[Fic] Krale -- Turbulence (NC-17)
Title: Turbulence
Fandom: American Idol
Pairing: Kris Allen/Cale Mills
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,425
Summary: Mile High Club fic
Notes: Not particularly happy with how this turned out, but I'm so damn happy to complete something longer than 400 words for the first time in FOREVER that I don't care. Enjoy!
Turbulence
Kris has a dirty, filthy mouth. The kind of mouth that you want to bite into - that unnervingly plump bottom lip sitting there all pink and pretty - to shut it up before you implode from the hot whispers on your ear. He never utters a “fuck” or “oh God,” but Kris says enough to have Cale putting distance between his knees about an hour after take-off.
With a two finger curl, Cale motions for Kris to lean-in so they can whisper. “Is there a point to this?” Cale quietly asks in frustration, mumbling into his fingers for fear of someone overhearing. “Other than getting me off in a damn airplane?”
The plane is small. It can hold maybe sixty people, which is Cale’s best guess. The only classes of seats are coach or coach. Turbulence is an almost constant factor. The flight attendants seem nice enough, but their English isn’t stellar. It’s a fairly calm environment, but it’s still a plane, which is not exactly Cale’s first choice for getting a boner in public.
Cale cracks his knuckles when he tightens his hand into a fist to get a grip on his nerves as he waits for Kris to answer. He can’t see it, but he knows Kris is smirking - lopsided and slow - and he’ll be damned if that thought doesn’t turn him on even more.
“Chill, Big Sexy,” Kris practically hums near his ear. “I just want you ready for when I slide my dick into your mouth in one of the bathrooms back there.”
What? He can’t be serious.
Cale stares blankly at the empty seat across the aisle from them. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m getting hard just thinking about your mouth on my head,” Kris says with the softest groan, “and your tongue wrapping around my cock.”
Kris’s eyes are seductively hooded when Cale pulls back for a bewildered look at him. A hand drops onto Cales knee. Cale has to think fast - cold, ice, naked grandmas, every time he’s been kicked in the nuts - when Kris’s fingers rake over the thigh of his jeans and send a pang of arousal through his gut.
“I hate you,” Cale hisses after Kris, who unhooks his seatbelt, stands to find his footing, and makes the short walk to the restrooms.
Rattled and horny, Cale grabs the beltline of his jeans to shift around his goods to a more comfortable position. His hands flop limply on his lap. He sighs before staring out of the window to his right. He’s convinced himself that he’s not going to join Kris. He’s going to stay right here, in his seat, and call the other man’s bluff.
Unfortunate for Cale’s shaky resolve, he can’t clear his mind of the recollections of Kris moaning, grabbing for him, and reaching climax.
Soon, Cale is up and moving, too - much to the delight of no one. Torres and Drew are both sacked out in their seats. Andrew is consumed with his high-brow novel of the week. Lizzie is…well, she’s not turning around to check on them every five minutes, thank goodness. The other passengers don’t appear to be bothered by his standing and the flight attendants are busy with the drink cart. It’s A-plus timing on Kris’s part.
The door to the men’s side of the restrooms is unlocked. Cale rolls his eyes and quietly slides the door open to find Kris waiting, gripping the excuse for a sink and holding himself steady. Kris glances over his shoulder and smirks, watching Cale step inside and lock the door.
“I’m going to have to fold myself into a pretzel to kneel in here,” Cale says with a frown. He’s annoyed already. The ceiling is too low for him to stand-up straight. He has to tilt his head and curve his body with the wall to be even remotely comfortable.
Kris chuckles. He moves away from the sink, but a shift of the plane sends him crashing up against Cale, who winces on impact. Cale puffs a breath across the head of fluffy hair that just collided with his chin and slammed his jaw back. He blinks to regain focus in his pain and groans when Kris grabs handfuls of his t-shirt. Kris brushes a kiss along Cale’s aching, bearded jaw, but never ventures toward Cale’s mouth. Cale makes a rough noise of frustration and Kris nips at his neck.
“Damn it, if you give me a hickey-“
“Shut up and switch me places,” Kris interrupts in urgency.
Their shuffling is rocky. Kris doesn’t help much. He hugs himself tight to Cale as they twist. Cale braces the ceiling and feels his way through a semi-circle. He hisses and scowls when his shins collide with the steel toilet. Kris lets go of Cale to fall back into the nook that Cale just vacated; it requires Kris to tilt his head slightly to fit. Cale huddles close to Kris, who is already throwing open the fly of his jeans.
“You are out of your fricking mind,” Cale breathes as he watches Kris push his jeans and briefs off the curve of his hips.
Kris smiles, lopsided, as he works his hand over his cock. His free hand goes to Cale’s shoulder. “Come here,” he says, though his hand is pushing Cale downward rather than pulling him closer.
