based off: this

word count: 2,600+

rating: NC-17 for frotting, blow jobs and dirty talk.

“Hey dude check her out,” David pointed to a tanned blonde in a bikini strutting down the beach, her boobs bouncing juicily with each step.

Blaine crossed his arms casually behind his head, running his eyes over her form multiple times before letting out a convincing, “Damn.”

She was clearly attractive, there was no question. She was fully formed with more muscle than body fat, but as much as Blaine liked to lead his friends on, she just didn’t do it for him. No woman did.

Klaine Fic: Wet Dream (NC-17)

by: mal

word count: 3,294

summary: a post-BIOTA fic I wrote in Ariane’s ask a long time ago of what goes down when Blaine sleeps over drunkenly in Kurt’s bed. Contains somnophilia, frotting and two awkward boys crazy for each other.

It’s the numbness that bothers him at first; he should be feeling something, right? Disappointment, heartbreak, anger. Anger over being overlooked again, anger at his best friend for getting in when he didn’t, but he feels none of that. All that he feels is a dull buzzing, a small pinprick of half-forced, half-genuine happiness for Rachel as she utters the words he himself has been dying to say ever since he became a finalist.

It won’t do any good to obsess over it, that much he knows. Obsessing only ever leads to sleepless nights and an indescribable self-loathing. He holds strong, smiling slightly at Rachel, and uses that same mask he’s been using for years. When they part, leaving the choir room with slumped shoulders and their future in New York together suddenly very gray and chilly, only then is when he lets the first tear slide down his cheek.

And another.

Another.

Even a strong man like Kurt Hummel has his cracks in his armor, the fragile fissures in the delicate china-doll skin of an old and dusty facade.

Everyone can break.

And he does.

He finally has to slump against the lockers to quell the shaking of his shoulders, but even then he trembles, his throat tight and a headache beginning to form at his temples. The thick paper of the envelope and the horrible, horrible letter (We regret to inform you…) crumbles in his tight-fisted grasp, crinkling in a silence broken only by his muffled sobs and hitching breath. Everything, from his legs to his hands to his heart, feels numb, doused in the icy-cold water of reality, of the truth that, no matter how much he thinks he is, he isn’t good enough.

He can’t stop shaking.

But why should he? His life is crumbling apart already. All his hours of hard work, of perusing the internet for that perfect song, that perfect outfit, were all for naught. He’d shone as bright as he could on that stage, sang and kicked until his lungs burned, his throat could have doubled as sandpaper, and his muscles were inflamed and sore with lactic acid. He remembers how proud he was after his audition, how he’d taken Blaine backstage and kissed him senseless, his heart still soaring on performance adrenaline, everything jittery and sped-up. He’d felt so sure of himself in that moment.

He remembers the awe, the love and adoration and you’ve done this, you’ve got this in Blaine’s eyes.

He can’t help but feel, in a way, like he’s let Blaine down.

He sinks to the floor and grips his letter tighter (…that we are unable to offer you admission to the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts…) and tries his best to curl in on himself, uncaring that this is public, that these are the school’s hallways and anyone could show up at any time.

He has other options, of course he does. New York is rife with internship possibilities, even if he can’t get into another school at this short of notice. But maybe this is okay. Maybe he’s meant to make Blaine’s senior year as magical as Blaine made his. And then they could apply together, get into whatever schools in New York that will have them, and graduate together. Get married. Have kids and a dog and a cat and maybe some fish. Grow old.

He sniffles, running the back of his hand across his nose, and lets the cool metal of the lockers chill his overheated skin. A hiccup bubbles in his throat and he feels shaky from crying, the headache blooming now to something nausea-inducing.

He barely registers the sound of footsteps on the scuffed-linoleum floors and suddenly, there’s a body next to him, knelt down and murmuring in a worried voice. A hand touches his, wide and familiar, and Kurt squeezes his eyes shut tighter, groans.

“Oh, baby. Shh, shh. It’s okay, Kurt.” Blaine sounds upset, troubled, and when Kurt blinks open his eyes, focusing through the haze of tears, he sees that Blaine’s forehead is furrowed and his own eyes are shining. “Rachel told me,” he says softly, running his hand across Kurt’s forehead, sweeping Kurt’s mussed bangs back into something resembling his usual coif. “I’m so sorry.”

Kurt reaches out, unable to stop himself, and pulls Blaine close, further down onto the floor. He curls himself into familiarity, lets himself sob into the soft wool of Blaine’s sweater and let his nose fill with the comforting scent of Light Blue. Blaine’s arms are immediately around him, stroking his back in gentle circles, rubbing wide and broad as Kurt’s whole body heaves, his voice breaking on apologies, I’m sorrys and I knew I could’ve done betters.

Blaine shushes him, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s hair as he maneuvers them, rests his back against the locker and pulls Kurt between his spread legs. “None of that,” he whispers, tightening his hold. “We’ll work something out. Okay? We always do. It’ll all be okay. I promise. No matter what happens, it’s going to be okay.”

Kurt lets out a dry sob and presses his lips to the hollow of Blaine’s throat, breathing out shakily and feeling Blaine swallow back what he presumes are his own tears.

Maybe he can believe him.

Maybe there is a chance after all.

Slowly, but surely, he feels himself piece back together, sewing in a stronger thread, stronger and longer-lasting glue, in Blaine’s arms.

