Prompt Post #7
PART SEVEN IS CLOSED
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Pairing - [Spoilers if any] - kinks or [FILL], in reply to a prompt
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( Prompting begins here. )
"Do you ever wonder about like Transient Universes?" Darren asks apropos of nothing.
"I knew you hiring a PA with a medical marijuana card was going to lead to no good," Chris sighs turning his attention away from his iPhone and pulling down his sunglasses with a raised eyebrow to look at Darren. "You've been getting high and reading fan fiction again haven't you?"
"No," Darren scoffs as if that's the most preposterous accusation he's ever heard for his sudden foray into conversational Quantum Physics. "Okay, well, yes, but that has nothing to do with this."
"Oh no, of course not," Chris snarks, but the nerd in him is hooked."Wait. What's the difference between a Transient Universe and an Alternate Universe?"
"Transient Universes are like more fragile or something, and they move about, hence the name. And I guess they're collapsable, and their portals are rarely ever in the same place." Darren explains licking Cheeto's dust from his fingers.
"Is this you getting all existential about sudden fame again?" Chris scrunches his nose up, really, really not wanting to go there. The bigger picture of the freakish nature of their present reality always makes his stomach acidy.
"No. It's about all these pretentious hipster fuckers who talk about how much they love "Donnie Darko", and I am sorry but that movie is just incomplete!" Darren has now moved on to licking the Cheeto's dust straight out of the bag.
"Ah! So you got stoned, wanked off fan fiction about yourself, and then watched "Donnie Darko"! Well, now it all makes perfect sense." Chris is looking on a bit curiously at Darren assaulting the empty bag of Cheeto's with his tongue, wondering how it's possible that Darren doesn't realize that he is in fact pretty much the epitome of a pretentious hipster. "I have to agree though, that movie needed way more exposition."
"Right?!" Darren exclaims finally balling up the Cheeto's bag and tossing it. "That's exactly it! No exposition! You never knew that Donnie was doing that freaky rabbit's bidding because of elemental forces that needed to come together in order to perfectly align to make a time portal into the Transient Universe that will ultimately kill Donnie, but saves the reality that was meant to be!"
"And what the hell was up with Jake Gyllenhaal's eyebrows in that movie?" Chris wonders, his attention pretty much back on Angry Birds.
"I know! It's like he didn't have any! And they never explained that either!" Darren burps super loud after downing a whole soda. "Excuse me."
"That must be really good pot."
"It really, really is."
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And I'm glad that Darren & Chris share my opinion on that damn movie :)
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I'd love to read your ecstasy fic when it's finished if you wouldn't mind posting it to this thread? I ship Klaine/substances (same goes for RPF) as a rule, pretty much.
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"Dude, you can look at me with your sparkly Darren eyes, and your long-ass batty lashes all you want, I am so not going anywhere tonight." Chris's exhausted, jet-lagged ass is firmly planted on his couch, which is exactly where he plans on keeping it.
"Please," Darren gives the eyelash batting and eye twinkling one last flirty go.
"Do you like, use Latisse or something?" Chris deflects, narrowing his eyes and looking at Darren's eyelashes all suspiciously.
"What?"
"I'm just wondering if those lashes are even real," Chris gestures toward Darren's eyes in mock accusation as he looks back down to sift through a rather large pile of magazines his publicist sent over.
"Whatever! My lashes are real. Don't be hatin' cuz I'm pretty Colfer. Now get dressed already, because I am not going to this cock sucking mother fucking thing alone!"
"Well, you could always just not say yes to every cock sucking mother fucking event your publicist tries to rope you into. There is such a thing as over-exposure you know," Chris offers, choosing a Vanity Fair from the pile. "I've actually been kind of thinking about trying Latisse, because all the make-up people are always like, 'Oh, you should totally try it! It makes your lashes all like crazy super long, and all thicker and darker, and then we won't have to dye yours anymore!' But I'm a little hesitant, because apparently there's like some small possibility that it can permanently change blue eye colors to brown, and I'm not so sure those are dice I'm willing to roll," Chris considers flipping through the pages.
"Oh man, no way! Fuck that shit! Your eyes are like this crazy gorgeous kaleidoscope of a thousand different amazing colors. Don't go fucking with your already perfect, beautiful, amazing eyes Chris."
"Yeah, sweet talking ain't getting me off the couch either. Valiant effort though."
