Quinn. She softly tapped her, hoping that Quinn would wake up just enough for her to slip out of her grasp, because she really didn't want to disturb Quinn's sleep-in day. "Quinn? Babe?" Quinn mumbled something. "You gotta let go so I can get up."

Quinn's reaction was to wrap herself more firmly around Santana, her knee accidentally nudging her between her legs. "Erm, Quinn?"

Quinn adjusted herself, which unfortunately for Santana meant that Quinn moved the leg that was in between hers, and she couldn't help the soft moan that escaped her lips. "Quinn?"

"Mmm I like you moaning my name."

Santana froze on the spot. After a few seconds of pondering what dreams Quinn was having, Santana decided to have a little fun with it. She brought her lips right close to Quinn's ear and whispered, softly. "You like that huh?"

"Yeah," she said, in a breathy whisper.

"Oh, f-fuck Quinn," Santana breathed.

"Huh, you liked that?" Quinn husked, and damn it, even asleep she was sexy.

"Yeah," Santana moaned, in what she thought was a fairly good imitation of her sex voice. "God, yeah."

Quinn started to move slowly, to press down into Santana's body, and Santana wondered if dream Santana was as skilled as her real life persona. "Just like that."

"Tell me what you want."

The word came so quickly she couldn't have stopped herself if she tried. "Breakfast."

"Damn it, Santana," Quinn suddenly hissed, her eyes snapping open. "Way to kill the mood!"

"Wait, you wereawake?"

"I am now," Quinn snapped.

Santana gave her a placating kiss. "I'm sorry, babe. I wasn't trying to wake you, I was just trying to get you to let me go." She kissed her twice more. "Go back to sleep, and I'll see you when I get home, okay?"

Santana removed herself from the bed, and got up to go get in the shower, sighing at the feel of the cold water hitting her skin. She had only been under the spray for a less than a minute when the heard the shower curtain, and she felt Quinn's hands on her hips. "Oh, hi."

Lips were planted in between her shoulder blades. "Babe, you should be in bed." It came out as a sigh. Quinn's hands had moved from her hips to her breast.

"Yes, but I'm up now," Quinn said.

Santana easily gave in to Quinn's ministrations. Who was she to argue with logic like that?

Santana couldn't lie. She liked having sex with Quinn. She easily liked having sex with Quinn more than anyone else she'd ever had sex with. Quinn could turn her on with just a look, and if you were just looking at her you would never guess how insatiable and uninhibited she could be in the bed. Santana had enjoyed teaching and letting her get acquainted with the female body, and was delighted to see how Quinn blossomed out. Once Quinn finally figured out that it was okay to have set she let go of nearly all of her inhibitions, and Santana didn't complain. It was nice to have a partner that could keep up with her. It was half of the reason that their 'relationship' had gone on for so long.

Santana left the apartment 45 minutes later with a smile on her face. It wasn't just the morning quickie, it was that Quinn had gotten up to be with her and had even cooked her breakfast, and when she got home from work, there would be lasagna, not lasagna from a box, and not Santana's poor attempt at it, (home ec, freshman year), but home cooked heavenliness that could only be made better if it was served with Breadstix breadsticks. At that thought, she stopped at the nearest grocery to pick up some breadsticks why the thought was still on her mind, so she didn't risk forgetting on her way home.

It was not yet 8:00 when she got to work. It really was kind of creepy working in her building, knowing there were few other people there with her. Out of the team she usually worked with, it was just her, Dex, and Nichols on staff today, and while Nichols was the kind to mostly keep his head in his work, Dex only stayed quiet long enough to plan his next conversation or to figure out how to assert himself in the current one. Santana didn't normally try to initiate conversation with him, and especially not today, because she just wanted to get in, get things done, and go home.

Dex started up as soon as he got in. Santana managed to ignore him for the first hour, but the building was hauntingly quiet, and Santana was torn because she wanted to talk to someone about her date, (actually she didn't want tostoptalking about the date) and right now she didn't have very many avenues to talk about it. Brittany was off limits, Puck would make fun of her for being so excited about it, and Mercedes, Mercedes was Quinn's best friend and she didn't want to overstep her bounds in that department.

