Title: Nineteen Minutes
Summary: They really wish they'd had quiet, long, drawn-out sex last night when Blaine got home, exhausted, from his trip...College fic.
Warnings: Oh dear...boy on boy sex: blowjobs, fingering, rimming, sex.
Characters: Kurt/Blaine with a cameo from Rachel
A/N: So this happened. And it's all very, very smutty, porny porn. Desperate, fast sex in the apartment and Kurt's got a dirty mouth and sass and Blaine's still Blaine. I go places with this I haven't been yet, actually several places, and I'm posting it unbetaed before I chicken out. This was meant to be a quite write! It wasn't! Because it's long! Why can't I write short!
"Jesus fucking Christ, Blaine, you said ten minutes!"
Kurt's snapping at him before he's even got the door closed and Blaine's wrestling with the keys and the bags and the narrow hallway and not paying Kurt's exceptionally frustrated tone any heed when he answers with a laugh. "Sorry, I figured since I was going past the Chinese place I'd stop and grab dinner."
"Fuck the food," Kurt bites out and now Blaine does look up, eyes confused but still playful because he's gotten used to swearing, slightly abusive Kurt in their few years together in New York. He smiles broader in the moment he has before Kurt's throwing himself at him and crashing their bodies together.
The Chinese food falls to the floor, boxes of noodles not quite spilling but tipping in the plastic bag. The door slams shut as Blaine automatically kicks back with a foot, in the same moment, his hands coming up to his boyfriend's cheeks out of reflex to try to keep from being devoured whole. He takes as deep a breath as he can with his mouth covered and nose pressed to cheek, and then he kisses Kurt back.
Sucking hard on Kurt's tongue and hearing him moan and rocking his hips forward and finding Kurt already so hard and wearing sweat pants which…usually Kurt only wears sweat pants to the gym, this is planning. "I should have only been ten minutes," Blaine admits when Kurt kisses across his jaw and down his neck and starts clawing at his pants. Blaine rocks his hips against Kurt again, eyes widening when Kurt whimpers and snaps his hips forward, out of control and ridiculous.
He's almost too scared to ask. "How long?"
Blaine's pants undone and sliding from his waist to hang precariously across his ass, ready to drop at a gentle nudge from either of them, Kurt doesn't bother, keeps skirting his lips and tongue and biting, really fucking biting, at Blaine's neck until he can kiss him again and bite at his lip and he doesn't usually use his teeth this much. He's desperate. He whimpers over Blaine's mouth again and pulls at Blaine's hand, pulls it up to his mouth and sucks hard on two fingers, slips his tongue in between and swallows hard enough for it to make Blaine's skin tingle. He licks across the palm, leaving it wet, nips at the wrist, turns it and reads the time.
Blaine gets a bit breathless at that. Nineteen minutes until Rachel gets home. It's not nearly long enough when they haven't been able to touch each other for over a week. But Rachel broke up with Michael and called them both today to cry down the phone and demand explanations and somehow she isn't home from work yet. Blaine had thought she'd be home.
"Nineteen minutes. You're sure?"
"She called when she was getting on the train."
Blaine might be about to say something snarky about the precision with which Kurt has obviously planned this encounter but the crack of Kurt's knees hitting the floorboards in front of him and his hands pressing him back into the wall shut him up sufficiently. Kurt still doesn't bother to drag Blaine's pants off, just yanks the material of his briefs down to release his cock and leave the elastic of the waistband pressed across his balls with enough pressure to make Blaine buck.
One of Kurt's hands scrunches the crisp white dress-shirt up Blaine's abdomen until Blaine takes the hint and holds it there for him. The other wraps around the base of the almost fully hard cock waiting in front of him. And then he's sinking his mouth down as Blaine's fingers curl in his hair, agonizingly slow and wet and hot, making Blaine growl low in his throat above him.
Kurt keeps sliding his mouth down and over taking him as deep as he can and then he sucks, cheeks hollowing out, lips curving into a vague smile as he feels the cock against his tongue getting harder as he breathes slow breaths through his nose and sucks again and again. Sets up a tempo, moving his mouth up and down and licking teasing swipes across the head whenever he feels the need.
