Summer is sticky-hot oppressive, the air stagnant and still like a swamp. The wind, when it blows, is hot, gritty, smoggy. Inside it’s even hotter, windows creaked and cracked on their crumbling, splintered frames, but no one in the Milkovich household can be fucked to fix the ancient air conditioner that had finally spluttered out last summer.
The sunlight coming in through the window shines red through Mickey’s eyelids. Ian is a hot presence next to him, stupidly long limbs stretched and sweaty and invasive, and Mickey would tell him to move the fuck out of his space if he wasn’t still sated and thrumming from orgasm, and if some girly part of him didn’t love the feeling of Ian’s body pressed against his own.
anonymous prompted: ok, I really didn’t want to bother you, but I’ve been having this idea in my mind and you are really one of my favorite writers, I’d really like to see one where kurt actually asked Blaine to use one of his shirts cause it’s like, I don’t know.. a fantasy of his or something?
They’re both panting, sweaty messes when they fall back against the sheets and Kurt laughs in that sated, fucked-out way that only comes from really good sex, like the kind he’d just had that’s left his fingers and toes still tingling.
“God, I’d forgotten how good you are at that,” Kurt says, sucking in lungfuls of air as he stares at the ceiling, tries to get his breath back. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushes it off his forehead, and stretches his limbs out languorously, pushing the sheets down the bed with his toes.
anonymous prompted: bashfully prompting a fic where kurt and and blaine give rachel a cake that says ‘sorry we fucked in your kitchen’. /)~(\
Rachel asks them to housesit for her when she heads back to Ohio for a weekend to visit her dads.
“I just want to make sure that nothing gets stolen,” she says to Kurt over coffee, like there isn’t a doorman that knows the faces of all of Rachel’s probable visitors, knows that she’s going to be gone and would more than likely alert the police if someone shady strolled in looking for her.
Kurt hasn’t been over to her new place much in the year since she’d came back from LA and bought it, but it’s nice, much nicer than the loft he and Blaine are still living in. and Rachel has an espresso maker given to her by one of her producers that Kurt’s been dying to use since she won’t let anyone else touch it.
anonymous prompted: The first time Blaine goes into subspace
“God—that’s it,” Blaine gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into Kurt’s slick shoulders. He tightens his legs around Kurt’s waist, hitches them higher and squeezes his thighs against Kurt’s hips as he begs, “Harder, c’mon, harder.”
It’s almost too hot to be doing this; the A/C in the loft is broken and can’t be fixed until tomorrow. But it’s a rare moment where they’re both home and have a free afternoon together, and Blaine’s never really been proud of his lack of self-control when it comes to Kurt. Especially when Kurt walks around the loft shirtless and sweating and looking, already, like sex.
Kurt’s breath is hot and humid against Blaine’s slick skin as he drops his head down and laughs, slides his hands up under Blaine’s back to draw him closer, their nipples catching and making them both draw in sharp breaths. The noise their skin makes where it meets is slick, sharp, and Blaine drags his nails down Kurt’s back with a low groan.
anonymous prompted: i need a fic where they wake up on father’s day and blaine whispers “happy father’s day, daddy” into kurt’s ear and then proceeds to give him the hottest blowjob ever
Kurt isn’t sure, at first, what wakes him, isn’t sure if it’s the thin, watery light wavering into the bedroom from underneath their curtains, or if it’s just his internal parental clock telling him that despite it being a Sunday it’s time to get up.
He comes to slowly, in stages, first blinking open bleary eyes and letting them adjust, then stretching slightly with a faint groan, feeling his joints creak and pop. There’s a heavy leaden tiredness to his body that drags him deep into the sheets, lets him know that he’d slept in this position all night.
anonymous prompted: So you should like write a fic in which blaine and rachel are freshman nyada students and after their first show rachel asks blaine to join her and her dad, Kurt, to dinner, but then rachel has to run away and they’re left alone..aaand love happens:)
Rachel’s already in the hallway by the time Blaine rushes out there, still sweaty and breathless and grinning broad enough that it begins to hurt his cheeks. She envelops him in a hug that he returns, squeezing her back and laughing when she squeals and jumps up and down.
“You were amazing!” she gushes, bright-eyed and gleaming slightly with sweat.
“Not as amazing as you, Miss Berry,” Blaine teases, flicking Rachel’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you nailed that note! I told you.”
Kurt and Blaine argue over who does more work during sex, because of course they would.
It starts with Blaine complaining of a sore back.
Well it’s not so much as him complaining as it is Rachel noticing when they’re out getting lunch together—she catches the way that he winces when he slides into the booth of the tiny café, looks at him with concern bright in her big eyes as she accepts the menu their young waitress gives her.
“Blaine, are you okay?” she asks as she flips through the laminated pages, looking up a few times with her head tilted as she waits for his answer.
based off of this imagine your otp post: Imagine Person A shampooing and rinsing Person B’s hair in the shower - whilst Person B gives Person A oral sex.
Kurt is bleary-eyed and half-asleep when he stumbles into the bathroom. He squints at the explosion of bright light as he flips the switch, avoids looking in the mirror and at the mess of a bedhead that he knows he’ll find, the heavy hang of bags and the pale tautness to his skin.
He’s usually never up this early, but he has a meeting this morning, one that he’s been dreading for the last week or so. Meetings at Vogue are always stressful and his coworkers can be such idiots sometimes that most of Kurt’s energy goes into gritting his teeth and not calling Sandra a colorblind infant or Robbie a pompous asshole.
like scarecrows that fuel this flame we’re burning—based off of this: Kurt Hummel escapes from prison and goes to find his boyfriend, Blaine Anderson.
The first thing Kurt does when he escapes is Tweet.
@khummel: Quite lovely weather today. Glad I’m outside to enjoy it.
He hits send and adjusts his sunglasses, leaning against the building he’s standing in front of and watching the people hurry by, the yellow whir of taxis in the street. The air is cleaner than he remembers it, if the smell of smog and sewer can be considered clean. It is home, though, and Kurt’s missed that, was keeping tabs of the days with tallies on his cell wall since he’d been sentenced over a year ago.
It’s amazing how easy it is to forget what freedom looks like, what it means to look around and not see towering fences topped with barbed wire overhead on all sides.
hold the weight of the world on my back—Kurt finds out that Blaine likes to be praised in bed, and he’s more than okay helping with that.
Kurt discovers it, surprisingly, nearly six months into them having sex. It’s by accident, after they’ve both already come and are breathing heavily, Kurt’s heart racing and his blood rushing in his ears. Underneath him Blaine’s eyes are closed, lips parted and shining in the late-afternoon sunlight. The sheets are twisted around his body, evidence of where he’d grabbed and squirmed and writhed. Kurt’s cooling skin flushes again at the thought.
They have the house to themselves for the night, Blaine’s parents gone to a wedding a city over. It’s the first time in weeks that they’d got to have proper sex, but also the first time ever that they’d really slowed things down, took the time to memorize, to learn what might have been overlooked before.