Santana was out at work, and Quinn was one of the topics that she liked to frequent. The Monday after they said their vows, the wedding picture taken by Mrs. Fabray had replaced the one on her desk that had been previously occupied by a picture of Quinn, her, and Brittany that had been taken in New York. Santana liked to maintain a modicum of privacy while at work, but she'd talked about Quinn enough in the past for it to have not surprised any of the coworkers she talked to when she announced that the two of them were suddenly married.

The morning went by quickly enough, but midway through the afternoon, Santana got an email from Paulianne that they were not to leave until they sent her a finished sample. She'd gotten the message just as she was leaving for lunch, which put her back in her seat because there was no way they'd be finished by 5:00 as it was, and if she left for lunch they wouldn't be finished before 8:00. She grunted because Paulianne was a bitch, and because Quinn was making lasagna, and even though the schedule she'd been working lately wasn't the norm, she didn't want this to become the norm for her marriage. Her dad, whom she loved dearly, worked no less than 12 hours nearly every day, and on some days didn't come home at all. This had always been a point of contention in her parent's marriage. She didn't want it to be one in hers. She might have gotten married on a whim, but she cared deeply about Quinn and she was going to really try to make things work.

She spent a half hour composing a text in her head before she actually sent:P's riding my ass hard, be late coming home. Sorry.

Quinn: She'd better at least be pulling your hair. How late?

Santana: 8, probably. 10 worst case scenario. Really srry..

Quinn's answeringNo probcame a whole half hour later, and took her long enough to send it that Santana started to worry. It was bad enough having to work on Sunday, even worse having to stay late. She felt like she was breaking a promise that she didn't remember making. It put her in a sour mood, but focused her energies so that they were wrapping things up by 6:30, had come to a consensus by 6:45, and she was emailing Paulianne the completed sample at exactly 6:59 and sending a text message to Quinn letting her know that she was on her way home.

Sunday evening traffic was miraculously light, and she was home in no time, letting herself into an apartment that smelled deliciously like zesty tomato sauce, but it was conspicuously missing one blonde former cheerleader. "Quinn?" Santana questioned. She wasn't mistaken, the blonde wasn't anywhere in the apartment.

She couldn't have left that long ago, though. The lasagna appeared to be just pulled from the oven; it was still bubbling even, and it smelled fantastic. "Quinn?" Santana called half-heartedly. She gave a searching look around, fished out a fork, and carefully separated a small piece from the dish.

Almost as if she were waiting for her to do just that, Quinn appeared, and she felt a sharp whack on the back of her hand.

"Ow," Santana hissed, pulling her hand back. "The fuck, Quinn! Why'd you just hit me?"

"Stop picking," Quinn admonished.

Santana gave her a sideways glance, and sighed because she could tell by the look on Quinn's face that she was in trouble. "I'm sorry about being late; I told you that things are going to be kind of…erratic at work until this project is over, but we're done with the finished sample, and-,"

Quinn had that hovering between anger and tears face, and Santana stopped talking because that face had nothing to do with her being late coming home, unless it had something to do with Quinn distrusting Santana, and her being late coming home. Santana looked at the slight red rim to Quinn's eyes and realized that it was probably that. "Babe, what's wrong?"

"I got the photos developed," Quinn said in response. Santana felt her stomach sinking because at least her words explained how she could leave a happy and playful wife and come home to this sullen one.

"I thought you were going to wait for me."

"I was, but after spending all day talking to your mom, and waiting for dinner to be done, I thought I'd drop them off at the one hour photo at Walgreens, and I was just so excited to see how they turned out that,"

"You went and looked through the ones that I had taken," Santana finished for her. "You were supposed to wait; it would have saved yourself some heartache if you had."

"Four, Santana. You took four pictures of me and 19 of other women, two of guys, and two of random things. My whole roll is filled with nothing but pictures of you, and you tookfourof me! This was supposed to be something special for us! You couldn't even give me a day?"

Santana laughed even though she knew that she shouldn't. "I swear, Quinn, you would save yourself half the heartache if you would trust me just a little bit more."

"There were 19 pictures of women on your camera!"

"Which you wouldn't have known about if you hadn't gone looking through my photos. I need just a little trust, Quinn! Not a lot, just a little! It's not even close to what you think." She held out her hand. "Where are they? Please tell me you didn't trash them."