When Blaine looks down, forcing his eyes open and his head forward off the wall it's fallen back against, Kurt's staring up with his pupils blown wide and his lips already bright and shining. Beyond that, Blaine can see the motion of Kurt's arm, fast and forceful and it's obvious he's palming his own cock as he sucks his boyfriend off. It makes Blaine groan again and this is one of the many perks to sex without Rachel around: he can be loud.
He groans again, louder; "Don't stop," as his other hand buries in Kurt's hair and pulls him forward, further onto his cock.
But Kurt pulls back, the fingers in his hair not holding anywhere near tight enough to really force anything and with the dress-shirt annoyingly in his way now that Blaine's forgotten to hold it up. He's frustrated and losing time. He rocks back on his heels and stands, the hand at his pants, yanking them down—oh the joys of the one pair of sweats he owns—and then he's pushing forward, cocks pressing together between them as he kisses Blaine again, finds his wrist and checks the time.
He growls then and Blaine chuckles and wonders how bad the day at work was to have brought this on with such fervour. Kurt kisses harder and with a mouth too wet from sucking and when Blaine kisses across his cheeks and down his chin he's vaguely impressed, as usual, at how uncaring Kurt is about mess when it's sex.
Further down his neck Kurt just tastes of sweat and man.
"I need you to fuck me," Kurt's saying at his ear. One hand's curled under an arm and up his back, fingers in his hair, angling. The other is around their cocks, pressing them together and finding friction in the saliva and precome and Blaine hasn't gone this fast in months.
Except they've got all of thirteen minutes, maybe, actually, maybe, like eleven minutes. And Rachel won't just be home, she'll be crying and demanding and wanting food. Blaine looks stupidly around for the Chinese and spots it's a few feet back near the door.
Kurt bites hard at the spot where Blaine's neck meets his shoulder and then licks over it twice to take the sting away. Then he stalks off, one last tight squeeze of Blaine's dick and a deadly, playful, seductive smile cast over his shoulder as he heads down the hall.
He walks straight past their bedroom door without flinching and Blaine's scrambling after him a moment later, arms yanking his shirt off as his pants slide down and threaten to trip him.
When he gets to the kitchen, Kurt's already kicking away the sweatpants and is yanking his shirt over his head, completely naked once they're gone, he's throwing that smile at Blaine again and leaning himself forward and over the table Rachel insisted that have.
The table he hates. Big and brown and taking up most of the space in their small New York kitchen.
As turned on and desperate as Blaine is, as quickly as he's kicking his shoes off and wriggling out of his pants and bending to pull his socks from his feet (only because Kurt always insists that his socks come off), he takes the time to sardonically ask, "Really, Kurt?"
But it kind of makes sense: no Rachel means loud, it means naked and, apparently it means, having sex on the furniture. They've done couches and walls before—what's a dining table? Kurt just rolls his eyes and bends further forward, begging Blaine's eyes shamelessly to drink him.
"Come on," Kurt coerces, Blaine crossing to stand behind him, drawing him up onto his feet again so he can press back to chest as his hands paint butterfly touches over his hips.
They don't have time for this.
"We don't have time for me to fuck you," Blaine tells him, at least sounding sad about it, his fingers digging in to Kurt's hips now.
Kurt huffs and presses his ass back, rutting up against Blaine's cock and glaring at him over his shoulder, "We really, really do. If you'd just shut up and do it."
And that makes Blaine's breath catch hard in his throat and really, really want to but Kurt's always so fucking tight and he's always so hard and this might well be the first time Blaine's even wished his cock was smaller. He stares at the clock on the wall and begins saying, all the while pressing his cock into the back of Kurt's ass. "We have—"
"Remarkably, even though you are taking your time, we have all of nine minutes. Assuming she walks straight here. And she will. She'll want to talk all night. And we'll have to because we're good friends." Midway through that tirade, Kurt bucks back, pushes Blaine away and then leans back forward over the table, pushing his ass up in the obscene kind of way Blaine's come to really, really appreciate.
