Fic: Very Good Morning
Summary: Sunday morning sex
A/N: Porny oneshot because that's all I had time for. There was meant to be somnophilia, riding, a blindfold and being held down…I missed half those and glanced off the rest. Still: porny sex.
Lick. Bite. Suck.
It's a strange way to wake up. Not unwelcome even if Blaine can't quite put it together in his slipslide towards consciousness.
Lick. Bite. Suck.
He hums, he can hear it and feel it reverberating up his throat and it hinges onto the end of a dream about singing and dancing and long-lost boys in blazers.
He arches and stretches because there's warm, lapping pressure against his neck and it feels entirely wonderful and if he was properly cognizant he'd know it was narrowed in right on that spot.
Another moan and he flickers his eyelids against the brightness of Sunday morning.
"You awake?" the question comes insistent and husky in his ear and in the same moment Blaine realizes he's hot because there's skin and muscle and man pressed all up against him.
But he hums anyway and his hips lift and he's so hard, just like every morning because sleeping next to Kurt and being able to wake up and touch him does that to him now worse than when he was a teenager and all alone under the sheets. Because now he's able to fall asleep pressed naked and up against him.
Oh. Jesus Fuck Christ.
Hot. Tight. Kurt's on, against him, around him. Fucking himself down on Blaine's cock.
Every Sunday morning.
Blaine hates and loves that Kurt does this. Except he doesn't really hate it at all. And this is faster than ever before and even through the feeling of Kurt settling his hips over Blaine, of Blaine's cock sliding deep and impossibly, starkly hot into Kurt's ass. Through all of that, Blaine blushes to think of the melody Kurt's quietly played against his body, against Kurt's own body, to get them to this state so fucking fast.
Kurt starts moving straight away and his hands press over Blaine's chest, fingers tickling through the hair and flicking over the nipples and Blaine arches up and thrusts and Kurt laughs low in his throat and then gasps as his hips tilt just right.
He falls forward and finds Blaine's mouth, tastes like toothpaste and Blaine wonders how he wakes up at six every single Sunday and then slowly takes the time to wake Blaine up for Sunday morning sex.
Blaine wonders if they'll ever get sick of it.
Not if Kurt wakes him up like this.
He's barely been conscious for two minutes but evidently his cock has been up for longer because he's gripping the sheets and closing his eyes against the onslaught of Kurt's mouth on his and his skin, heat, smell everywhere.
Kissing. Sucking, Biting at his bottom lip and then licking up behind his teeth.
Blaine moans and bucks and Kurt's so fucking tight around him and continuing to shift his hips in long, too-slow circles, rubbing every inch of skin he can up and down, desperately around, Blaine.
"Fuck!" Blaine lets out over several syllables, mouth falling away from Kurt's as his head arches back into the pillow and Kurt's hands grab at his, interlacing and holding them down either side of Blaine's head. "Kurt…" he warns.
Another wet, slick lick to Blaine's neck and one more slow, undulated rock of his hips.
"I've been waiting for hours," Kurt whimpers into his ear and Blaine's eyes spark open because as much as this was Kurt's seduction, Kurt sounds positively broken as well. "Tell me you're close," Kurt begs.
Blaine stares at him, pushes up against his hands and snaps his hips once, hard, just to watch the flicker of desperation wash over Kurt's face as he moans and swallows hard to keep from coming. "I'm close," Blaine offers.
Another kiss to Blaine's mouth but Kurt has to pull back to catch his breath before he says, "Come inside me." Another snap up of Blaine's hips and Kurt grinds down, hips shifting to try to get closer while a hand untwines from Blaine's and wraps around his own cock and Blaine doesn't know if he's trying to get off or trying to hold back.
Another kiss, more a meeting of tongues and spit between open mouth than anything else and Kurt keeps fucking himself down onto Blaine's cock. "You can clean me up afterwards," Kurt teases, moving faster, harder, whimpering high every time Blaine's hips press too close to him and he's so damn full.
"Come on," Kurt growls and his hand comes up, fingers over Blaine's nipple and then thumb and index finger pinching hard and making Blaine gasp. Kurt swallows it and keeps his hips pressed as Blaine mewls high and then swallows it, soundless but pulled tight and stretched beneath Kurt and his hips press up off the bed and he pulses inside Kurt, empties with sharp thrusts deep and rocking as sweat slicks down his back and against the cotton of the bed sheets.
Kurt all but purrs at him as he watches and rides the unpredictable thrust of Blaine's hips and then bites down on his own lip and strokes his own cock once, head thrown back, and comes in streaks up Blaine's stomach, riding and feeling Blaine still hard in his ass, slicker and sated and the perfect Sunday morning.
He holds there as long as he can, arched and bare over Blaine, probably looking a bit stupid but he got over that embarrassment years ago. Then he collapses forward, spread and splayed over sticky, sweaty Blaine, his chest still rising and falling fast beneath him as they both suck in breath.
"Good morning," Kurt giggles, head buried against Blaine's chest, one sweaty hand still grasped in his.
Blaine stares at the messy hair and waits for Kurt's eyes to turn up, bright and sparkling. "Very good morning."