FIC: Wasting Time [Glee; Sam/Kurt]
TITLE: Wasting Time
FANDOM: Glee
PAIRING: Sam Evans/Kurt Hummel
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: 1449
NOTES: Written for Porn Battle XII, prompt: Sam/Kurt, motel. Also written as a belated birthday present to a friend.
“Have fun at McDonald’s,” Sam says, pressing a crisp ten into his mother’s hand as she walks out the door of their motel room, Stevie and Stacey grasping onto her other hand tightly, and Kurt looks away.
Sam closes the door and turns to face Kurt. “This should buy us enough time,” he says.
“McDonald’s? Really, Sam?”
“Don’t knock the allure of the combination of the Dollar Menu and the Playplace,” Sam replies. “It’s perfect for our situation.” He looks down at the floor and slides his foot across the place where Stacey knocked over a cup of Coca-Cola yesterday. It’s still a little sticky, and a shiver goes down his spine. “You said you wanted to come over and study though.”
“If you just asked me for money -”
“I would never accept it. These clothes are enough. More than enough.” Sam tugs at the pants he’s wearing - he vaguely remembers Kurt wearing them sometime in the fall, maybe to a glee club practice, sometime before his life fell apart - and a smile crosses Kurt’s face at seeing the motion. “I’m going to fail chemistry if we don’t start studying, though,” he continues, “and you said you could help me with covalent and ionic bonds, which is how I got my parents to agree to let you come over again, and I’d rather start before my family gets back and turn on Suite Life on Deck or something.”
“The fact you actually know the name of that show is mildly disturbing,” Kurt says, folding his arms over his chest, “but otherwise, endearing.”
“I have two younger siblings,” Sam replies defensively, “and they have it on constantly. Are we going to continue to waste time talking about the Disney Channel, of all things?”
Kurt raises his eyebrow. “I don’t consider talking to you ‘wasting time’,” he says, using air-quotes, “but we can stop wasting time, if you insist.” He walks over to Sam, stepping within his personal space, and looks up ever-so-slightly to make eye contact. From this close, he can see where the wind has chapped Sam’s lips. “I buy Chapstick in bulk,” he says under his breath as he kisses Sam, and Sam kisses him, sliding his tongue along Kurt’s lower lip, sucking gently every now and then.
This isn’t the first time they’ve kissed while Sam’s mother is out running errands or once, when they were particularly daring, while the rest of the family was watching Finding Nemo on Quinn’s old DVD player with the lights off, but something’s different this time.
Sam glances over at the curtains flapping gently in the air conditioner’s circulation. “Shouldn’t we close those?” he asks, taking a step or two back from Kurt, “Mr. Martin, the owner - he might not -”
Kurt makes strides over to the curtains and in one quick motion, snaps them shut. “You know, Mr. Martin could use some broadening of his horizons. He could turn off Fox News and walk out into the real world every now and then.”
“I know,” Sam whines, “but I don’t want to jeopardize my family staying here. He’s really good about making accommodations on our rent.”
“Sam?”
“Yes?”
“I shut the curtains like you wanted me to,” Kurt says, and in the dim light of the bedside lamp and what remains of the late-afternoon sun shining through the curtains, Sam can see Kurt smile. “Now, can we get back to what we started?”
Sam nods. “I was waiting for you.” His fingers flutter nervously at the edge of his t-shirt, and Kurt comes over, places his hand on top of Sam’s, and with a steady hand guides it upward, until it crests over the top of his head, tousling Sam’s hair, a lock falling lop-sided over his left eye. It’s all Kurt can do to stop himself from moving too fast; Sam begins to fumble with the buttons on Kurt’s shirt, his fingers rubbing across Kurt’s chest as he works his way downward.
“I can sew buttons back on at home, you know,” Kurt says between panted breaths, “you can -”
Sam shakes his head, “You did my shirt your way, now we’re trying my way.” He pushes the last button through the slit and Kurt shrugs the shirt off his shoulders. It cascades to the floor, landing on top of Sam’s shirt. Sam grasps onto Kurt’s shoulders and they sit down on the bed in one fluid motion; there’s no time for them to waste, not with an invisible clock somewhere counting down the minutes and seconds until the Evans family returns. “I hope Mrs. Yates lets me do extra credit,” Sam says, “because I like this better than covalent bonds, but if I don't keep my grades up -”
“Sam?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s not talk about chemistry class.” Kurt moves his hand through Sam’s hair, drawing him closer to where they were pressed against each other, a slight sheen of sweat between them. “Later.”
Sam grunts an unintelligible reply and presses his mouth to Kurt’s collarbone, leaving open mouth kisses trailing down his chest. He swirls his tongue in Kurt’s navel, and Kurt clings tighter to Sam’s scalp, clawing at the roots and grasping closely.
“Feels - so - good,” Kurt says.