"I don't want to go by myself," Darren whines. "I'll get all mobbed and groped."
"Who the fuck are you kidding? You love the mobbing and the groping."
"Not all by myself. Not anymore. It's gotten way too scary and out of hand. I'm sincerely concerned for my virtue."
"Oh Darren, you have no virtue. Besides, I'm sure there'll be plenty of security to keep you safe from all of the over-zealous, horny tweens and middle-aged MILFs who are all dying to climb on top of your hot man business. You're problem is you never stay in the VIP areas. You always see something shiny, or you know, with boobs and wander off."
"I do n-- fine. Fuck it. Whatever. I'm not going then either," Darren says plopping down next to Chris. "I'll just say I have the flu, or food poisoning or something."
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"I've been mixing it up with different sunglasses lately you little shit! And I'm not trying to be all super twatty here or anything," Darren mocks, "But really Mr. Closet Full of Every Target Blue Button Down Shirt Ever Made? Really?"
"Okay, first of all Darren, and seriously, I say this with love - the same damned sunglasses in day-glo yellow or blue is not "mixing it up", it's just making things worse. Secondly, those stupid-ass, flea market reject sunglasses make you look like you just fell out of a hot-boxed van at Lollapalooza circa 1991, and so not in a cool way. And I mean seriously, what was with the whole shirtless body paint, and t-shirt turban at Coachella? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that whole mess was born out of a hot-boxed van as well."
"It was hot at Coachella! And the body paint was fun," and yeah he was totally stoned and shrooming, but Chris didn't need to know that. "Man, you're mean when you're tired," Darren crosses his arms and shakes his head looking at Chris with a huffy frowny pout. "Too mean."
"Which is all the more reason for me to stay home. If I went anywhere, I'd have to be all polite, and gracious and nice, but I'm too bloody fucking knackered for nice."
"Bloody knackered? You want some bangers and mash to go with that?"
"Hush you. British is like Yiddish, it's just more fun to say."
Darren looks curiously at the television screen. It's paused on a little bald man with glasses and cheese slices on his head. Weird.
"You really think I look like a retro stoner?"
"Well, Spiccoli wanted me to tell you that you left your hacky sack and your bong in his van. Oh yeah, and he wants his sunglasses back."
"You know what? Whatever," Darren grumps putting his feet up on the coffee table then sighs. "Smoking up actually sounds really awesome right now."
"And I rest my case. Dirty hippie."
"Do you maybe know where we could score some pot?"
"Um, well, your bag would be my best guess."
"Ah, right you are young Colfer," Darren hops up and grabs his bag but then abandons it on the coffee table. "I gotta pee first."
"Lovely," Chris says turning the page and scrunching his face up in horror at his own picture looking back at him from the magazine. Must they always choose the gayest photo imaginable? "Hey, Darren? Do you have any aspirin or Advil or anything? I'm out and my head is kinda freaking killing me."
"Yeah," Darren calls over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom. "In that little toiletry shaving thing."
"Thank you."
Chris digs around and finds a little bag of aspirin and grabs two. He pours what is left of his Diet Coke over the melting ice in his glass, and swizzles his straw around before taking the aspirin, accidently dropping one in the process of trying to pop them in his mouth.
"Shit," Chris says, swallowing the one he didn't drop, before digging around in the couch cushions and looking about his general vicinity for the missing aspirin.
"What?" Darren asks walking back from loo.
"Nothing. I just dropped an aspirin," Chris dismisses concern, still searching his general area for the wayward pill.
"Just grab another one from the ---" Darren stops and his eyes go wide as he notices the little bag of pills on the coffee table. "Wait. What did you -- you didn't take -- I mean, you took the aspirin from the bottle right?"
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"Umm, but you said you only took one though, right?" Darren's trying for nonchalant calm, but is starting to sound a little freaked.
"Well, yeah. I took one and dropped one -- Oh, there it is," Chris grabs the little white pill and starts to put it in his mouth.
"NO!" Darren grabs his wrist and knocks the pill from his hand.
"What the hell Darren?!" Chris asks all startled.
"That isn't aspirin Chris."
"What is it then?" Chris asks, raising a concerned eyebrow.
Darren takes a deep breath and braces himself completely shamefaced, and with no tactful way to say it, he covers his eyes with his hands and simply blurts out, "It's X."
"I JUST TOOK ECSTASY?!" Chris asks incredulously, riding the line between panic attack and killing Darren with whatever's handy.
