Klaine One-Shots

Limousine Rides

*literally just having sex in a limousine? and a lot more plot than we're used to boiz*

The restaurant was just as Kurt had expected. The idle chatter of the fellow diners feathered the air of the venue along with the tinker of cutlery as people continued to enjoy their elaborate meals. The band played smooth jazz and the delicate chandelier was dimmed down enough that the candles danced and flickered seductively on the mahogany tables, casting odd shadows and glimmering against the expensive tableware. It was definitely the nicest restaurant Kurt had ever been in. But despite the fact that Blaine had clearly pulled out all the stops to make this evening special, Kurt couldn't, or wouldn't, lift his bad mood.

He shot Blaine a sharp look across the table as he reached for his drink and downed the rest of its bitter alcoholic substance. He brought the glass down onto the table again with a clang, ice chiming against the circumference of the crystal.

"I'm getting another drink," he declared before turning in his seat and catching the eye of a wandering waiter. He ordered the same again and Blaine heaved a frustrated sigh, which invited another prickly look from Kurt. Blaine's eyes were hard and unyielding, his dark brow furrowed in annoyance but Kurt knew he wouldn't argue back. That would create a scene, and Blaine was too straight-laced for that. Instead his jaw tightened and he continued to observe Kurt critically. The waiter turned to him to take his order but he held up a hand in dismissal and with a simple shake of his head sent the waiter on his way.

If Kurt weren't so mad at Blaine he'd admit that he liked that about him. The fact that he didn't even need to speak to communicate authority. It was something that came naturally to him, in the way he held himself, the perceptive gaze, the reassuring, calm and collected manner and air of control that his time at Dalton had distilled in him. And yet he rarely incarnated that side of himself, perhaps for fear of seeming proud and arrogant, perhaps for fear he would himself turn into a privileged porcelain bird like his peers.

Kurt was sure if the urge struck him Blaine could probably be conceited and selfish but he was too kind and too gentlemanly and believed too much in the goodness of people to ever let himself. But it was always there. It flirted under the surface when Blaine was annoyed, you could see it scorch his body from within, the temper being restrained and controlled. It was in his eyes now as he watched angrily from across the table, searing behind his large brown eyes.

A shiver ran through Kurt at the sight, his heart pounded in excitement. He knew he should feel caution because this was only going to lead to an argument in private, but instead he felt the urging desire to kiss Blaine in all his glorious anger, part his beautiful lips and taste his burning hot tongue, run his hands over the hard muscled plains of his back and chest, wrap himself in the familiar masculine scent of his skin, his cologne, the fabric of his crisp tailored suit. He felt the abrupt need to have Blaine's hands on him, holding his wrists firmly, so tight it hurt. He wanted Blaine's teeth on his skin, on his neck. He wanted Blaine's weight pressed into him, hard, heavy, and overbearingly pleasant.

Kurt was snapped back into the real world by the sound of the waiter coming back and clinking a fresh glass of some bitter, lime-tequila cocktail onto the table in front of him. The sound of jazz came meandering back, along with the chatter and hum of the people around him. The couple at the table next to them rang out in elegant laughter, clearly enjoying the soirée and the atmosphere and each other. Kurt wanted to slap them.

He grabbed at his drink, suddenly remembering that he was meant to be mad. It was all Blaine's fault anyway. It was their anniversary, and this was meant to be a wonderful dinner date. Kurt had been elated with excitement when Blaine had told him he'd booked a table at Les Bouquet Doré, easily one of the best restaurants in the state. Blaine had said he had a Limo booked to pick them up and requested that Kurt wear something smart. Kurt had literally spent days constructing an outfit he deemed perfect for the occasion, an all-black ensemble that looked like a highly fashionised fencing costume complete with fabulous buckles and leather boots.