Sam reaches up and places a finger over Kurt’s lips, in the universal language known to them as “shut up and let me continue”; Kurt kisses the tip of the pad, before opening his lips and sucking on Sam’s finger - enough to where Sam’s eyes noticeably dilate and he lets out a low groan, but not hard enough for Sam to be distracted from his task for more than a split second. His hands begin to fumble with Kurt’s jeans, awkwardly snagging the zipper’s teeth on the plain white material underneath.
It was the only plain thing about Kurt.
Kurt lays back on the bed, places one hand under his head and looks up at Sam. “This view’s quite nice,” he says, skimming his fingers along the tops of Sam’s shoulders.
“Ask me about mine,” Sam says, before pushing the offending white material down Kurt’s thighs, pooling at his ankles. “Down here, I think it has yours beat -”
With a laugh, Kurt moves his hand down to cover Sam’s mouth, and Sam shakes his head. He takes Kurt’s cock into his hand and begins to stroke and rub, first slow and leisurely, and then, almost as a man possessed by a greater want - need - desire, he intensifies the pace. He kneels his head down and runs his tongue along the underside, feeling Kurt, tasting some of the most intimate parts of him.
Kurt claws at Sam’s shoulders, leaving jagged red marks in the shape of fingers running along his backside. It isn’t long before it’s over; when it is, Kurt muffles his screams into the contours of the bedsheet and hopes in the back of his mind that Stevie or Stacey - or worse, Sam’s parents - won’t see any of the evidence.
Sam shuffles up the bed and draws Kurt into an embrace. “I wish we had more time,” he says with downcast eyes, “because that was -”
“I know,” Kurt says, “sometime you’ll have to come over to my house; Finn isn’t around most days, and Carole and my father both work -”
“Maybe I can,” Sam says. In the distance, they hear a backfiring car. “Sounds like my mother’s car,” he continues. “Go into the bathroom and change.”
Kurt stands up and gathers his clothes into his hands. “I’ll be right back,” he says, kissing Sam quickly as he walks into the other part of the room.
“Covalent bonds are atoms - ” Sam begins to read aloud from his notes as his mother walks in, with Stevie and Stacey right behind her, each clutching a Happy Meal toy in one hand - “bound by shared electrons.”
“Sammy! They had Smurfs!” Stacey says, throwing her arms around her brother and grinning widely. “I got Jokey Smurf but Ashlee and I traded so I got Painter Smurf now!”
“That’s awesome,” Sam says. “When you’re older, I’m going to have to introduce you to some other really awesome blue characters.”
“How did the studying go?” his mother asks, putting her purse on the floor next to the wastebasket.
“We didn’t waste any time.”
"Well, that's always good to hear."
-fini-
FANDOM: Glee
PAIRING: Sam Evans/Kurt Hummel
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: 1449
NOTES: Written for Porn Battle XII, prompt: Sam/Kurt, motel. Also written as a belated birthday present to a friend.
“Have fun at McDonald’s,” Sam says, pressing a crisp ten into his mother’s hand as she walks out the door of their motel room, Stevie and Stacey grasping onto her other hand tightly, and Kurt looks away.
Sam closes the door and turns to face Kurt. “This should buy us enough time,” he says.
“McDonald’s? Really, Sam?”
“Don’t knock the allure of the combination of the Dollar Menu and the Playplace,” Sam replies. “It’s perfect for our situation.” He looks down at the floor and slides his foot across the place where Stacey knocked over a cup of Coca-Cola yesterday. It’s still a little sticky, and a shiver goes down his spine. “You said you wanted to come over and study though.”
“If you just asked me for money -”
“I would never accept it. These clothes are enough. More than enough.” Sam tugs at the pants he’s wearing - he vaguely remembers Kurt wearing them sometime in the fall, maybe to a glee club practice, sometime before his life fell apart - and a smile crosses Kurt’s face at seeing the motion. “I’m going to fail chemistry if we don’t start studying, though,” he continues, “and you said you could help me with covalent and ionic bonds, which is how I got my parents to agree to let you come over again, and I’d rather start before my family gets back and turn on Suite Life on Deck or something.”
“The fact you actually know the name of that show is mildly disturbing,” Kurt says, folding his arms over his chest, “but otherwise, endearing.”
“I have two younger siblings,” Sam replies defensively, “and they have it on constantly. Are we going to continue to waste time talking about the Disney Channel, of all things?”
Kurt raises his eyebrow. “I don’t consider talking to you ‘wasting time’,” he says, using air-quotes, “but we can stop wasting time, if you insist.” He walks over to Sam, stepping within his personal space, and looks up ever-so-slightly to make eye contact. From this close, he can see where the wind has chapped Sam’s lips. “I buy Chapstick in bulk,” he says under his breath as he kisses Sam, and Sam kisses him, sliding his tongue along Kurt’s lower lip, sucking gently every now and then.
This isn’t the first time they’ve kissed while Sam’s mother is out running errands or once, when they were particularly daring, while the rest of the family was watching Finding Nemo on Quinn’s old DVD player with the lights off, but something’s different this time.