Still, a blowjob would make so much more sense. "Nine minutes and you want me to fuck you on the kitchen table?"
Balanced on his elbows and straining his neck to look over his shoulder he hitches a leg up and makes Blaine's breath hitch.
Spread like that, Blaine has no chance in hell and he refuses to look at him, relents anyway just at the idea of Kurt there spread and wanting, managing, just barely, to sound displeased about it, "Fine." His hands splay across Kurt's ass at he watches the muscles across Kurt's back tense and shift and Kurt's instantly pressing back, revelling in the simple touch, moaning into it as Blaine squeezes the muscles under his fingers and spreads Kurt wider. "But since we only have nine minutes—"
"—don't get upset if you come before I fuck you."
Blaine thinks he's managed to sound seductive and promising and hot. But Kurt just finds him incredibly predictable, and he's planned for this. All of this; so Kurt just agrees with a nod and faces forward and lets Blaine think he can coax him into coming without Blaine buried deep inside him.
And that is exactly what Blaine is thinking: less than ten minutes, on the kitchen table, they're both turned on and inside out and hating that they didn't have quiet, long, drawn out sex last night when Blaine got home, exhausted, from his trip. Didn't have sex the first chance they got, just fell asleep hugging too close in the early fall heat; because who knew that stupid Michael was going to break things off with stupid Rachel and steal what was meant to be a night alone in the apartment. And, yeah being inside Kurt would be nice but fuck: they do not have time.
Blaine, wishing he hadn't let Kurt waste precious minutes giving him head, now leans forward, slides his hands in matched circles over his ass, just squeezing, teasing for a moment as Kurt's knee hitches all the way up onto the table and Blaine leans down to bite into the swell of the muscle on the left side, listening with far too much pleasure to the whimper that escapes Kurt.
He needs to get Kurt off fast and hard and then get Kurt to return the favour: how many minutes was it? His hands spread his boyfriend's ass wide and he licks hard and hot from balls all the way back: Kurt can't hold himself together with Blaine's mouth on his ass, it's something they worked out a few months ago and Blaine fucking loves it. And now it's his secret weapon and he's ready to lick all the way up to the spot where his ass turns into his back, tease him, except…
His brain short circuits and he wants to pull back and stare and press his mouth to it all at once and settles for the latter because that fucking tasted like—he mumbles something that's meant to be 'Raspberries' but comes out entirely muffled and Kurt laughs, fucking laughs, at him and pushes his ass back into his face and Blaine's swiping his tongue back, not teasing at all, licking harsh strokes over Kurt's hole and he's already stretched open.
What in the fucking fuck? Blaine's lost to it, he's rutting against thin air because instead of skin and sex, Kurt tastes like berries and is slick with what Blaine can only imagine, at this ridiculously close proximity, is lube…raspberry flavoured lube. When the fuck did Kurt buy raspberry flavoured lube? And why is it all over his worked open ass? And fuck he's played this exactly how he wanted to, hasn't he?
He is completely stretched out and as Blaine finally manages to stop getting off on the fact that Kurt is ready and willing and planning ahead under his mouth and pull back to sink two fingers way too easily inside him, he manages to say, "Fuck. Fuck. Kurt, what the fuck?" and then fall back in to lick around the rim, his fingers buried and pressing.
"You said ten minutes," he says by breathless way of explanation, clearly stating that he simply started without Blaine, planned all this out, stretching himself ready. And at least Kurt has the decency to sound turned on and breathless as he arches and presses his ass back against Blaine's mouth.
"Food," Blaine monosyllabically explains, still licking, still pressing his fingers in, starting to wonder if fucking Kurt hard is exactly how this should end.
And Kurt's quickly losing it, groaning loud enough that it echoes but he presses on even as he presses back. "Yeah," he gasps, "While you were getting food—fuck—I was waiting and then you were running late and—" he slides high pitched on a whimper, "—shit, Blaine, I figured this was the only way." He whines and his nails try to find purchase on the wood as Blaine curls his fingers inside him just right.
