The Gleeful Dead - 1/3
Author: klainehappens
Title: The Gleeful Dead - 1/3 (1,337 words)
Rating: R for swears and masturbation
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Warnings: Zombies, Smut, Terrible references to The Walking Dead (I've only seen a few episodes but it's my best friend's favorite show.)
Summary: What began as crack quickly turned into smut. Funny ol' world, isn't it? In the every day fight for their lives, sexy times have gone by the wayside for Kurt and Blaine until one morning, Kurt's body decides enough is enough.
Before the outbreak, Kurt Hummel used to swear that it was impossible to sleep without his boyfriend, Blaine, at his side. Before the outbreak, Kurt Hummel used to swear that it was impossible to do a lot of things he was convinced he couldn't do. Before he'd personally taken out two hundred and sixty eight of the walkers with the sole intent of keeping Blaine safe. Before he'd given up hope that he would ever see his dad and Carole again. Before his nightly skin sloughing regimen was nothing more than rubbing his sweaty forehead on the sleeve of his shirt before passing out [at least on the nights he wasn't on watch.]
Now the times he and Blaine slept together were rare and the times they had sex were practically non existent. For two teenage boys who had only just become sexually active, getting off had become the least of their worries when they started having to fight for their lives. Always on different watches and shifts, on the rare nights they had together, the two often passed out in each others arms before either paid any mind to that small voice inside that softly said, 'But it's been 52 days since you've had sex.' 56 days since the first reports, 53 days since LA and New York were declared disaster zones by FEMA and 51 days since Blaine&Kurt left Westerville, Ohio and Dalton Academy behind as they headed for Lima and Kurt's parents.
On the nights Blaine was on watch, Kurt now fell asleep right away. His body now knew these were the only short moments of sleep guaranteed and that he should make the most of them. The past evening, however, had been one of their blessed evenings off together where they were both able to get at least a decent six hours and when Kurt's eyes popped open the next morning a little while before dawn, he hadn't been expecting Blaine to be there. He also hadn't been expecting the up-until-now-mostly-dormant-morning-situation he had going on in his jeans at the moment.
Before the outbreak, you wouldn't have caught Kurt Hummel sleeping in a pair of jeans if his life depended on it. The ironic thing now was that his life DID depend on it. He needed to be able to jump up and be ready to defend the camp at a moment's notice. It was only on the nights Blaine slept beside him that he could even be convinced to at least take off his shoes. Sliding a hand down to the front of his pants, Kurt pressed the heel of his hand against his erection, unable to keep from moaning at how nice that felt. It was like he was 13 and discovering himself all over again.
In that moment, it was just too easy to remember the last time they'd had sex - Blaine spread out and open in front of him, three fingers as deep as he could get inside himself while Kurt rolled the condom on. Rivulets of sweat had been slowly beading down his neck and all Kurt could think about was leaning up and licking them, letting the curve of his tongue slide against Blaine's sweat soaked skin. The news was full of reports involving the outbreak but at that point, they were still two teenage boys more interested in getting off than some sort of weird flu epidemic that was bound to blow over and why was everyone making such a big deal about it anyway?
God, Blaine had been tight. Blaine was always tight. Tight and perfect and beautiful beneath Kurt as he fucked him fast and deep. Some days were spent making love but that night, they had been fucking. No doubt about it. There had been swollen red and purple bite marks left on Blaine's neck and collarbone the next morning, a site that would make Kurt blush when he wasn't caught up in the heat of the moment.
He would swear he hadn't even remembered doing it and Blaine would tell him that was a bunch of bullshit and he would kiss him long and slow and they would share a shower (washing each others' hair, of course) and make breakfast, eating their last meal together before they turned on the television and realized that their world they'd been living in for the past twelve hours was definitely not the real world anymore. The real world was vastly more horrifying and made it completely impossible for either of them to think with their cocks.
Biting down on his lower lip, he looked at Blaine's muscled upper arms, shown off quite nicely in the early morning light thanks to the tank top he was wearing. Fuck. Those arms. Those big strong arms that could so easily lift him and pin him to the wall as their cocks strained at their pants, craving more contact than just the maniacally slow tease of a grind Blaine liked to do to drive Kurt crazy, his beautiful lips sucking and kissing and nipping a feverish trail up Kurt's neck. Kurt may have had a good couple inches on Blaine but that had never compensated for the fact that Blaine was bulkier and strong. Whereas Kurt was soft and slender, Blaine was perfectly chiseled and broad chested.
