kurt fill and I am not sorry (1/2)threepwillowSeptember 26 2011, 19:26:11 UTC
It used to be Kurt had a couple of tricks to help him along when he simply couldn't fall asleep at night. He'd made himself a soothing nighttime playlist on his iPod, and that usually worked. If it was maybe a little worse he would get up and tiptoe downstairs and heat up a glass of milk, drinking it slowly, letting the warmth seep into him and work out his tension. Sometimes he would get up and sleep on the flor and just the change of scene would be enough to do it. Nothing was tried and true, though, nothing was one hundred percent successful, until about two weeks ago, the night after Blaine Anderson had climbed into his lap and kissed him senseless and rolled his hips down and around and hard until the two of them came in their pants and got off together for the very first time
( ... )
He circles the barest pads of his fingertips around his nipples, tweaking synchronized until they've fully hardened in the cool, and imaginary Blaine would definitely run his teeth here, suck hard at one or the other, let his firm fingers do the rest. Kurt's humping the air in earnest now, wishing more and more that Blaine's real hard hot solid body was pressing him back down onto the bed, grabbing more and more desperately at the fantasy the bigger and bigger the arousal builds within him. His legs are still spread out far to each side, tensing and spasming from the thighs down with how hot he is for this, and finally Kurt reaches down and sets his left hand to swirling around the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thighs while the right strokes down the crease of his abdomen past his navel and then straight on to his cock, hard and pulsing in his grip as he curls around it and begins a steady rhythm of fucking up into his hand in counterpoint to the other touches. In his mind this is Blaine's hand, or his mouth - more than anything
( ... )
It used to be Kurt had a couple of tricks to help him along when he simply couldn't fall asleep at night. He'd made himself a soothing nighttime playlist on his iPod, and that usually worked. If it was maybe a little worse he would get up and tiptoe downstairs and heat up a glass of milk, drinking it slowly, letting the warmth seep into him and work out his tension. Sometimes he would get up and sleep on the flor and just the change of scene would be enough to do it. Nothing was tried and true, though, nothing was one hundred percent successful, until about two weeks ago, the night after Blaine Anderson had climbed into his lap and kissed him senseless and rolled his hips down and around and hard until the two of them came in their pants and got off together for the very first time ( ... )
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best ever.
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