anonymous prompted: u should do car sex with blaine lying in the back getting the daylights fucked out of him and the windows r all steamy and hes leaving hand prints on the windows of the car like in the titanic and fdkjbsdkjskdjvnsjkdnsjd i think i need this in my life now
It’s a stupid idea, to be doing this here. But Kurt can’t bring himself to care as Blaine works his jeans down, tosses them somewhere in the front seat; he’s half-naked, then, his cock hard and red where it juts from his body. In the dim of the light Kurt can barely see the glisten of pre-come on the red-swollen tip, has only a second or two to appreciate it before Blaine is straddling his hips and cupping Kurt’s face, kissing him with ease as he rocks forward.
“God, Blaine,” Kurt breathes, heavy, between slides of their lips. His hands go up Blaine’s back, fist in the soft cotton of Blaine’s polo before letting go so he can dig his fingers into Blaine’s shifting shoulder blades. He chases Blaine’s lips, lets his head fall back and groans when one of Blaine’s hands cups him through his jeans, squeezing once, before deft fingers are undoing Kurt’s button and zipper.
what to do when you are dead: a comprehensive guide to your afterlife—after his car careens over a bridge Kurt finds himself stuck on earth as he watches Blaine slowly fall apart without him. based around this (and I strongly suggest listening while reading or listening before).
The piece of paper is frayed and worn thin in places where fingerprints have smeared the ink into blue-black bruises. Fold lines cross like rivers and roads on the page like a map, cutting words into half and crinkling some illegibly in others. Unsure hands shake as the note is pulled from a back pocket for the thousandth time—for the last time. There has been careful work put into this small piece of paper; careful, attentive consideration put into every word. This has to mean everything, the universe, all of the words failed to be said over the past few years.
Another tear slips from Kurt’s eye as he stands over the bed. He looks at Blaine’s peaceful, sleeping form, reaches out a hand to stroke back loose hair fallen over his forehead; Blaine sighs, shifts, and his lips move up into something like a ghost of a smile. Kurt knows this is for the best, knows all the pain he’s caused Blaine and knows that it needs to stop before it balloons into something greater and irrevocable.
(Though it could be argued that what he’s about to do is so much worse.)
Hunger Games AU—Blaine is mentor to Kurt and the night before the Games finds them talking about more than just strategy.
It’s four in the morning and Blaine can’t sleep.
He lies in bed in his room, staring at the ceiling. Around him the blankets are heavy, lush, much more luxurious and comfortable than even his own sheets back at home in the Victor’s Village, but even that can’t call upon sleep. Then again, Blaine has never slept well in the Capitol before.
Every time he swallows it lumps up, gets caught in his throat. All he can think of is that tomorrow the Games begin; tomorrow all of the tributes will be shipped off to the arena and Blaine will be left here in the Capitol, pandering to the wealthy and easily-besotted. It’s his second time doing it; it should be easy enough by now. But it never is, and every year just reminds Blaine more and more how despicable this society is, how despicable he is for winning. No one decent ever wins the Games. It’s a fact. Blaine’s own hands are far from clean.
Kurt and Blaine are having sex when the condom breaks
“Kurt, oh god—”
Blaine’s moan echoes, loud and long, and Kurt huffs out a laugh as he slides out and pushes back in, breathily heavily at Blaine tight and sweetly hot around him. He sucks in a breath as Blaine clenches, tightening, and the moan he lets out is lost to another one of Blaine’s as Kurt’s cock brushes just right. “Oh my god, Blaine, you’re so loud.”
“No one’s home,” Blaine says on a grunt, his voice tight. He arches up, splays his legs wide where they’re spread on either side of Kurt’s hips. Kurt shifts up higher onto his knees, grips Blaine’s hips and sets up a smooth, even rhythm. “And that means that I can be as vocal as I want about how you—oh fuck yes right there—feel.”
anonymous prompted: i’m honestly waiting for the day you write a fic where kurt goes down on bp!blaine while he’s on the phone seriously rachel
anonymous prompted: so i will actually pay you to write a fic where blaine (bp or no) is on the phone and kurt goes down on him and blaine has to be quiet but he doesn’t and the person on the phone is like “what the fuck”
The phone rings when they’re in between rounds, skin sticky and cooling as they wait to start round—is it three now, or four? Kurt’s honestly doesn’t know, had lost count sometime around when he’d made Blaine come for the seventh time.