"Yeah?" Darren answers meekly, with a kind of gentle oops, sorry face and a little shrug.
"Fuck," Chris is heading straight into panic. "What the hell Darren?!"
"Okay, um, don't panic. You just took it, right? So you could make yourself throw-up! Or I could take one too? And we could just, you know, enjoy?" Darren offers, eyes sparkling with a little nod and a come on, it will be super fun encouraging smile on his face.
"Oh, okay! Great idea! You put on some house music while I grab some glow sticks and a whistle," Chris snots at Darren's options. Fuck. He hates barfing. "Fuck, I hate barfing. Why are you even walking around with that? You've got pot, you've got X, what were doing in the bathroom, shooting up?!"
"No, I just really had to pee," Darren sighs all deflated, looking like a sad, abused little puppy who's just been rapped on the snout with a newspaper for piddling on the carpet. "And I'm sorry. I should have specified bottle of aspirin. But honestly, I totally forgot I even had that in there. It's from when I went up to San Francisco the other weekend. Old friend, long story. Anyway. The good news is, I know where it came from, so I know it's pure and that it's definitely high quality, real-deal Ecstasy, and not that useless crap that most people peddle these days."
"Oh my god, you are so going to wind up on Celebrity Rehab," Chris sighs shaking his head, still a little freaked. But since he really, really doesn't want to barf, the question remains,"So fuck, alright, what exactly does it do?"
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"How long does it last?" Chris queries nervously, biting at the tip of his thumb.
"Depending on your system? Give or take like between four and six hours I think? We can look it up," Darren offers. "But you really need to decide what you want to do Chris, because the vomit option window is going to close soon."
"Fuck," Chris takes a deep breath. "Alright, fuck it. I'm in. But you're taking one too, and it never leaves this room Darren, I swear to god, and I am so not even kidding. And if I wind up on mother fucking creepy-ass Perez Hilton with a big Ecstasy tablet drawn on my head and jiz dribbling down my chin I am coming after you! And you know I know things Darren, and will tell it all!"
"I swear I won't tell a soul," Darren crosses his heart all giddy. "This is going to be so much fun! I can't believe you're doing this!" Darren grins gleefully, clapping and doing a little happy dance.
"Meh. I take Ambien and Lunesta, how much worse can it be?" Chris shrugs, still mildly dubious, but blissed out and floaty sounds like a delightful departure from his present state.
"Chris, I promise you're going to love it," Darren hurries off into the kitchen and grabs two large bottles of water from Chris's fridge, and hands one to Chris.
"What's this for? I'd much prefer a Diet Coke," Chris says with a bit of a scrunchy face. "With a fresh glass of ice please if you're heading back toward the kitchen?"
"You can have your precious Diet Coke too, but drink the water as well. It's really important to stay hydrated on X," Darren cracks the seal of his ice cold Fiji water and happily swallows a tablet of Ecstasy.
"Okay, so now what happens? I mean, you know, what do we do now?" Chris asks still apprehensive and unsure.
"Well, now we just kind of hang out and wait for it to kick in," Darren sits down next to Chris. He knows Chris is scared, and that he's kind of to blame, so he wants to make sure this Ecstasy experience is a good one for him. He's pretty sure it will be. It's really good shit. "We could watch a movie or something?"
"Meh, I'm movied out. Wasn't the whole purpose of you stopping by was you having a new song you wanted me to hear or something? Or was that just a ruse to get me to go to that stupid party?"
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"Well, let's hear it then. What'd you call that hang out and play guitar singing thingy?" Chris gestures over to Darren's guitar case kinda all lazy and rolly on the couch.
"Hootenanny?"
"Yes, that's it. I knew it was a ridiculously humiliating word. And for some reason, it always makes me think of really old Hooter's waitresses."
"Somehow I cannot picture you going to Hooter's Chris."
"Me neither," Chris agrees, petting the velvety blanket on the couch, and pulling it up to nuzzle against his cheek.
"Okay, so awesome, we're having a Hootenanny!" Darren claps dorkily as Chris kinda cringes and makes a faint ew noise at the sound of his new least favorite word.
Darren runs across the room to grab his guitar case.
"No Disney though," Chris stipulates.
Darren makes a whiney noise and clucks his tongue looking back at him with a dude, no fair face.
"I don't want to taint the sacredness of Disney with my foray into the seedy underbelly of recreational drug use," Chris explains still quite enjoying the velvety blanket.
