drabbles. nirvana

FUCKSIA. / 12

One solitary move and Kurt flinches— even hisses. It's hypocritical because Dave turns out thoroughly flushed too, despite having taunted Kurt numerous times for blushing all the time when it came to things like these.

"Fuck—" Kurt groaned, almost astonished by the abrupt pressure of the movement. Dave almost echoes, has to bite it down instead. "Dave— do it again."

It's yet again, a voiceless plea that dissolves into perfect stillness, ensued by heavy breaths and the sound of shifting sheets. Dave is constantly shifting— even subtly grinding against the latter as he stripped his shirt off of himself, trying to make all the literal grinding come off as spontaneous and/or accidental, and Kurt could've fallen for it if he actually cared; he was too submerged in the bliss.

It got to the point where the frontman was squirming, grasping onto the drummer's hips and dragging him down for more— more friction. The grinding wasn't doing enough, he wanted more intimacy— it was as if his mind was endlessly chanting more— more, more. It's like a never-ending, uneasy mantra.

"That's enough, gosh—" Kurt breathed out as if he had been holding a breath. "I've been thinking about this ever since you fuckin' called me," all thoughts were coming undone; as if acknowledging things that would've been too vulgar if not for the lewd ass state the two of them were in was supposed to alleviate him of the anticipation, but it didn't seem to work; it did the precise contrary, as opposing to what he thought. "I want you so fucking bad," he hissed.

Dave let out a breath that he had been holding in, too. "Ever since I joined the band, I've always wondered how it'd be like— having you all for myself," he trailed off. "So, you wanna spice this night up a little?" It's a teasing question, one that Dave already knew the answer to, but wanted to ask anyway; he wanted to hear it from the man himself.

"Go right for it, make sure to look through the bottom drawer of that bedside table— lube," Kurt nodded hastily, trying not to let his words choke up.

Dave hummed an affirmation in response, sliding off of the frontman and leaning down to open the bottom drawer and search through the variety of things down there, meanwhile Kurt day up and ran a hand through his somewhat disheveled hair, untangling locks upon locks of a vivid red before moving his hands down to sloppily undo his belt; unbuckle it, undo the jean button and zip down the fly. Dave had already returned with a small, almost completely used-up travel-sized bottle of lube.

"Been up to some business lately, huh?" Dave sneered, referencing the halfway used bottle of lube, assuming the worst.

"You have no idea what kind of shit you gotta do when you play the guitar," Kurt laughs.

"Including literal lubricant?"

"Including literal lubricant," Kurt repeated as if confirming what Dave said.

"Okay, jokes aside— are you actually ready for this?" Dave smiled softly, giving the red-haired male a comforting look. "We haven't done this in— more or less a year."

"I'm completely sure that I'm ready, trust me," Kurt reassured. "I miss moments like these with you a lot. Just get it started already before I die or something," said frontman rolled his eyes, yet another sarcastic remark in Dave's face— and the brunet was not surprised, to say the least.

"All fours for me then, baby."

Dave's voice going from comforting and lighthearted to highkey husky and intimidating— well, it intimidates Kurt, and he had no choice other than to comply now; not like he didn't want it anyway. He knew how rough Dave could get if his rules weren't followed.