Quinn abruptly spun on her heels, and retrieved the photos. She slammed them into Santana's hand. Santana shook her head. This woman. "If you'd waited, I would have been able to get a digital print out of each of these, which would have made it easier to tear, and it would have been more symbolic, but you went and developed them on your own, and got upset, and frustrated, and I wish you would understand that I don't do things to hurt you. I'm not going to break up with you at a funeral, I don't want to raw dog a hornets nest, and I'm not going to cheat on you! God it's not worth the apologizing, begging and pleading that I'd have to do afterwards."

Santana shook her head, moving into the living room. "I want you to know you ruined my magic trick, Quinn," she yelled back towards the kitchen.

Quinn stubbornly sat down on the couch, her feet curling beneath her as Santana went searching through one of her boxes in the alcove for the materials she needed. She kneeled down in front of the coffee table, and went searching through the pictures that she took, happy to see that they had all come out the way that she had wanted, even the three that she had experimented shooting a double exposure. Santana spread the pictures out in front of her on the table, and on the floor, and began cutting them up.

"Try to compose a poem andsome peoplejump all down your throat."

She heard Quinn's angry exhale of her breath, and did her best to ignore Quinn who she could feel staring daggers at her, probably trying to guess and second guess what she was doing. She ignored Quinn's glare, and fought down her own anger, because she had had a long day at work, and she had come home expecting to eat some tasty lasagna, and maybe some tasty Quinn, and she had to be at work bright and early tomorrow morning and work five more days before she saw a day off, and damn it, she didn't want to spend the rest of her life in trouble with Quinn. She wished their five year anniversary would come around already; maybe by then things would stop being so rocky between the two of them.

Almost exactly an hour later, Santana showed Quinn what she had been 'playing around' with. She had placed the pieces of her pictures on a black background, and had secured it to a piece of cardstock. "It still needs to be framed, but here. Do you like my poem?" Santana questioned.

Santana watched Quinn's emotions shift as she studied what Santana was showing her. If things weren't so tentative between them, she would have crowed at her wife right then…actually, on second thought… "I believe the words you are searching for right now are 'I'm sorry,' and 'I have the best wife ever' and 'I'll go heat you up the food that I deprived you of, now'."

What Santana had done was make a mosaic of Quinn's face with the pieces of the pictures that Santana had collected. Quinn could pull out how the curve of a woman's arm had been made to make up the curve of her right cheek, how pieces of the ball pit made up the rosy color of her cheeks, and how the green of another's shirt overlaid with the golden glow of the street lamp (one of the double exposed pictures) served as part of her eyes.

"How is this poetry?" Quinn questioned, her voice far softer than it had been an hour before. Her question might not have contained any of the statements that she instructed Quinn to use, but her tone still sounded like victory to Santana. "Poems have words. There's no words."

Santana nodded as if that was the point. "Because words always seem to trip us up, whereas actions seem to be the best demonstrators. And therearewords, you just have to know how to read it. See these numbers on the side that you probably didn't even notice: 9-55-2-15-13, those are my lucky lotto numbers because when we got married, I took a gamble, and this other part? To me it says very clearly that you don't have to worry about my eyes wandering because no matter who it is I'm looking at, the only thing I see when I look at them is you." Santana scanned over her finished product very proud of herself. "I thought it was very poetic."

Quinn crawled down the length of the couch to the end where Santana was sitting. She took the picture out of Santana's hand, before she carefully climbed down into her lap. "It was," Quinn assured her, planting a kiss on her lips. "Very poetic."

Santana pulled back a little. "And?" she questioned, not letting Quinn get away that easily.

Quinn grunted, but smiled brushing strands of hair away from Santana's face so she could get an unobstructed view. "Lo siento, Santana," she said, and Santana could hear how earnest she was when she said the words. "You are seriously the best wife ever, and," she faltered, ducking her head, but Santana put a finger under her chin, lifting it so that Quinn couldn't hide.

"And?"

"And I will try not to think the worst without letting you explain first."

"I was actually looking for 'I'll go heat up the food that I have deprived you of', but I'll take that, too."

Quinn kissed her again before getting to her feet. Santana watched her stand and start to walk away. "Slower, babe," she joked, "I need more of a show."

To her delight Quinn added more of a switch to her walk as she made her way into the kitchen. Santana leaned back against the couch with a sigh, a smile teasing her lips.

"What're you smiling about?"

Santana's eyes snapped open. Had she dozed off? "Huh?"

"You were smiling."

Santana smiled again. "Oh." She laughed. "I was just thinking that I'm starting to like our normal."

"Yeah?" Quinn questioned, somehow managing to lower herself down onto Santana's lap without spilling either plate of food. "Do you?"

