Fic: Seconds

Rating: NC-17

Words: 850

Summary: Kurt/Blaine. Future fic. Desperate sex.

A/N: Should have been thinking about giant 300 person seminar research thingy I need to give tomorrow. Instead my brain provided this very smutty idea. And I got home and I wrote it. This is not the skype fic at all. But it is something to whet your appetite because it actually kind of has a similar theme. SMUT FIC!

Blaine's buried deep inside Kurt's ass exactly nine seconds—Nine Seconds—after he turns the doorknob on the door to their apartment. Only seven seconds after the door closes and he's bottomed out and is trying to hold still and savour.

Three weeks is too long. Even after a decade together, three weeks is still far, far too long. And a flight delayed five hours, the agony in Blaine's voice when he rang to tell Kurt, has made it unbearable.

So just dropped bags and keys and four hands desperately working to get Blaine's pants undone and down, down, just far enough for Kurt to wedge himself—already naked, save for the ring—between the man in front of him and the door behind, get a leg over an arm and pull himself up, eager to be caught and desperate to sink down.

The summation of two hours splayed out on their bed—their bed that smells like Kurt but not so much like Blaine anymore—biting back moans and sobs and angry growls because it should have been Blaine's hands on him, not his own, Blaine's fingers inside him, teasing, making him wait.

He's had his hole lubed and open for so long. Has held himself ready, wishing the planes, the queues, the cab, all faster, quicker, home.

And now Blaine is home and he's mumbled Kurt's name in a way that speaks of equal parts need, love, awe and admonishment. Because Kurt hadn't held back on the phone, when Blaine had answered with a cheerful, "I'm so glad to be back in New York!" Kurt had just moaned and writhed around his fingers and made it clear where he was, what he was doing. He urged Blaine on, told him exactly how badly he needed to be fucked and owned and how hard and ready he needed Blaine to be when he walked through the door.

Because Kurt didn't want to talk or have dinner or go slow. He just wanted Blaine. In him, over him, hard and there and bruising because he couldn't live without him and why, why, did they do this? And then he'd groaned again and keened all too deliberately into the phone, told Blaine he was fucking himself on one of their toys.

Desperate. Keening. Unashamedly needing to be fucked.

And Blaine, in the back of the cab, throwing the driver a twenty and a flick of his wrist making it clear he wanted laws broken, could only say, "I missed you, too," in a broken needy voice and press the heel of his hand into his crotch and hope it wasn't too obvious.

The last thing Kurt said before Blaine hung up, sounding broken and raspy, was "I'm going to come as soon as I feel you."

And then Blaine snapped his phone shut and fumbled his keys towards the door.

And then he was inside and home and holding. Holding just for a moment as Kurt buried his face in his neck and breathed and licked and ran his hands everywhere while Blaine just tried to keep them up, standing, alive.

And then they moved. They fucked hard and fast and without finesse and in a minute it was over. Kurt spilling across Blaine's stomach, his own thigh, splattered on the floor—god he came hard. And Blaine spilling inside Kurt with a roar.

They breathed hard and smirked and smiled. And then kissed. Fuck, they kissed for the first time in three weeks, Blaine still buried. Kurt still with a leg over Blaine's arm, a leg around a hip, nothing touching the ground.

"I'm not leaving," Blaine whispered.

Kurt snorted and wriggled to make Blaine gasp. "What, ever?" he teased, because this was the nature of things. They had to endure being apart. And as much as it ached, coming back together made up for it.

Blaine just laughed back and tilted his hips, sliding closer, his cock, still half-hard inside him, making Kurt whimper. "No, now."

And then Blaine pulled Kurt close, arms around his back, Kurt's legs around his waist and Blaine's knees aching to take the weight of him as he stumbled to the bedroom, mouths and bodies and eyes reclaiming.

They fell then, into the bed that already smelt of sex and sweat but only of one of them. And Blaine pressed his hips forward the entire way, refusing to leave, refusing to slip away so easily and making Kurt gasp with every touch because this was all too much. After three weeks apart.

Forty five minutes later they came again. Almost together, but not quite, Blaine laughing obnoxiously to have beaten Kurt, for once, at this and Kurt whispering something obscene into Blaine's ear about having had his ass filled for hours and it not being comparable and then Blaine coming inside him again.

The night proceeded. They forgot about being apart. And they remembered how amazing it felt to be together.