"How many?" Blaine relents because, actually, yeah, now he really wants to be deep inside him when he comes, and he's already getting close. He shifts his mouth down, fights the awkward angle, and mouths at Kurt's balls.
Breathless and desperate and demanding, "Three," he swallows a cry, "Hard and deep and thinking of you fucking me. I'm so ready." He rocks back on purpose and Blaine can't keep his tongue at his balls, barely manages to keep his fingers in him. "You just need to fuck me."
"Raspberries?" Blaine asks, pulling back and looking at the clock over his shoulder, realizing too late he has no idea what time their countdown even started.
He pulls Kurt's hips back to the end of the table, not entirely sure when they scooted forward and Kurt moves back up, pressing his ass back to Blaine's cock, arching up and looking over his shoulder at him with a smile. "I knew you wouldn't fuck me with the time we had." Blaine blushes because this is Kurt's very strange way of teasing him for being too gentlemanly sometimes. "I knew you'd think licking my ass would distract me."
"Raspberries, though?" Blaine asks as he pulls him up to his feet and turns him around, pressing hips to hips, chest to chest, and Kurt would fight it or tell Blaine he's had the raspberry flavoured lube for a month, but Blaine kisses him, open-mouthed and dirty and tasting of raspberry flavoured lube and sometimes Kurt would laugh at him and push him away but tonight, seconds rushing past them, Kurt just lets his teeth scrape over Blaine's tongue, sucks and kisses back as hard as he can.
Then he pulls back, hands on Blaine's chest, fingers flicking over his nipples as he stares at him with hooded eyes and ignores the fact that they really, actually don't' have time now. He doesn't care. He hopes Blaine locked the door. He hopes they'll hear the keys, but mostly he doesn't care. "Fuck me," he says, all seduction. "Hard and fast and just come."
Blaine just gives him a broken groan and tries to kiss him again but Kurt won't let him, pulls a condom from god knows where—fuck he really has planned this—and rips it open with his teeth and a smile. He's rolling the condom down onto Blaine's dick, testing him with a few hard strokes and smirking even broader when Blaine's knees shake and his eyes slide shut.
Then he's turning and leaning back over the table, stretching his arms far above his head, stretching towards the end of the wood, and pulling his leg up again.
"How long have we got?" Blaine whimpers, his fingers sliding back over Kurt's entrance, dipping in and wondering if he should find more lube.
Kurt just groans and arches his ass higher in the air. "Fuck me," he whimpers out and later Blaine will definitely tease him for begging.
But now…Blaine's hands finally, finally, grip down on Kurt's hips, angling him, pulling him up and back a little, then one hand leaving and Kurt bites down on his lip, stares at the wall and relaxes back into the not-quite-hot touch of Blaine's cock to his ass.
Blaine holds the base as he sinks in, biting back a rough needy sound at the ease of it and then letting loose a loud groan because when he's buried it's as hot and tight as ever. He waits, only a moment, waits for Kurt's breathing to even out and his back to arch just right, telling him he's fine, telling him to go. If he waits any longer, he thinks Kurt will look over his shoulder and say something scathing but he doesn't give him time.
He pulls out, as far as he dare, both hands now on Kurt's hips, fingers deep in the skin and bruising, and then snaps his hips forward, burying himself and moaning because that was rough and awfully good. He does it again, faster, but the friction isn't enough. His hands grip and pull Kurt back off the table, Kurt's fingers scrambling for purchase at the edge in the second he's out of control and being dragged across the table, his feet planted on the outside of Blaine's and Blaine bending a few inches at his knees, trying to make the awkwardness work, and then pushing up and in and Blaine's arm is wrapping around, hand curling hot around Kurt's cock and the next time he pushes inside him, his hand matches the movement and Kurt groans louder at that, letting out an, "Oh Fuck," that perhaps he normally wouldn't.
