AN: Writing this story because Faberry won that poll and I made a promise. This is g!p. Never thought I'd actually be putting "this is g!p" in an AN. Anyway…

She approached Puck first. A man whore would surely understand her dilemma. Usually Puck's cocky confidence about sex – who even told their friends he had purchased a clit clamp for one of his "down and dirty" girls? – made her hysterically uncomfortable.

Sometimes, Quinn wondered if Puck's posturing and peacocking about sex was his way of deflecting. Maybe he was still a virgin and his boasting was similar to the cliché that men with small dicks compensated by buying large trucks.

Still, he had a penis and Quinn had a problem. But at the barest mention of her predicament, Puck clamped his sweaty, oily hand over her mouth to quiet her. Quinn's lips felt like they were being invaded by murky lake water. She swatted his hand away and pleaded with her eyes and an uncomfortable shuffle of her feet.

"Puck…this has…never been an issue for me."

"Much as I love being your go-to guy for all things penis…" Puck stopped for a moment to favor her with his patented lip pucker. The one that made him eerily resemble Zoolander.

Quinn hit him lightly against his chest and his smirk morphed into laughter.

"Quinn, my favorite little pressure cooker, or at least you were until this happened to you…"

This time it was Quinn who silenced Puck by yanking at his MOHAWK. Lately, Quinn heard that word in all caps in her head - MOHAWK - because Puck's hair was so outlandishly unruly that it was threatening to take up the entirety of his face. Soon enough, he'd become a modern day Cousin It.

Forcing Puck to level his gaze with her own, Quinn demanded he speak by way of a stormy expression that could've probably wrecked ships if Quinn had turned her gaze to the sea.

"I've never had that problem," Puck wiggled his eyebrows. His suggestive looks only made Quinn think of Puck in a sinkhole of a bar somewhere asking girls for their sign or if they were tired from running around in his head all day. It was too creepy for her taste. And when did she start relying so heavily on clichés when it came to describing Puck?

Finally relenting to the seriousness behind Quinn's expression – or maybe it took that long for Quinn's quandary to reach past the massiveness of that MOHAWK and into the circuits of Puck's brain – Puck patted her gravely on the back.

"So you can't even do the old five to one, the petting of the penguin, the…" Puck yelped and gritted his teeth into silence at another tug of his hair.

Quinn gripped Puck's MOHAWK even tighter before releasing her grip. Her hand came away as if she'd just lubed it up in preparation for masturbation. Maybe hair gel products should advertise to an entirely different market…

Focusing again, Quinn nearly pleaded, "What do you mean by ones and penguins?"

Puck shook his head in apparent disappointment. "Masturbation! I'm talking about masturbation. Are you still able to rub one out?"

Quinn willed herself to stay steady. And to remain upright…well, at least the portions of her body that could maintain that position these days. She was glad she didn't feel the urge to vomit, but she was a few thousand miles away from a pleasant day in Margaritaville. She limply shook her head no and cast her eyes past Puck to watch as Santana appeared from down the hallway. Getting ever closer to them. There was something disarmingly dangerous about the sway of Santana's hips this particular morning. Quinn ignored it. For the moment.

Daring to dart her eyes at Puck again, Quinn wasn't sure which of them was more embarrassed. Maybe it was even Puck. He kept shifting on his feet as if willing himself to run, but then realizing all over again that he was stuck in the equivalent of a conversational mousetrap instead.

Puck popped through the tortuous bubble of silence that had cocooned around them. "I'm really flattered you came to me for help…but I don't think I'm your man. Maybe you just gotta find a hot-blooded woman to go down on you?"

And at that Puck gestured to Santana as she continued her army-like march toward Quinn. With an unmistakable leer, Puck sidled past Quinn. She reached for him and hissed into his ear, "I've already gone down that path plenty, and while it's a nice one paved with many beautiful roses, even she wouldn't be enough for me to get it up at this juncture."

Puck bug-eyed her and whistled lowly under his breath. "Deep shit you're in, Fabray, because I get at least a semi every time I see her."

Groaning from a combination of despair and frustration, Quinn said, "Oh, believe me, that happens to me as well. But not since my…uh…inability to…"

"I get it! Your dick doesn't want to get out of bed. It's unhappy. Take a Xanax or something and see if that helps. I can't have this conversation anymore."

And Puck was gone faster than the time it probably took him to suddenly develop food poisoning any time he had to take a test in Spanish class. Quinn whipped around to follow him when a familiar finger brushed teasingly down her back. It had forever been their signal ever since this sexual battle between them had commenced. Santana always kept climbing into her bunker and Quinn (used to) constantly surrender to the girl. Sometimes by blindfold. Other times on her knees.

Santana breathed heavily into her ear, "Hey Pretty, don't you wanna take a ride with me?" Quinn could feel the sparks of lust serenading her from underneath Santana's tone…but none of those notes reached her where it was most necessary for Quinn to be able to sing along.

Quinn's response was a jumble of sounds that Santana didn't seem interested in piecing together. The only words that mattered between Quinn and Santana were harder, faster, deeper. Quinn wasn't even sure Santana Lopez could say such things as go slow, ease up, let's stop and cuddle.

Santana circled Quinn and motioned toward the janitor's closest. "Tina and Mike have it in half an hour, so let's hurry this along."

"Other people use that closet for sex?" Quinn knew she looked like a little kid who'd just been asked to explain quantum theory to a room full of scientists.

There was that finger on her back again, a little more commanding this time. "Your naivety would be charming if I cared about anything other than what you have inside your pants."

Quinn made a valiant attempt to wiggle away from Santana. And found her victory when none other than Kurt Hummel tapped her on the shoulder, causing Santana to mutter "Maybe I'll use the half an hour to masturbate in the closet" before huffing away from Quinn.

Kurt sneered at Santana's retreat before eyeing Quinn carefully. "Puck said I might be able to help you with some biology problem. We're not even in the same class…but he insisted I might have the answer. So, how can I help?"

Quinn held in a breath. Should she enlighten Kurt? Had it reached such a lowly point? Why, yes, judging by the fact that it had been three weeks since anything so much as moved an inch upward in her lower region…it was time to bring in all reinforcements.

Quinn blanched for a moment before launching into her request so fast it was as if she were auditioning for a spot on the debate team. "Will you just look at my penis and see if – I don't know - there might be something wrong with it?"

Kurt blushed, stammered, leaned against a locker. "Is this your...your…way of…uh…hitting on me?"

Quinn opened her mouth to protest when Rachel Berry came bounding past them with that irritating smile affixed to her face. Suddenly, it was as if she and Rachel were on opposite ends of an escalator: Rachel glancing down at Quinn's pants at the same moment Quinn slanted her head upward to take in the plunging neckline of Rachel's shirt. Rachel nodded at Kurt and Quinn but did not stop to say hello. Or offer any acknowledgement that she'd mere seconds ago blatantly stared at Quinn – in that way!

At that thought, Quinn felt a twitch down below. Then a tingle. Followed by a symphony of motion.

Stunned, Quinn sprinted down the hallway after Rachel, leaving a still shaken Kurt in her wake.

She heard him scream out to her, "You better not be going to ask Blaine to look at it!"

Ignoring everything other than the brunette several yards ahead of her, Quinn picked up her momentum right as her penis slammed fully back to life.

AN2: Some lyrics used from Uninvited by Alanis Morrisette (Puck speaking to Quinn) and Hey Pretty by Poe (Santana speaking to Quinn).