Frantically, Kurt started to rub at the front of his jeans. He hadn't paused to study Blaine's arms since...he couldn't remember, but now just the mere sight of them was going to be enough to get him off. "Oh fuck," he gasped softly, knowing what a bad idea this was. There were tents on either side of them, filled with others from their camp. Kurt wouldn't be able to look their neighbors in the eye at breakfast if they overheard anything but for right now, they were completely slipping away from his mind.
The urgent need for release was all he could think about. And Blaine. Sweet, adorable, hot, strong Blaine and his dick sucking lips and oh- Kurt's mind was going everywhere and his cheeks flushed as his groan came out a little louder that time. Without stopping to think about it, he quickly tore open the button on his jeans, yanking the zipper down to shove a spit slicked hand into his boxer briefs. It wasn't going to take long now and he threw his free hand over his mouth to try and mask the needy whimpers pulling from his throat as he fucked his own fist.
"Oh God...yeah, Blaine baby, that's so good," he whispered, actually somehow thrilled at hearing those words spoken aloud. "God...it's been so fucking long," he gasped out, imagining it was Blaine's hand on his dick, doing that fabulous little flick thing that Kurt could never seem to master from this angle. As he skimmed his thumb over the slick head of his cock, Kurt knew he was seconds from coming but he wouldn't have woken Blaine up for the world. In this new day and age, sleep was definitely more important than being woken up to assist in a pre-dawn hand job.
Biting down on his lower lip hard enough to draw a little blood, Kurt let his gaze sweep down to linger over the soft curve of Blaine's ass in those worn out jeans. Two seconds later, Kurt was a goner, coming harder than he ever remembered coming before, his hand still clamped tightly over his mouth, his bloody lip caught between his teeth as his whole body tensed and convulsed with the intensity of his orgasm.
Kurt's body shook as he started to come down from his high and he closed his eyes, keeping his come covered hand where it was for the time being, still down the front of his briefs, wrapped around his softening dick. He couldn't even think straight yet, let alone figure out how to clean himself up with the few supplies they had nearby.
Before the outbreak, Kurt Hummel would have never masturbated in a tent.
Title: The Gleeful Dead - 1/3 (1,337 words)
Rating: R for swears and masturbation
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Warnings: Zombies, Smut, Terrible references to The Walking Dead (I've only seen a few episodes but it's my best friend's favorite show.)
Summary: What began as crack quickly turned into smut. Funny ol' world, isn't it? In the every day fight for their lives, sexy times have gone by the wayside for Kurt and Blaine until one morning, Kurt's body decides enough is enough.
Before the outbreak, Kurt Hummel used to swear that it was impossible to sleep without his boyfriend, Blaine, at his side. Before the outbreak, Kurt Hummel used to swear that it was impossible to do a lot of things he was convinced he couldn't do. Before he'd personally taken out two hundred and sixty eight of the walkers with the sole intent of keeping Blaine safe. Before he'd given up hope that he would ever see his dad and Carole again. Before his nightly skin sloughing regimen was nothing more than rubbing his sweaty forehead on the sleeve of his shirt before passing out [at least on the nights he wasn't on watch.]
Now the times he and Blaine slept together were rare and the times they had sex were practically non existent. For two teenage boys who had only just become sexually active, getting off had become the least of their worries when they started having to fight for their lives. Always on different watches and shifts, on the rare nights they had together, the two often passed out in each others arms before either paid any mind to that small voice inside that softly said, 'But it's been 52 days since you've had sex.' 56 days since the first reports, 53 days since LA and New York were declared disaster zones by FEMA and 51 days since Blaine&Kurt left Westerville, Ohio and Dalton Academy behind as they headed for Lima and Kurt's parents.
On the nights Blaine was on watch, Kurt now fell asleep right away. His body now knew these were the only short moments of sleep guaranteed and that he should make the most of them. The past evening, however, had been one of their blessed evenings off together where they were both able to get at least a decent six hours and when Kurt's eyes popped open the next morning a little while before dawn, he hadn't been expecting Blaine to be there. He also hadn't been expecting the up-until-now-mostly-dormant-morning-situation he had going on in his jeans at the moment.