"Fair enough," Darren pulls the guitar out of it's case and and sits back down on the couch to tune up.
"Mmmm. I love that sound," Chris sighs in a wistful way that sounds a little distant and dreamy, his long fingers mindlessly running back and forth, continuously caressing the bottom of his neck, his other hand still stroking the velvety blanket.
"What sound?" Darren ask tuning his guitar, somewhat amused when he looks up to see the subtle, relaxed change in Chris's face.
"The tuning of an acoustic guitar by ear like that. The beerneer-beerneer-beern-neer-neer," Chris muses waving his hand away from the velvety blanket for a moment, as if conducting the tuning. "It's like this tiny little overture signaling something really magical is about to happen. Oh! That could so totally maybe be my answer when we do Inside the Actor's Studio. You know, if James Lipton asks us those Barnard Pevot questions at the end? Or maybe wind chimes. I'm not sure what my favorite curse word would be though. Oh so many to choose from. Did you know he's like totally in his 80's? And he's married to Miss Scarlett from the Clue board game? Or, you know, the lady who's like in the Miss Scarlett picture? As in like, it was Miss Scarlett in the Green Room with the candlestick?" How has Chris never noticed how wonderful this velvety blanket is? It's just so very, very velvety.
Darren smiles at Chris while futzing with the D string. "I think I like fuck," Darren ponders.
"Yeah, well, from everything I've heard, I think you do too," Chris teases.
Darren laughs a little and shrugs. What's true is true.
Once he's all tuned up, he opens his Mac and puts on his glasses. Nope. Not the pink ones. Chris has a pained look on his face, but manages to bite his tongue at the sight of Darren in those tragically, godawful hipster Uncle Junior from The Sopranos, gianormous black rimmed eyeglasses. What the fuck is Darren's deal with butt-ugly eyewear? Seriously?! Chris had already given him so much shit about the tacky-ass, over-done, hot pink day-glo mess earlier, he really doesn't have the heart to go after him again tonight. Another time. Or maybe he'll just knock them off the coffee table if he gets the chance, and "accidentally" step on them. Yes, that sounds like the perfect plan. It's for Darren's own good really. He'd totally try that with the pink ones too, but Darren has like a million pairs of those. They're like super tacky hot pink eye Tribbles.
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As the playing and singing begin to wind down a bit, Chris is just kind of laying there thinking that he can't remember the last time he's had this much fun just being, when something catches his eye. It's always been there, but now, for some reason, he really, really wants to touch it.
"Your hair is really, really curly," Chris says so lost in thought he's not even sure he's said it out loud.
"That it is," Darren nods.
"Can I touch it?" Chris asks as he sits up to reach for his bottle of water.
Darren gently leans his guitar against a nearby chair, and lays his head back into Chris's lap, removing his horrible butt-ugly glasses. Chris smiles with devious delight when he notices them teetering on the very edge of the coffee table.
"Please do," he snuggles in comfortably, and Chris begins petting his curls, and twirling them around his fingers. Darren closes his eyes and melts into Chris's touch. Chris is completely mesmerized by the curls. How they bounce. The way they feel in his hands. They're so much softer than they look. They're not crunchy at all. Darren snuggles in even closer breathing out a soft moan of relaxed pleasure, and it is only then that Chris realizes just how snuggled up close they really are to one another. Chris starts to wonder if petting Darren is such a good idea on X. While he's very much enjoying it, he knows Darren gets awfully handsy and kind of a pansexual after just a couple of beers, lord knows what might happen when he's on a drug known for inspiring handsiness. But the thought is fleeting, and slips away as quickly as it came, while Chris continues happily petting Darren's hair, and boinging away at his springy curls.
"Mmmm, that feels really good," and as if to show him, Darren reaches up to stroke the hair at the nape of Chris's neck, lightly running his fingers up and down through the shorter hair and skin along the back of his neck. It makes Chris all shivery and goosebumpy. It feels really super nice. They stay like that for a while, all snuggled and petting, enjoying the sweet, gentle electricity of the tactile sensations.
But, then Darren talks.
"Did I ever tell you that after we shot our first kissing scene, I jerked off to that for like weeks? I still jerk off to that actually."
"Ummm," is Chris's awkward response to the awkward confession that coincides with the increasingly delightful sensations Darren's fingers are having on the back of his neck. "Seriously?"