"Fuck, baby," Santana said, adjusting herself to accommodate Quinn better. "Remind me to get Puck something amazing for Christmas."

Quinn rocked her hips forward, still holding both plates of food. "Why's that?"

"Because, after me, you're like the sexiest bitch on this planet. And I get to come home to you."

Santana wondered if she had taken it too far, after seeing the look on Quinn's face, but Quinn only responded by leaning forward, meeting Santana halfway. Santana came forward the rest of the way, bringing her lips up to Quinn's. It was a slow burning kiss that ended just as it was heating up because Quinn was still holding onto their dinner.

"Okay, when we get our own place, we're definitely going to need hardwood floors in every possible room that we can fuck," Santana grunted. She took the plates from Quinn's hand and sat them on the floor before pulling Quinn forward, only to be stopped by something hard pressing into her chest. "What the hell?" Santana questioned, as she pulled out the beer bottle that had been resting snuggly in Quinn's cleavage.

"I only have two hands," Quinn explained. "I figured we could share."

Santana could only offer a grunt becausedamnand how on Earth did she happen to get this lucky? Santana quickly liberated Quinn's breast from her shirt and bra, and eagerly licked up the condensation that the beer left on them. "San," Quinn moaned. "The food."

"I'll be quick," Santana promised. She latched her mouth onto Quinn's nipple, her hand disappearing beneath the band of Quinn's shorts. Santana was well studied in the art of her wife's body, and it was only a matter of minutes before she had Quinn trembling on top of her. "That's what I mean by topping from the bottom," Santana husked. She slipped her fingers into her mouth to clean them off thoroughly, while Quinn watched in a slightly blissed out state. Santana wasn't expecting any reciprocation, but when Quinn's hand started to drift downward, she merely spread her legs to give Quinn better access. Santana once again buried her face in Quinn's chest, rocking her hips to meet each of her thrusts.

It didn't take long for Santana to be rewarded with her own climax, but it was long enough for the food to get cold. Since Quinn heated up the food the first time around, Santana was the one to do it the second time around. They both stuck to their own laps this time, but Santana purposely didn't get another beer because she didn't mind sharing.

"So, what'd you spend the day doing?"

Judging by her smile, Santana figured that Quinn had been waiting for her to ask. "Me and moms, mine and yours, argued about the food, and the color, we agreed on the tables, chairs and flowers, dad chimed in his two cents about entertainment. By the way, how do you feel about a Mariachi band? Oh and there was another fight about food, and we have a cake testing this Saturday, so you better not have to work."

Santana shook her head. Shehopedshe didn't have to work. Paulianne had her finished sample so hopefully it was off her desk for the moment. "Good, because you deserve some of this aggravation, too."

"What do you need me to do?" she questioned.

"I'll make you a list," Quinn said seriously. She paused for a second, and gave Santana a quick kiss, then continued talking as if she hadn't stopped. "Oh, I forgot to mention, your mom is going to be coming up a week early, which means my mom is probably going to do the same, so they can sleep at my place because the couch folds out into a bed, and they can fight over who gets to sleep where."

"That should be fun. Did dad say if he was coming early or not?"

"Yes, but no. He's committed to the hospital until Thursday afternoon. And did you know that our mom's actually like each other?"

"I figured they had to at least tolerate each other if they made the bet."

"Yea, but they did that back when we were in high school, but I mean they like each other, like each other. Like they spend time together, and argue like they're us."

"We had to get that from somewhere," Santana joked.

"Don't you think it's weird that they've been friends nearly as long as we have, and we didn't even know about it?"

Santana gave an amused laugh. "You do realize why that is, right?"

Quinn looked over at Santana. "Why what is? Why we didn't know about it, or why they're friends?"

"Both."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow at her wife. "I take it you do?"

"Well besides that we used to doeverythingtogether so they were around each other for four years, both of them thought we were going to get married someday, so they probably figured that it was good practice for the future."

"Do you think that they really made the bet?"

"I fully believe that they did," Santana said with a soft chuckle. "They were probably thinking that you were the only one in this place that could handle being married to me, so if we didn't get married, I was just SOL."

"I'm pretty sure everyone else would have given up on me by now," Quinn mumbled.

Santana reached for her hand, and kissed it. "Nah, you're too pretty," she chided. "And you're a halfway decent cook, too."