“Get it,” Kurt says, nodding towards the nightstand. Blaine’s closest, and it’s his phone, anyway. Moving to answer it would just expend energy that Kurt can’t afford to lose. They’d purposely shooed everyone out of the apartment today to finally have a day to themselves and there is no way that Kurt’s stopping at only two in the afternoon.
The sun burns bright into Blaine’s eyelids; he groans, stirs and rolls over, throwing his arm over his face. His head is throbbing, nausea beating at the backs of his teeth; he’s hungover, but not spectacularly so. The first thing he notices, besides it being odd that he would’ve forgotten to shut the blinds last night, is that the light is too bright for his dingy student apartment. The window in his bedroom is much too small, and living on the second floor doesn’t offer much in the way of lighting.
There’s a feeling in his gut, a funny thing that he isn’t where he should be. The sheets feel different; hell, even the atmosphere feels different.
Cautiously, Blaine lifts his arm and opens his eyes.
Inches away from him, nestled between white linen sheets, is Kurt Hummel, his art history professor.
anonymous prompted: What if there was a fic of Elliot walking in on klaine having sex in the loft when Blaine comes to visit.
Elliott has tried to remind himself—several times—that it would be a very bad idea to crush on Kurt Hummel. Kurt is blunt, oftentimes to the point of being rude. Kurt demands that the spotlight always be on him and he doesn’t like sharing. Kurt is sometimes selfish. Kurt is engaged and Elliott can’t honestly really even see them dating.
Kurt is…no matter how many reasons Elliott comes up with, he can’t deny the fact that Kurt is hot. As in, maybe the hottest guy that Elliott has ever seen. Hot as in, even though Kurt has stated that he’s engaged and Elliott has seen pictures of this infamous fiancé, he still has troubles keeping his thoughts at night to guys who aren’t, well, Kurt. He’d seen the look he’d gotten at the Spotlight Diner, when he’d shown up without all of his usual theatricality. There had been surprise first on Kurt’s face, then intrigue, and then something else.
There’s a nervous fluttery feeling in Kurt’s stomach as he sits cross-legged on his bed, his laptop opening and glowing blue-white in front of him. He absently runs his hand over his shoulder, the still-sore red patch of skin underneath the thin black of his tank top.
He hasn’t connected the Skype call to Blaine yet, and his fingers hover nervously over the keys. What if he had been too rash and too impulsive? This isn’t necessarily something that he and Blaine have talked about in depth, or even explicitly, so Kurt has no idea how he’s going to react.
With a sigh, the fingers of his free hand fluttering absently over where his heart is pounding fast inside his ribcage, he clicks call and waits for Blaine to pick up.
anonymous prompted: idk if you’ve ever written kid fic or wish to, but what about one where klaine know each other in 2nd grade or something and blaine proposes to kurt with a ring pop haha
(and since i didn’t get to write fic the day of their first meeting anniversary commemorating it i decided to blend it in with this fic so yay! \o/)
Kurt startles, his fingers slipping a little on the buttons of his brand-new gray peacoat that his mom had bought him over the weekend. Most of the class is chattering away as they take off their heavy winter coats and hang them up at the back of the room, and Kurt, who hasn’t ever really talked too much to anyone in his class besides Rachel, is surprised at the sudden boyish, slightly-lisping voice behind him.
anonymous prompted: can u write a quick drabble on kurt walking in on blaine using a vibrator? pwetty please c:
(part of the “awkward firsts” ‘verse)
Kurt’s early. He knows that he should have waited, that he could’ve paced himself on the drive over here, but hanging out with Blaine, being with Blaine, is still so shiny and new that Kurt can’t help his nervous, fluttery heart and shaky hands and jittery legs. With it comes, also, a skewed sense of time management, and Kurt’s pretty sure that if he had sat around his house any longer he would’ve gone absolutely insane.
Besides, what harm could it do? It’s never too early for surprises (Kurt hopes), and he loves—but not like that—when Blaine is smiling and happy because of him. It makes Kurt smile, too, and makes him so glad all over again that this has happened between them.