"Okay?" Blaine asks, not that he thought that was a bad 'Oh, Fuck," just…
Kurt nods and rocks back to meet the next hard, deep thrust, standing straighter, testing the precariousness of it. "Come on," he begs and somehow he gets a hand off the table and back around Blaine's ass and digs his nails in, urges him on, slides his fingers close enough to press into the crease and make Blaine buck and that's fucking it.
Blaine closes his eyes and grits his teeth and now when he thrusts forward hard he doesn't pause for effect, just pulls back out and does it again. And again. And again, mouth dropped to Kurt's neck, licking and swallowing and letting himself be noisy and lost to it there because this needs to be over now.
Kurt's hands are all over him, one wound down to grip at his ass, fingertips sliding over his hole when they can, the other wound up, fingers deep in Blaine's hair and they're standing together, Blaine holding him steady around the waist, all contact and the table mostly forgotten except where it digs into Kurt's thighs. Everything harsh pulls as he whimpers each time Blaine fills him and breathes out hard as Blaine pulls back and his knees must be killing him. Whatever time has to do with it, now that they're here, trying to come, they're so close. Both of them.
Blaine's hard and surrounded by hot and perfect and Kurt. Fuck, Kurt, who he hasn't had sex with in over a week and who he won't get to touch again tonight. And Blaine is stretching and just a little bit rough inside Kurt, hands over his stomach, one stroking his cock and what more could he ask for in nineteen minutes? In forever?
Changing the angle, Kurt cries out louder and high-pitched, that elusive note he only goes to when he's about to come or he's singing to tease and Blaine can feel himself right there with him, urges him on with his lips at his ear, "Come on, come for me, beautiful."
Kurt arches, mewling and praying, praying, Blaine locked the door. Then Blaine does that amazing twist of his wrist, the one he saves for this moment and only on special occasions and he only just manages not to come. "Age before beauty," he grinds out.
Blaine laughs at that, this caught up, breathless chuckle as he keeps his hips moving, harder, faster and he squeezes his hand around Kurt's cock. He gives a lick to the shell of Kurt's ear and growls out, "Oh fuck off," before biting, sucking, leaving a goddamn mark, at that spot that drives Kurt crazy, the one just behind his ear and Blaine always takes advantage of and fuck, he arches back and into the next thrust and Blaine rubs over that perfect spot inside of him and that's it, he's utterly gone and that's probably for the best because time.
Blaine keep pushing into him, feeling deeper and better, and drawing him up and Kurt thinks being a few inches taller makes this just perfect and just doable and the hand around his cock pulls and pushes over his skin in hot, heavy strokes and he's filled over and over, tight and right, and he comes hard, everything hot and slick and disappearing for a few brief seconds but it doesn't stop him watching Blaine working him through it, holding him close with one arm around his waist, keeping him wedged with his thighs against the table and Blaine pressed hard behind him and coming in streaks over the dark wood. Seeing that shouldn't be anywhere near as hot as it absolutely fucking is.
He's moaning out Blaine's name, expletives falling from his lips, tremors racing through him as he starts to come down and Blaine snaps forward one more time before freezing for just a second and then pumping shallow and rough, holding deep inside him as he sinks his teeth in deep at the skin under his mouth at the back of Kurt's neck and mumbles something utterly incoherent and dirty and enamoured. He growls out his orgasm and Kurt feels his body shudder at the simple thought of it and he holds, tight and hot as he can around him.
Then Blaine's slumping and running his hand back over Kurt's belly with a loving pat and sliding out of him with a groan. Still very much hard and tingling and as Kurt manages to turn around and watch, he sees his knees weak and stumbling slightly as he pulls the condom off, knots it and wonders what to do with it.
Kurt laughs at him then, voice rasping, and Blaine pulls a face. "How much time?"
Kurt glances at the clock and his brows creases. "She's four minutes late," he answers, trying to sound innocent.
"What?" It's a three minute walk from the station and she's either been mugged or has stopped somewhere but… "Kurt, what it she'd—" Kurt cuts him off with a kiss and a hand to hold Blaine's chin still while he does it.