Before the outbreak, you wouldn't have caught Kurt Hummel sleeping in a pair of jeans if his life depended on it. The ironic thing now was that his life DID depend on it. He needed to be able to jump up and be ready to defend the camp at a moment's notice. It was only on the nights Blaine slept beside him that he could even be convinced to at least take off his shoes. Sliding a hand down to the front of his pants, Kurt pressed the heel of his hand against his erection, unable to keep from moaning at how nice that felt. It was like he was 13 and discovering himself all over again.
In that moment, it was just too easy to remember the last time they'd had sex - Blaine spread out and open in front of him, three fingers as deep as he could get inside himself while Kurt rolled the condom on. Rivulets of sweat had been slowly beading down his neck and all Kurt could think about was leaning up and licking them, letting the curve of his tongue slide against Blaine's sweat soaked skin. The news was full of reports involving the outbreak but at that point, they were still two teenage boys more interested in getting off than some sort of weird flu epidemic that was bound to blow over and why was everyone making such a big deal about it anyway?
God, Blaine had been tight. Blaine was always tight. Tight and perfect and beautiful beneath Kurt as he fucked him fast and deep. Some days were spent making love but that night, they had been fucking. No doubt about it. There had been swollen red and purple bite marks left on Blaine's neck and collarbone the next morning, a site that would make Kurt blush when he wasn't caught up in the heat of the moment.
He would swear he hadn't even remembered doing it and Blaine would tell him that was a bunch of bullshit and he would kiss him long and slow and they would share a shower (washing each others' hair, of course) and make breakfast, eating their last meal together before they turned on the television and realized that their world they'd been living in for the past twelve hours was definitely not the real world anymore. The real world was vastly more horrifying and made it completely impossible for either of them to think with their cocks.
Biting down on his lower lip, he looked at Blaine's muscled upper arms, shown off quite nicely in the early morning light thanks to the tank top he was wearing. Fuck. Those arms. Those big strong arms that could so easily lift him and pin him to the wall as their cocks strained at their pants, craving more contact than just the maniacally slow tease of a grind Blaine liked to do to drive Kurt crazy, his beautiful lips sucking and kissing and nipping a feverish trail up Kurt's neck. Kurt may have had a good couple inches on Blaine but that had never compensated for the fact that Blaine was bulkier and strong. Whereas Kurt was soft and slender, Blaine was perfectly chiseled and broad chested.
Frantically, Kurt started to rub at the front of his jeans. He hadn't paused to study Blaine's arms since...he couldn't remember, but now just the mere sight of them was going to be enough to get him off. "Oh fuck," he gasped softly, knowing what a bad idea this was. There were tents on either side of them, filled with others from their camp. Kurt wouldn't be able to look their neighbors in the eye at breakfast if they overheard anything but for right now, they were completely slipping away from his mind.
The urgent need for release was all he could think about. And Blaine. Sweet, adorable, hot, strong Blaine and his dick sucking lips and oh- Kurt's mind was going everywhere and his cheeks flushed as his groan came out a little louder that time. Without stopping to think about it, he quickly tore open the button on his jeans, yanking the zipper down to shove a spit slicked hand into his boxer briefs. It wasn't going to take long now and he threw his free hand over his mouth to try and mask the needy whimpers pulling from his throat as he fucked his own fist.
"Oh God...yeah, Blaine baby, that's so good," he whispered, actually somehow thrilled at hearing those words spoken aloud. "God...it's been so fucking long," he gasped out, imagining it was Blaine's hand on his dick, doing that fabulous little flick thing that Kurt could never seem to master from this angle. As he skimmed his thumb over the slick head of his cock, Kurt knew he was seconds from coming but he wouldn't have woken Blaine up for the world. In this new day and age, sleep was definitely more important than being woken up to assist in a pre-dawn hand job.
Biting down on his lower lip hard enough to draw a little blood, Kurt let his gaze sweep down to linger over the soft curve of Blaine's ass in those worn out jeans. Two seconds later, Kurt was a goner, coming harder than he ever remembered coming before, his hand still clamped tightly over his mouth, his bloody lip caught between his teeth as his whole body tensed and convulsed with the intensity of his orgasm.
Kurt's body shook as he started to come down from his high and he closed his eyes, keeping his come covered hand where it was for the time being, still down the front of his briefs, wrapped around his softening dick. He couldn't even think straight yet, let alone figure out how to clean himself up with the few supplies they had nearby.
Before the outbreak, Kurt Hummel would have never masturbated in a tent.