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Chris meanwhile is just listening quietly, contentedly playing with Darren's curls. Darren, who's apparently been jerking off while thinking about him. Hm. Chris never really thought of himself as Darren masturbation fodder. Or anybody's masturbation fodder for that matter. And his mind wanders a bit as he vaguely listens, wondering just what he's doing in these fantasies of Darren's. Chris hasn't really gone there with Darren. It just seemed like a line he shouldn't cross. He totally has with Blaine though. Oh, you can believe what you want, Darren and Blaine? Two totally different things. Okay, maybe once, like ages ago after Darren's Out photos... You know what? Never mind. So not the point. The thing is, at the end of the day, Darren's just so... Darren-y.
"And then we filmed those hot-ass fucking make-out scenes in the back seat of that car, which I still can't believe they didn't even fucking use any of, and that was nothing but like hours and hours of hot mouth sex Chris, and fuck, ever since all I -"
Darren's still talking, but Chris has quit listening because he's got a pretty good idea about where this is heading, and pretty much against every wanton impulse he has, both drug induced and otherwise, he's somehow found the presence of mind to realize it's best to give up the curls and nudges Darren up out of his lap.
"Okay, Darren honey, you know I love you to pieces and everything, but before this situation devolves into like super pervy fan fiction, let me just say, that as beautiful, tempting, and hot as you are, I am thinking, you know, like, I don't know, fucking around with you or wherever it is you're going with this, probably not the best idea. I mean -- "
"What about Blaine?" Darren cuts him off, dead serious, eyes burning straight into Chris's.
"What?" Chris's voice cracks a little.
"Would you want to fuck around with Blaine?" Darren asks, already knowing the answer to that question. It's hanging in the stunned silence, and written all over Chris's face. "I've got a Dalton uniform in my car." He says tossing his car keys in the air and catching them on his way out the door.
"Oh my god," Chris breathes in barely a whisper. "I think I'm going to fuck Blaine Warbler."
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"Where do you keep the hair gel?" Darren asks grabbing his shaving kit.
"Um, there's some on the counter in the master bath." Okay. Wow. Okay. This is really happening. Ecstasy is very interesting. And a lot like a dream. Chris's mouth is a little dry. He is definitely going to need a Diet Coke for this.
So, okay, fast forward like fifteen to twenty minutes later --
"Chris?"
"In the kitchen," Chris calls.
"Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you forever," Darren's standing there with a fresh shave, all slick and Blainified leaning against the wall with what can really only be described as a shit eating grin on his face.
"Oh my god," Chris snorts and giggles, but then stops, and kinda gulps, because Blaine Warbler has him backed up against the counter. And it's really fucking hot.
Dar -- no, Blaine. Blaine is standing impossibly close, he runs his hands firmly down Chris's sides landing between his hips and his ass. Blaine pulls Chris right up against him by his belt loops, then moves one hand up all the way up Chris's back to trace his fingers lightly back down along his neck.
"I'm crazy about you," Blaine leans in and breathes right up against Chris's ear. Chris really wants to ask if it's because he "moves" him, because it seems like Mr. Method is just going to keep regeurgitating Blaine's cheesy-ass lines, but with him breathing hotly against his ear like that, he can't really seem to talk. Chris's eyes flutter closed then open again. Blaine just stays there, nuzzling at Chris's ear and neck, flush tight against him, breathing him in.
With his sarcasm synapses apparently disabled, there's nothing for Chris to do but give in, closing his eyes, as he nuzzles back into the touch and against Blaine's cheek. Mmm. Fuck. Blaine smells nice.
Blaine keeps speaking softly, sweetly, hotly as he moves to lean his forehead against Chris's, his lips only a whisper away from touching Chris's own.
