Here's another one of Patricia Sage's gorgeous prompts … I think I took it a bit beyond 'cute, fun and flirty' though … I hope you don't mind!

"Blaine." You twitch. "Blaine." You screw up your nose, turning to the side a little. "Blaaaine!" This time it's accompanied by a smack. You lift one eyelid slightly, peeking at a very irate, very shirtless Kurt Hummel. You make very deliberate eye contact, letting him know that you heard him, before letting your eyes slip shut again and smirking. "Right, that's it. Get up, you lazy little prick, and put some lotion on my back!" This time it's accompanied by a bottle of freezing water being emptied on your face. As you jerk up, coughing and spluttering, you can't help but admire his innovation … or how cute his little smug smile is. He wordlessly hands you his bottle of factor-something-ridiculous sun lotion, but before he can turn around, you whip your head back and forth, shaking your hair out like a dog and effectively spraying him with icy droplets. The cute little smile drips off his face with the water. Oops. "Oh, you are going to regret that, Anderson."
"Make me," you drawl, making your voice deep and sultry.
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," he sing-songs, a little flustered, but quickly regaining his threatening tone, "but you won't know until it hits you. And by then it'll be too late. Now," he chirps, leaving you blinking at his capriciousness, "cream me up."

You take the bottle without complaint and let your eyes wander as he turns, exposing his milky white back. You lean forward a little on your sunbed and press a sloppy kiss to the back of his neck, relishing in the slightly salty taste of him, before blowing cool air onto the damp patch of skin. He shivers.
"Blaine!" he hisses, "This is a family beach. Control yourself!"
"Who, me?" you say, squirting some lotion into your hand and placing it in the centre of his back. He jumps slightly at the unexpected contact. "I'm just doing as I'm told."
"You like doing that, don't you?"
"Oh yes," you say, kneading your knuckles into his shoulders and watching in satisfaction as his head lolls back, eyes fluttering shut.
"Good boy," he practically purrs, shifting himself back so his back is flush with your chest, and you have no choice but to let your hands wander down the broad expanse of his chest. Not that you're complaining.

You angle your bodies so most of the beach is behind you, before allowing your fingertips to trace the planes of his torso, lingering on his hard stomach, making sure your nails catch slightly on his pert nipples, biting your lip as his breath catches along with them. You massage his firm stomach, your fingers flitting along the definition of his muscles, wondering when exactly he had gotten so damn toned …
"Is that the bottle of sun cream in your lap, or are you just pleased to see me?" Kurt's cheeky voice snaps you out of your reverie. Oh. You allow your hands to travel further down, toying with the waistband of his, he assures you designer, swim trunks. Then a little further.
"I'm always pleased to see you, baby," you say, making sure to press extra-hard on the 'always'. He whimpers. "Shh, shh, baby," you murmur, "It's a family beach, remember?" He just moans forlornly, clutching at your thighs. You nip at his neck and he jumps, your chuckle turning abruptly into a gasp as the friction sends jolts of pleasure through your body. He lets out a breathless giggle.
"Two can play at this game." Oh. Oh god. Then he was shifting his weight, subtly enough to look like he was hardly moving at all, but oh the things he was doing to you …

After one particularly masterful wriggle, your hands tighten instinctively, and Kurt throws his head back, exposing a long column of pale flesh that you simply can't help biting down on … and that's it – he tenses up in your arms, and the strangled groan he lets out is enough to send you over the edge too. You both collapse back onto the sunbed, completely boneless.

"Babe," you say, blushing at how wrecked your voice sounds, "we're, uh, getting some funny looks … we should probably get up …"
"Don't care," Kurt mumbles petulantly, turning his face a little so you can see his adorable little pout before trying to burrow between your neck and your shoulder.
"But sweetheart," you say, your voice sugar-coated, "how much did you day those swim trunks cost you again?" That does it. He bolts upright, the abruptness of the motion sending you over the edge of the sunbed and plopping into the sand. Kurt looks around, bewildered as to where you've gone until he notices you, shaking with silent laughter, on the floor at his feet.
"What are you doing down there? Come on," he says, hauling you up, "We have to go shower in that gross little cabin." You chuckle again at his look of disgust, but you're not sure if it's due to the thought of the showers or the squelching in his pants. You make your own face at the stickiness around your nether regions.
"Aw, come on – the showers can't be that bad …"
"Oh no, it's fine – I'm not going to touch anything. I'm definitely not taking my new flip-flops in there, so I'll just have to borrow yours," he says with a sweet smile. You roll your eyes.
"Of course, darling," you respond with a sweet smile of your own, "… if you can catch me."

And then you're off, sprinting up the beach towards the little wooden shack at the top. You slow a little, curious as to why you can't hear Kurt coming up behind you. You turn to see Kurt in a heap on the floor, looking miserably up after you.
"Kurt!" you yell, running back down towards him, "oh, baby, did you fall? Are you okay?" You're kneeling beside him, too frantic to notice his smirk before he's thrown his towel over your head and shot off in the direction of the shower. Oh.

By the time you've untangled yourself and walked at a leisurely pace up to the shack, Kurt's lain down in the sand.
"Look Blaine! I'm making sand-angels!" You think your heart is going to explode from how sweet this boy is.
"Come on – let's get you out of those trunks."
"Oh, Mr Anderson – how very forward of you," he gasps, springing up and skipping round to the front of the little building.
"Well," you reply, playing along, "there's only one shower, and it's very small – how ever will we manage?"
"Oh, I think we'll cope," he says with a devilish smirk. He grabs you by the waistband of your trunks and leads you in to the grotty cubicle. You can only stare wide-eyed as he slams the door and shimmies off his sticky trunks. "Now," he breathes, warm air gusting over your lips, "where were we?"

Reviews = Love!
xx