When Cale moves, he can already feel his own dick pressing against the front of his baggy jeans, aching for attention. But he ignores it. Taking in a deep breath, he drags his hands along either wall of the tiny restroom to lower himself. The moment that Cale hits navel-level, Kris’s fingers grab a handful of hair and urge Cale forward. Cale shuffles on his knees, still holding onto the walls, and buries his face into the hard muscle of Kris’s abdomen. The fingers tighten in Cale’s hair and Kris grunts in anticipation. Cale smacks Kris’s hand out of the way and wraps his fingers around Kris’s warm cock. He licks off the pre-come on Kris’s head, making Kris incoherently grunt a noise and arch forward.
Working messy and fast, Cale pumps his hand and takes half of Kris’s length into the heat of his mouth. Kris braces a hand to ceiling and he falls back into the nook. Kris’s hips occasionally rock with Cale’s pulls. Kris is soon panting wordless noises. The tiny restroom grows more stifling by the second. Cale groans softly with each tug on his hair. He wishes that they had more time and less disgusting surroundings.
After another trickle of pre-come hits his tongue, Cale abruptly sucks hard on Kris’s head as he grips Kris’s naked hips with both hands. His fingers bite into Kris’s hot flesh and elicit quiet whimpers.
“What are you-“ is all Kris can get out before Cale takes Kris’s entire length into his mouth. Kris soundlessly swears at the ceiling as his cock hits the back of Cale’s throat. Kris’s hips shake free of Cale’s hands, which move to anchor on the muscle Kris’s tight ass. Cale holds on, giving the occasional grunt or groan of discomfort, as Kris hastily fucks his mouth.
When Kris comes, Cale swallows repeatedly over Kris’s cock, making Kris twist and dance in place before collapsing in on himself, against the wall behind him. Cale wipes the sweat from the back his neck and slowly stands. He waits for Kris to move, but Kris is still gripping at the walls and panting. His body is shaking. Cale takes it as a compliment.
Cale then catches sight of himself in the mirror and he pats futilely at his sexed and wild hair. He licks his parched lips and swallows over the sudden lump in his throat. He can still taste Kris in his mouth and he wants more, but Cale knows where this is going. It’s going to end the same way their quickies always do.
Staring at Kris, Cale awkwardly clears his throat. Kris doesn’t meet Cale’s gaze when pulls up his jeans and softly says, “Thanks.” There is the usual hint of downtrodden guilt in his tone.
Agitated, Cale stares at Kris and puts a hand to the door. “Yeah. Don’t mention it. Welcome to the fricking Mile High Club,” he spits out before he leaves Kris to clean-up.
Finding his seat, Cale plunks down and adjusts himself. The arousal of the previous five minutes has left him completely. He stares out the window as he broods. Hindsight was such a bitch.
Fandom: American Idol
Pairing: Kris Allen/Cale Mills
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,425
Summary: Mile High Club fic
Notes: Not particularly happy with how this turned out, but I'm so damn happy to complete something longer than 400 words for the first time in FOREVER that I don't care. Enjoy!
Turbulence
Kris has a dirty, filthy mouth. The kind of mouth that you want to bite into - that unnervingly plump bottom lip sitting there all pink and pretty - to shut it up before you implode from the hot whispers on your ear. He never utters a “fuck” or “oh God,” but Kris says enough to have Cale putting distance between his knees about an hour after take-off.
With a two finger curl, Cale motions for Kris to lean-in so they can whisper. “Is there a point to this?” Cale quietly asks in frustration, mumbling into his fingers for fear of someone overhearing. “Other than getting me off in a damn airplane?”
The plane is small. It can hold maybe sixty people, which is Cale’s best guess. The only classes of seats are coach or coach. Turbulence is an almost constant factor. The flight attendants seem nice enough, but their English isn’t stellar. It’s a fairly calm environment, but it’s still a plane, which is not exactly Cale’s first choice for getting a boner in public.
Cale cracks his knuckles when he tightens his hand into a fist to get a grip on his nerves as he waits for Kris to answer. He can’t see it, but he knows Kris is smirking - lopsided and slow - and he’ll be damned if that thought doesn’t turn him on even more.
“Chill, Big Sexy,” Kris practically hums near his ear. “I just want you ready for when I slide my dick into your mouth in one of the bathrooms back there.”
What? He can’t be serious.
Cale stares blankly at the empty seat across the aisle from them. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m getting hard just thinking about your mouth on my head,” Kris says with the softest groan, “and your tongue wrapping around my cock.”
Kris’s eyes are seductively hooded when Cale pulls back for a bewildered look at him. A hand drops onto Cales knee. Cale has to think fast - cold, ice, naked grandmas, every time he’s been kicked in the nuts - when Kris’s fingers rake over the thigh of his jeans and send a pang of arousal through his gut.
“I hate you,” Cale hisses after Kris, who unhooks his seatbelt, stands to find his footing, and makes the short walk to the restrooms.
Rattled and horny, Cale grabs the beltline of his jeans to shift around his goods to a more comfortable position. His hands flop limply on his lap. He sighs before staring out of the window to his right. He’s convinced himself that he’s not going to join Kris. He’s going to stay right here, in his seat, and call the other man’s bluff.