"I really do love your eyes Chris, how they're always changing colors. They're so beautiful. I always wonder what they're reflecting that makes them change. Like how the sky is blue because it reflects the ocean, and the ocean's blue because it reflects the sky. Are your eyes a reflection of something in you, or are they reflecting the world around you?" Blaine wonders blissfully, his forehead still against Chris's, the heated breath of his words and the energy of his want dancing across Chris's lips, moving his hand back up again stroking the back of Chris's hair, his other hand pressing firmly, lovingly rubbing against the small of Chris's back, with his ring finger and pinky tracing just under the waistband of Chris's pants. Chris sighs and leans his head back a little into Blaine's touch, exposing his neck, and Blaine's lips fall in gently, tenderly, wetly kissing his way up Chris's long, elegant neck, and Chris bites his lip emitting the tiniest, breathy little whimper. Whatever Blaine's doing with his mouth on Chris's neck shoots this crazy warm swirling spark down through the very center of him, igniting a sweet shivering shock of electricity that spirals back out through the rest of his fucking everything. They're both breathing more than a little heated now. Blaine gently trails his tongue across Chris's pinking skin, licking his way to kiss the scar on Chris's neck until his mouth is right up against Chris's ear again, breathing all hot, sweet and a little dirty, "You're so beautiful Chris, and fuck you smell so good, your skin is so soft and sweet, and your mouth, your sweet soft beautiful mouth. All I can think about is kissing you. Please, can I kiss you Chris? Will you please let me kiss you?" Blaine pulls back just enough to look into Chris's eyes for permission.
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"Fuck, I've wanted you so fucking much for so fucking long," Blaine moans against his skin thrusting his hips hard up against Chris again and again, his hand rubbing over Chris in time with his movements. Chris whimpers, dizzy with want, grinding his ass back into Blaine's thrusts. Chris quickly undoes his own jeans and takes Blaine's hand and shoves it down the front of them, guiding Blaine's hand over his cock until Blaine gets the idea of how Chris likes to be touched.
"Oh, fuck," Blaine kinda chokes. Chris braces himself agaisnt the counter with one hand, and reaches the other back to grab Blaine's ass, squeezing and pressing him in harder against him as he thrusts.
"Oh fuck Chris. Fuck. You're too good at this I don't want to come yet," Blaine grunts out. He gives Chris's cock a gentle squeeze then steps back a little, panting hard, trying to compose himself a bit, realizing his present behavior is not even remotely dapper, and very unbecoming of a gentleman, and if he doesn't slow it down a bit he really is going to come. He's starting to think he's in way over his head, the line blurring between Darren and Blaine. Fucking Stanislavski! Get it together Criss! No, Warbler! No! Fuck! Anderson! Blaine takes Chris by the hand and leads him to the couch. And Chris is so lost in the fantasy of Blaine Fucking Warbler Anderson and his super awesome hard cock, and his hand that had been down his pants, that he follows mindlessly along, until the next thing Chris knows, Blaine is lying on top of him, easing him all the way back on the couch.
They continue kissing, touching, feeling, their lips, mouths, tongues moving together in synchronized lusty super delicious awesome for what seems like hours and hours. It all feels so amazing. Jolts and bolts and swirls of electricity and wanton heat. And this is probably just the whole Ecstasy connectedness thing Darren was talking about, but it's like Chris can feel what Blaine's feeling. And it's all just so fucking good. Chris sweeps his tongue across Blaine's lips, then sucks the bottom one in a little before gently biting then sucking and licking again.
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"Mmm, fuck yesss." Blaine removes his Dalton jacket before he shifts back down completely flush on top of Chris, hip to hip, nudging Chris's legs open a little wider, nestling himself between his legs rolling his hips down over the hot hard bulge throbbing beneath Chris's jeans, sucking his lips, fucking his mouth with his tongue. Chris tries unsuccessfully to bite back a rather loud moan that just kind of comes out, Blaine immediately moves his hot mouth right up against Chris's ear.
"Oh god Chris, you're so fucking sexy, you don't even know. Don't hold anything back okay? Just let go. Please, just let me hear you Chris, I want to hear you. I want to know what you sound like, I want to know what you look like when I make you come," Blaine's breath is heated and his voice is like a hot, guttural super hot and dirty growl.
Chris breathes out a delicate "Uhh-kay." If Blaine wants him to bring it, he'll fucking bring it! Chris wraps one of his legs just under Blaine's ass, pulling him in closer, giving him better leverage, thrusting his hips up to meet Blaine's hard, heated cock with his own. They're all over each other. Hands everywhere. Chris's breath catching, moaning and whimpering in ecstasy as Blaine drags his hands all over Chris's body, under his shirt, scraping over his nipples making Chris's back arch up as Blaine's hand makes his way down into Chris's wide open pants.
"God you're so fucking hard." Oh fuck, that hot growl. Blaine, still trying to play the gentleman, hesitates a little, looking to Chris to make sure this is really okay. Chris's panting, waton open mouth and lust-blown pupils might have said it all, but then Chris bucks his hips up and whispers "come on Blaine," and it's all he needs to slide his hand all the way inside to stroke his hard leaking cock over the soft, thin cotton of his navy blue boxerbriefs.
