Klaine One-Shots

Dinner time

( New York klaine, nothing kinky just 'trying to be quiet' sex)

*

"Kurt, shit—"

"Blaine," Kurt hisses, trying his best not to start laughing at the loud, unabashed groan that Blaine lets out,

"be quiet." He grips at Blaine's hips, lifts himself up slightly off the bed as Blaine rocks down on his cock, head tossed back and hands flat on Kurt's still-clothed chest. They're both still mostly clothed, actually—their shirts are on, and Kurt's pants are down to his ankles. Blaine's are somewhere on the floor, lost and forgotten.

"Don't care," Blaine whines, swiveling his hips to grind, slow and languid, like their roommates aren't thirty feet away in the kitchen with dinner almost on the table and only a flimsy, practically-transparent curtain separating them.

"You feel so good."

Kurt tries to catch his breath, hasn't really been able to since the moment Blaine had pushed aside the curtain to their room, smile sugary sweet when Kurt had looked up over the edge of his book. He'd known that smile, had seen it countless times in the past, and before his stomach could fully complete a flip Blaine had been on the bed, breathing out a "Missed you today, baby," followed by, "Gonna ride you so hard," before kissing Kurt, his lips slick and insistent, his palm firm on Kurt's chest as he pushed him down and climbed half-on top of him.

Living together like this—sharing a bed—is still new to them, and more often than not Kurt feels exactly like the silly teenager he is, his own place notwithstanding. Back in Lima the most he and Blaine had ever gotten were early mornings at Blaine's house when his parents were gone, and none of it had ever really felt domestic, more like an imitation or a trial. Now, though, he gets to wake up with Blaine every morning, gets to see him every night, and he's honestly never been happier.

Blaine lifts up and slides back down, clenching just right in a way that has Kurt tipping his head back into the pillows and groaning, his legs straining where they're confined by his jeans. His nails bite into Kurt's chest as he dips his back, pushes his ass out and drags the heavy, slick shape of his cock over Kurt's contracting belly.

Kurt takes him in hand, fists his fingers around the shape of Blaine's cock. Above him Blaine groans, low and throaty, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open as he works his ass down onto Kurt's cock, then his cock through the circle of Kurt's fingers. Sweat is a faint sheen at his temples, and his eyes, when he opens them, are heavy-lidded and dark, dilated, intense in the way that he stares down at Kurt.

"Yo, dudes?" Sam calls, his voice slightly muffled. "Uh, dinner's almost ready."

"Give us a minute!" Kurt calls, face reddening at the breathy tone of his voice, the obvious tell that he and Blaine aren't just talking in their bedroom.

Blaine laughs, bites his lip. His eyes crinkle at the corners and then he's straightening up, taking his hands off of Kurt's chest to arch his back, lifting up on trembling, muscled thighs, quivering as the head of Kurt's cock stays buried inside him.

When he drops they both cry out, and then both immediately slap hands over each others mouths, muffling swears and giggles and too-loud moans. Kurt thinks it's futile, knows that the slap of skin when Blaine's ass met his hips was loud: there's no way someone else in the loft didn't hear it. But he likes the idea, likes how carefree and fun he and Blaine have always been able to make sex. They're on a time crunch, have to finish soon before someone barges in—and while Kurt's okay with being walked in on making out, someone walking in on him balls-deep in his fiancé is something he'd rather not have happen—and yet there's no stress, no strain.

Kurt looks up at his hand mashed over Blaine's mouth, watches Blaine's brows raise when their eyes meet. Kurt's other hand goes to Blaine's thigh, grips and digs his nails in slightly to feel the hot rush of air over his palm as Blaine breathes out through his nose, groans low in his throat at the pinch of pain.

The bed is creaking, sheets rustling, but Kurt is close, feels the tightening in his balls, in the way his spine is starting to snap up, hips seeking into that tight heat every time Blaine lifts himself up. Blaine's cock bobs heavy between them, thick and swollen-red, his balls soft and full where they drag over Kurt's abdomen as Blaine leans down.

Without giving Blaine any warning Kurt's grabbing him, flipping them over and nearly toppling over at his jeans still around his ankles. Before Blaine even has his legs wrapped high around Kurt's waist Kurt is fucking in hard, snapping his hips forward. Their hands fall from each other's mouths, and they're panting, breathing heavily until Blaine grabs Kurt's face, pulls him in for a deep, wet kiss.

"Fuck, yeah," Blaine gasps, burying his face in the crook of Kurt's neck, his hands sliding over Kurt's clothed, sweat-slick shoulders, nails digging in as he undulates, meets Kurt's next thrust. "God, fuck me, baby, c'mon. I'm so close."

Kurt kisses at the shadow of Blaine's jaw, sucks in a rattling, uneven breath as his balls slap against Blaine's ass. He digs his fingers into the pillow on either side of Blaine's head. He's close, feels that rushing heat build up, and Blaine is so gorgeous under him, face scrunched and neck taut, his mouth open and lips kiss-swollen as he brings a hand between them to work his cock, jerking in tight pulls in time with the fast, manic slapping of Kurt's hips—

"DUDES," Sam calls, louder this time.

"DINNER'S READY."

"Co—oh—oming," Kurt gasps, seizing up as Blaine clenches around him, arching up and scraping his nails down Kurt's shoulders as his cock twitches in his grasp, spilling hot and slick between them. It's enough to set Kurt over the edge, and he drops his head, fixes his mouth at the tender junction of Blaine's neck and shoulder as pleasure washes over him, cock jerking as he thrusts forward weakly, buries himself deep in Blaine's ass.

He allows himself only a few minutes before he's sitting up, batting away Blaine's hands petting at his hair. He looks down and is met with what he can only describe as the most sated face he's ever seen on another human being. Just barely managing to not roll his eyes Kurt carefully eases out, bites back his smile as the ache in his legs sets in.

"Well that was definitely worth it." Blaine sits up on his elbows, a disheveled spectacle as he grins lazily at Kurt, and there is absolutely no way they're going to get away with this. No way.

Kurt pulls up his jeans, doesn't bother tucking his shirt in. He tosses Blaine his pants, smirks as he says, "Think you can get away with that stain on your shirt at dinner or do you want to change, Mr. Let's-Have-A-Quickie-Before-Dinner?"

Blaine looks down, like he didn't expect to see the mess on himself, and before he can say anything, because Kurt already knows what Blaine is going to say, Kurt says, "Here," and tosses Blaine a shirt from the dressed under the window. "I never got around to putting these away."

Blaine takes it gratefully, stripping off his soiled shirt, and Kurt sits back, pauses in doing up his jeans to cross his arms over his chest and eye appreciatively the lines of Blaine's torso. Blaine catches him looking, smiles a filthy little smile and takes his time, ending it with a wink that has Kurt barking out a laugh.
After they're dressed, and just as Kurt is about to push the curtain aside, they hear Santana's voice: "Are you two done fucking yet, because my food is getting cold." She adds, a little softer but still heavy with her usual friendly malice, "I'm surprised I even still have an appetite after listening to them moan and giggle like two especially annoying porn star-grade schoolgirls."

They both burst out giggling.