Unfortunate for Cale’s shaky resolve, he can’t clear his mind of the recollections of Kris moaning, grabbing for him, and reaching climax.
Soon, Cale is up and moving, too - much to the delight of no one. Torres and Drew are both sacked out in their seats. Andrew is consumed with his high-brow novel of the week. Lizzie is…well, she’s not turning around to check on them every five minutes, thank goodness. The other passengers don’t appear to be bothered by his standing and the flight attendants are busy with the drink cart. It’s A-plus timing on Kris’s part.
The door to the men’s side of the restrooms is unlocked. Cale rolls his eyes and quietly slides the door open to find Kris waiting, gripping the excuse for a sink and holding himself steady. Kris glances over his shoulder and smirks, watching Cale step inside and lock the door.
“I’m going to have to fold myself into a pretzel to kneel in here,” Cale says with a frown. He’s annoyed already. The ceiling is too low for him to stand-up straight. He has to tilt his head and curve his body with the wall to be even remotely comfortable.
Kris chuckles. He moves away from the sink, but a shift of the plane sends him crashing up against Cale, who winces on impact. Cale puffs a breath across the head of fluffy hair that just collided with his chin and slammed his jaw back. He blinks to regain focus in his pain and groans when Kris grabs handfuls of his t-shirt. Kris brushes a kiss along Cale’s aching, bearded jaw, but never ventures toward Cale’s mouth. Cale makes a rough noise of frustration and Kris nips at his neck.
“Damn it, if you give me a hickey-“
“Shut up and switch me places,” Kris interrupts in urgency.
Their shuffling is rocky. Kris doesn’t help much. He hugs himself tight to Cale as they twist. Cale braces the ceiling and feels his way through a semi-circle. He hisses and scowls when his shins collide with the steel toilet. Kris lets go of Cale to fall back into the nook that Cale just vacated; it requires Kris to tilt his head slightly to fit. Cale huddles close to Kris, who is already throwing open the fly of his jeans.
“You are out of your fricking mind,” Cale breathes as he watches Kris push his jeans and briefs off the curve of his hips.
Kris smiles, lopsided, as he works his hand over his cock. His free hand goes to Cale’s shoulder. “Come here,” he says, though his hand is pushing Cale downward rather than pulling him closer.
When Cale moves, he can already feel his own dick pressing against the front of his baggy jeans, aching for attention. But he ignores it. Taking in a deep breath, he drags his hands along either wall of the tiny restroom to lower himself. The moment that Cale hits navel-level, Kris’s fingers grab a handful of hair and urge Cale forward. Cale shuffles on his knees, still holding onto the walls, and buries his face into the hard muscle of Kris’s abdomen. The fingers tighten in Cale’s hair and Kris grunts in anticipation. Cale smacks Kris’s hand out of the way and wraps his fingers around Kris’s warm cock. He licks off the pre-come on Kris’s head, making Kris incoherently grunt a noise and arch forward.
Working messy and fast, Cale pumps his hand and takes half of Kris’s length into the heat of his mouth. Kris braces a hand to ceiling and he falls back into the nook. Kris’s hips occasionally rock with Cale’s pulls. Kris is soon panting wordless noises. The tiny restroom grows more stifling by the second. Cale groans softly with each tug on his hair. He wishes that they had more time and less disgusting surroundings.
After another trickle of pre-come hits his tongue, Cale abruptly sucks hard on Kris’s head as he grips Kris’s naked hips with both hands. His fingers bite into Kris’s hot flesh and elicit quiet whimpers.
“What are you-“ is all Kris can get out before Cale takes Kris’s entire length into his mouth. Kris soundlessly swears at the ceiling as his cock hits the back of Cale’s throat. Kris’s hips shake free of Cale’s hands, which move to anchor on the muscle Kris’s tight ass. Cale holds on, giving the occasional grunt or groan of discomfort, as Kris hastily fucks his mouth.
When Kris comes, Cale swallows repeatedly over Kris’s cock, making Kris twist and dance in place before collapsing in on himself, against the wall behind him. Cale wipes the sweat from the back his neck and slowly stands. He waits for Kris to move, but Kris is still gripping at the walls and panting. His body is shaking. Cale takes it as a compliment.
Cale then catches sight of himself in the mirror and he pats futilely at his sexed and wild hair. He licks his parched lips and swallows over the sudden lump in his throat. He can still taste Kris in his mouth and he wants more, but Cale knows where this is going. It’s going to end the same way their quickies always do.
Staring at Kris, Cale awkwardly clears his throat. Kris doesn’t meet Cale’s gaze when pulls up his jeans and softly says, “Thanks.” There is the usual hint of downtrodden guilt in his tone.
Agitated, Cale stares at Kris and puts a hand to the door. “Yeah. Don’t mention it. Welcome to the fricking Mile High Club,” he spits out before he leaves Kris to clean-up.
Finding his seat, Cale plunks down and adjusts himself. The arousal of the previous five minutes has left him completely. He stares out the window as he broods. Hindsight was such a bitch.