"If you had been the ten minutes you said. Or if you hadn't spent precious time telling me how you weren't going to fuck me…" Kurt lets it hang and slips his sweatpants quickly back on.
Blaine just rolls his eyes, wraps the condom in a tissue and bins it. He grins like he's just come hard inside his boyfriend's ass and is too busy being blissed out to really argue. Then he finds his work pants and slips them back up his legs, scrunching the briefs into one of his pockets, fetching his socks and hiding them away in the other as he tries to remember where he left his shirt.
Kurt's found his top and is staring at the table when Blaine comes to stand, still shirtless beside him, hands on his hips.
There's come streaked across Rachel's table, very blatant write streaks and Kurt's grinning at them like he admiring his handy work.
He really fucking hates that table: it doesn't fit the room or the wall colour at all.
"Gross," Blaine offers but there's laughter in his voice.
"Perfect," Kurt counters.
"Kinda hot," Blaine admits.
Kurt turns and finds the tissues to clean up the mess and smirk about it. Rachel will want them to eat the Chinese on her bed so she can throw herself dramatically into the pillows whenever she feels the need. Tomorrow, before breakfast, he'll properly attempt to so something sanitary with the table. For now it's tissues and a damp cloth as Blaine watches with his arms crossed over his still naked chest.
Kurt's about to ask where his shirt is exactly when they hear the telltale jangle of keys and their eyes widen and they grin stupidly. Kurt makes a beeline for the trashcan, throwing the damp cloth on top of the condom and turning just in time to see Blaine sprinting back to the hall. He hears Blaine scrambling and rounds the corner just in time to see the door creaking open and Blaine wrestling his shirt back over his head. He looks dishevelled as he scoops up the bag of no-longer-organized (or hot) Chinese and holds it behind him and grins as Rachel exaggeratedly mopes her way through the door.
Kurt does his very best not to grin at the tag sticking up from the back of Blaine's shirt or the mess that his hair is in and Rachel's not really paying any attention anyway.
"He dumped me!" she declares, leaving the door for Blaine to push closed. "He dumped me!"
Kurt wraps a supporting arm around her shoulder and takes the box from her hands as he walks her towards her room. "What's this?" he asks.
She sniffles—oh good lord, she's already crying—"I walked past the bakery, the one he took me to on our first date and I…" she breaks off and falls on her bed, Kurt sitting beside her, Blaine standing in the doorway with the bag of food at his side and a dopey grin still about his lips. "I just thought that if I didn't finalize this by going in there and getting the same cake he bought me then I'd never be able to face another day."
Blaine can see Kurt's bitch face coming out and stares at him hard. Yes, this is ridiculous, but this is Rachel and that cake saved them being caught fucking on—against—the kitchen table. With a very quick roll of his eyes, Kurt nudges the boxed dessert in Blaine's direction and sooths Rachel as he's meant to with a slightly condescending "Shhhh."
"Blaine's going to go and heat up the Chinese and then we'll all sit in here and talk, ok?"
As much as he thinks Rachel is a mental case and thinks she's possibly the most annoying person ever, he has a strange attachment, sometimes—usually when she's not around—he feels like they have a lot in common, and so he will sit here with her, all night, if he has to. And so will Blaine.
"You don't want to eat at the table?" Rachel asks and that's Blaine's cue to slide away so he can walk to the microwave, shit-eating grin in place. And Kurt's cue to try very hard not to let his own smirk surface and keep his expression concerned and caring.
"I thought you'd be more comfortable in here," she doesn't look entirely convinced, though her eyes look red and tears are threatening again already. "Besides, Blaine spilt something sticky on it and I haven't cleaned it up properly."
He's lucky she chooses that moment to snuggle into his side and close her eyes and mumble something about him being an awesome friend. It means she completely misses the broad smile and the blush that creeps up his neck. Though later that night she will ask about the purple bruise on the side of his throat and completely believe him when he says he got it at the gym.
Seriously…this was meant to be a drabble or something. It was up until 2 in the morning! As always, love to hear what you thought! Some of these reviews are seriously making my year with how awesome you guys all are!