BECAUSE CHRISTOPHER WAS BACKSTAGE AND MY HONEY BUNCHES OF OATS TOLD ME TO WRITE IT, HERE.

Chris smiles as he peeks from his spot backstage to Darren, waving bye to the crowd along with the rest of the starkids. When Joey brushes by Chris, he raises his hand for a high five, and soon all the starkids were giving him a slap on the palm. Darren was last, of course, and when he reached up to high five Chris, he intertwined their fingers together while his arm snaked around his waist. “Well, hello,” he says in a low voice, and Chris laughs. “Come here often?” Darren asks him, leaning up to peck his lips. Chris shakes his head. “Not enough. You guys were amazing,” he tells him as Darren leads him further backstage, just in case someone got a glimpse. Darren hums, rubbing the small of his back. “You also smell awful and you’re really sweaty,” he continues, scrunching up his nose. Darren smirks wickedly, wrapping his arms around his torso and picking him up, nuzzling his face in Chris’ neck. Chris squeals as he kicks his feet. “Darren!” he yells and he could hear the starkids catcalling. Darren sets him on his feet and laughs, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Go get ready for the after party, dork.”

“Only if you shower,” Chris snaps, crossing his arms. Darren grins and opens his arms for another hug, and Chris turns immediately and starts walking, feeling a faint tap on his ass. He rolls his eyes.

Random Sleepover Drabble-y Thing

Based on this

While Kurt is not entirely sure how this situation came to be, he can’t help but laugh as Brittany sprouts off on some anecdote about trying to feed pigeons in the park as they- Blaine, Brittany, Rachel, and himself- lounge around Rachel’s god-awful room, tossing popcorn at each other and stuffing their faces with thin crust vegetarian pizza. The I-pod’s been playing some odd mix of Top 40 and Broadway, and they’ve already broken out into a full out song-and-dance more than once, singing-into-the-hairbrushes included. Rachel’s TV is playing some mindless rom-com that they’d popped in over thirty minutes ago, only they’ve all settled for completely ignoring it in favor of recounting old stories instead.

“And it kissed me!” Brittany exclaims, taking a large bit of pizza to emphasize her point.

Kurt raises an eyebrow delicately at her, trying to find exactly what she means. “Kissed you?”

“Not like you do,” she replies, waving her hand distractedly. “Like ‘Tana does. She bites. You were nice to kiss though as well.” She pats his knee reassuringly. “Your lips were really soft and you didn’t use too much tongue.”

Kurt is unable to find a response to that, and settles for concentrating on the bowl of popcorn as if he hopes it will explode with the intensity of his gaze. Blaine shoots Kurt a pointed look, a teasing glint in his eye. A light pink settles on Kurt’s cheeks, spreading all the way down to his neck.

For some reason, Rachel, as she does, seems to take this as a challenge, and when her eyes settle on Blaine, her eyes light up eagerly. “I’ll have you know that Blaine here is an excellent kisser as well,” she says, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder. She sits primly on her fluffy pink pillow on the floor, glancing over at Blaine across the room. “And we kissed twice.”

“Well Kurt and I could kiss again and match you two for two,” Brittany challenges, wiping her fingers on a napkin before reaching over for Kurt. “Come here, dolphin.” She wiggles her fingers much too eagerly for Kurt’s liking, and he quickly slips off the bed to join Blaine on the floor.

“Ah…pass, Britt, for now,” he mutters awkwardly. “I have Blaine here around for that.”

Brittany only shrugs before she and Rachel start up a conversation about kissing techniques and what boys taste like, if biting is a turn-on or turn-off, and which parts of the body are okay for kissing or not. Kurt and Blaine watch the exchange with amusement and possibly a little disgust and a little more curiosity. During a particularly heated dispute, Blaine takes advantage of their distraction to lean down and whisper in Kurt’s ear.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind another example of what Britt was describing…”

Kurt tilts his head up slightly, which places his lips right next to Blaine’s ear, “Plenty of time for that later.”

They’re interrupted by two pillows- bright pink and neon green- that come flying their way, breaking them apart. “We heard that!” Rachel calls.

#cari writes

Controlledcolferdranger asked: Kurt and Blaine get hot and heavy during prom and sneak off to relieve themselves~

Everyone can glare and huff all they want, but he and Blaine are here to have fun and Kurt’s not going to let some bigoted assholes ruin his senior prom.

So they dance. While everyone is grinding in place or making out, they start out with a silly waltz. They modifying it to the beat of the songs blaring through the gym, with low dips and wide spins and bubbling laughter. A few toes are trodden on and shoulders bumped, but as Kurt clutches Blaine’s shoulders and starts a slow tango he ignores it all and focuses on the boy in front of him.

Christopher

controlledcolferdanger replied to your post: controlledcolferdanger replied to your post: “i’m…

STOP I’M GETTING FIC IDEAS

and and and.. then they’re at lea’s or cory’s and of course both of them get out together because they ARE together and lea would turn around and smile knowingly at them , saying something like “have fun, boys” and chris would blush and darren would just laugh. and then they’re alone and chris looks at darren with a raised eyebrow “well, you know. you can move now. there’s enough space for two of us” and darren just grins, shakes his head and shifts a bit in chris’ lap. “nope, i’m really comfy right now” AND F$UIGZWHJKFHEQWFN