"Jesus fuck Chris!" Blaine breathes hotly as he comes up breathing heavy, resting his head in the crook of Chris's neck. He needs to take a moment or he's going to come in his stolen Property of FOX, Dalton-issued slacks right then and there. "That's, wow! I had no idea you were so... fuck, you're just, your cock's huge dude! And so fucking hard! Fuck, I love how hard you are. God you're so fucking hot." He leans back up, looking at Chris for a moment, before kissing him extra deep and dirty. "Fuck, I love how hard you are for me." He continues stroking his hand over the outline of Chris's cock, eliciting sweet moans of pleasure, with Chris rocking up into his touch, he slides his hand all the way down to cup under Chris's balls. Chris gasps when Blaine strokes the skin just behind them, and it makes him jerk up hard into Blaine's hand, and reach hungrily under Blaine's now untucked, very mussed and rumpled white Dalton dress shirt, moving his hands over every bit of heated skin he can reach because he seriously just can't not fucking touch.
"Take off your shirt," Chris breathes. Blaine complies and starts to loosen his tie. "No, just the shirt. Leave the tie on," Chris breathes, brazenly fumbling to undo Blaine's pants, but Chris is kind of all flustered and completely turned on, and well, Blaine's fucking belt is just in his fucking way! So Blaine sits up with a lusty grin and slowly unbottons his shirt, letting it slowly slide down and off his well-defined shoulders. Then he peels off his sweat damp undershirt, tossing it across the room before he unbuckles for Chris.
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"I know," Blaine smiles lustily against Chris's sweet mouth, then licks his way back in. They're both so fucking hard and turned on as hell. Chris's hands have pretty much stayed put since they've discovered the miraculous magic of Blaine Warbler's sweet bare ass. He splays one hand out across each cheek, pulling him in tightly with the rhythm of their thrusting bodies as they move together, mouths sucking on lips, sucking on skin. Licking, exploring, tasting, biting, grinding, kissing hard, deep and dirty. Chris, moans, which makes Blaine moan, which makes Chris wonder what his fucking problem was before, because now he can't seem to get enough of Blaine's super hot sexy noises, and is doing everything he can to hear them again and again. Caught up in the solid heat and weight of Blaine on top of him, Chris begins sliding his long fingers down toward outer center of Blaine's ass, just ever so lightly, and experimentally. It's nothing more than a gentle tease really, his fingers tracing up and down the center line, but this sends Blaine reeling.
"Oh, fuck Chris! Yes!" Blaine breaths and groans, into Chris's neck. Now he's not just grinding down onto Chris's cock, but also grinding his ass back into Chris's hands. And that makes Chris venture his fingers down inside a bit further, gently stroking up and down the cleft of Blaine's ass cheeks to just under his balls and back again. He pulls one hand out of Darren's pants and traces his fingers along Blaine's lips. Blaine takes Chris's fingers into his mouth as he watches mesmerized. He sucks them wetly, moaning deeply, swirling his tongue, like seriously just going down on Chris's fingers, and Chris is pretty sure he could come from that alone. With his fingers wet, his hand goes straight back down Darren's pants circling the opening of Darren's hot ass with slippery wet delicious friction.
"Fuck Chris! Fuck yes fuck! You're so fucking hot! Ohmygod! Yesss!" Blaine grunts out fucking himself down onto Chris's cock, and fucking back into Chris's long fingers and hands. Chris is totally getting off on getting Blaine off. He keeps his hands busy moving over Blaine's hot sweet perfect ass, pulling him in while fucking his hips up hard into Blaine's thrusts, until they're both ready to fucking explode. Blaine doesn't want to stop the friction, fuck he really, really doesn't want to stop, but there's something he's been dying to do for months, and there was no way he is going to miss his chance, especially now that he knows how thick and long and fucking hard Chris's gorgeous cock is. Chris, whose panting and writhing and wanting and so very fucking hard and beautiful beneath him.
"Wha- no, come back," Chris whimpers trying to pull Blaine back down.
"Chris, just, please, I-I don't want to come yet," Blaine breaths, stroking one hand through Chris's hair then he gives it a gentle little tug before growling up against his ear, "I really want you to come in my mouth first."