Sam glances over at the curtains flapping gently in the air conditioner’s circulation. “Shouldn’t we close those?” he asks, taking a step or two back from Kurt, “Mr. Martin, the owner - he might not -”
Kurt makes strides over to the curtains and in one quick motion, snaps them shut. “You know, Mr. Martin could use some broadening of his horizons. He could turn off Fox News and walk out into the real world every now and then.”
“I know,” Sam whines, “but I don’t want to jeopardize my family staying here. He’s really good about making accommodations on our rent.”
“Sam?”
“Yes?”
“I shut the curtains like you wanted me to,” Kurt says, and in the dim light of the bedside lamp and what remains of the late-afternoon sun shining through the curtains, Sam can see Kurt smile. “Now, can we get back to what we started?”
Sam nods. “I was waiting for you.” His fingers flutter nervously at the edge of his t-shirt, and Kurt comes over, places his hand on top of Sam’s, and with a steady hand guides it upward, until it crests over the top of his head, tousling Sam’s hair, a lock falling lop-sided over his left eye. It’s all Kurt can do to stop himself from moving too fast; Sam begins to fumble with the buttons on Kurt’s shirt, his fingers rubbing across Kurt’s chest as he works his way downward.
“I can sew buttons back on at home, you know,” Kurt says between panted breaths, “you can -”
Sam shakes his head, “You did my shirt your way, now we’re trying my way.” He pushes the last button through the slit and Kurt shrugs the shirt off his shoulders. It cascades to the floor, landing on top of Sam’s shirt. Sam grasps onto Kurt’s shoulders and they sit down on the bed in one fluid motion; there’s no time for them to waste, not with an invisible clock somewhere counting down the minutes and seconds until the Evans family returns. “I hope Mrs. Yates lets me do extra credit,” Sam says, “because I like this better than covalent bonds, but if I don't keep my grades up -”
“Sam?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s not talk about chemistry class.” Kurt moves his hand through Sam’s hair, drawing him closer to where they were pressed against each other, a slight sheen of sweat between them. “Later.”
Sam grunts an unintelligible reply and presses his mouth to Kurt’s collarbone, leaving open mouth kisses trailing down his chest. He swirls his tongue in Kurt’s navel, and Kurt clings tighter to Sam’s scalp, clawing at the roots and grasping closely.
“Feels - so - good,” Kurt says.
Sam reaches up and places a finger over Kurt’s lips, in the universal language known to them as “shut up and let me continue”; Kurt kisses the tip of the pad, before opening his lips and sucking on Sam’s finger - enough to where Sam’s eyes noticeably dilate and he lets out a low groan, but not hard enough for Sam to be distracted from his task for more than a split second. His hands begin to fumble with Kurt’s jeans, awkwardly snagging the zipper’s teeth on the plain white material underneath.
It was the only plain thing about Kurt.
Kurt lays back on the bed, places one hand under his head and looks up at Sam. “This view’s quite nice,” he says, skimming his fingers along the tops of Sam’s shoulders.
“Ask me about mine,” Sam says, before pushing the offending white material down Kurt’s thighs, pooling at his ankles. “Down here, I think it has yours beat -”
With a laugh, Kurt moves his hand down to cover Sam’s mouth, and Sam shakes his head. He takes Kurt’s cock into his hand and begins to stroke and rub, first slow and leisurely, and then, almost as a man possessed by a greater want - need - desire, he intensifies the pace. He kneels his head down and runs his tongue along the underside, feeling Kurt, tasting some of the most intimate parts of him.
Kurt claws at Sam’s shoulders, leaving jagged red marks in the shape of fingers running along his backside. It isn’t long before it’s over; when it is, Kurt muffles his screams into the contours of the bedsheet and hopes in the back of his mind that Stevie or Stacey - or worse, Sam’s parents - won’t see any of the evidence.
Sam shuffles up the bed and draws Kurt into an embrace. “I wish we had more time,” he says with downcast eyes, “because that was -”
“I know,” Kurt says, “sometime you’ll have to come over to my house; Finn isn’t around most days, and Carole and my father both work -”
“Maybe I can,” Sam says. In the distance, they hear a backfiring car. “Sounds like my mother’s car,” he continues. “Go into the bathroom and change.”
Kurt stands up and gathers his clothes into his hands. “I’ll be right back,” he says, kissing Sam quickly as he walks into the other part of the room.
“Covalent bonds are atoms - ” Sam begins to read aloud from his notes as his mother walks in, with Stevie and Stacey right behind her, each clutching a Happy Meal toy in one hand - “bound by shared electrons.”
“Sammy! They had Smurfs!” Stacey says, throwing her arms around her brother and grinning widely. “I got Jokey Smurf but Ashlee and I traded so I got Painter Smurf now!”
“That’s awesome,” Sam says. “When you’re older, I’m going to have to introduce you to some other really awesome blue characters.”
“How did the studying go?” his mother asks, putting her purse on the floor next to the wastebasket.
“We didn’t waste any time.”
"Well, that's always good to hear."
-fini-