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Blaine licks and swirls and sucks and kisses wetly against every bit of Chris's bare skin all the way down, until he finally reaches Chris's hard, hot huge straining cock. Chris bucks up, lifting his hips as Blaine slides his hands down either side of Chris's boxerbriefs peeling them all the way down. He takes a moment to admire the glorious beauty of Chris's cock before moaning and licking up it wetly, then he licks his hand before curling his fingers around Chris's impressive girth. He flicks his tongue across his slit, tasting the bead of glistening wetness at the very tip of Chris's cock. He then licks and swirls his tongue around the head, and smiles a bit when he hears Chris crying out his name, swearing, groaning and wailing at thefucking awesome hot, wet sensation that is his cock in Blaine Anderson's beautiful, glorious mouth.
Chris gasps and moans desperate and wanting, straining up, fingers tugging about in the back of Blaine's sweaty, gel slicked curls, since he can't reach his ass right now he has to have his hands in something, he's completely lost in the sensation of Blaine's soft, full rosy lips wrapped around his cock. Sliding, sucking and swirling his tongue, using both of his hands toward the bottom of his long thick shaft, twisting them in different directions as he continues to suck and swirl all around and up and down Chris's perfect, perfect super hard cock. Chris's cries grow louder, grasping at Blaine's crunchy hair, "Blaine, fuck, that feels so fucking - you feel so -fuck - fuck - Oh god - Blaine, fuck I'm - fuck - fuck I'm gonna come! I'm gonna..." Chris tries to warn, tugging Blaine's over-gelled curls a bit harder to pull him away.
Chris is so fucking close, but he's holding back, unsure of the etiquette nay protocol of letting your imaginary hot on-screen television boyfriend/co-worker swallow your come while high on X.
Blaine licks off Chris's cock just long enough to lustily growl, "Come on Chris! Come! Come for me. I want to feel you come, I want to hear you come, I want to taste you come. Oh god, I want to make you come." Oh that growl. And Blaine. Blaine sucking his cock. It's just all so overwhelming with all the hot, wet, velvety, beautiful sucking mouth, swirling tongue and slippery hands moving together all at once. Chris is now groaning with every single heated breath, his body arches and tightens up suddenly in a crescendo of absolute undiluted, perfect, pure, Ecstasy laced, hot, sweet fucking sex.
"Oh fuck Dar-Blaine, I'm coming! Uhh, fuck! Blaine!" He comes for Blaine, with a deep hard gasping groan, wrapping his fingers tighter into Blaine's sticky, sweaty wet curls that have nearly completely sprung free from their gel-imposed prison as his body shudders and convulses shooting ribbons of hot come into Blaine's eager mouth. Blaine sucks him through it, holding the pressure until Chris's body is limp, spent and panting.
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Chris continues to float all melty in the delightful glow and wonderment that sparkles extra brightly in his imagination.
Blaine just watches him in awe for a moment, mindlessly stroking his own hard wanting cock. Chris, who's always so completely in control, is naked and laid out before him completely debauched. And Blaine thinks it's the hottest and most amazingly beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Well, now," Blaine says breaking the silence in a husky whisper. "I guess I really have something to jerk off to." He kisses and licks his way back up to Chris's mouth. He kisses him hot and deep, grinding his cock against Chris's hip.
"Mmm. Wait, no. I want to," Chris growls all dirty, as he slowly and wetly licks across his entire palm and then offers it up to Blaine to lick back over it again before reaching down the front of Blaine's sagging, wide open Dalton trousers.
"Oh fuck Chris! Fuck yesss! I'm so not going to last, but fuck yes!" Blaine pants and moans biting hard and sucking on Chris's neck. That's definitely going to leave a mark. Chris experiments, mimicking the motion of Blaine's mouth and hands, twisting his slippery spit-slicked hand around his cock, sliding his thumb through the slit then over the glorious glistening head while simultaneously stroking up and down and all around. Darren fucks into the amazing movement of Chris's quick studied hand, his long fingers seem to be moving everywhere all at once. And it's just right fucking on.
"Fuck! Fuck yeah! Chris! Fuck," Blaine was ready to go before Chris even touched him, so when he moves his hand so perfectly over his cock he comes super hard and fast collapsing heavy on top of Chris, who keeps his hand curled around Blaine's cock, while he comes down from his orgasm, his other hand mindlessly trails from Blaine's sweet, sweaty nape of curls back down to the swell of his sweet, sweet ass and back again.
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