A/N-This is another one of those storylines that I suspect tons of writers are going to write about, but I wanted to throw my hat in the ring. This is my take on the promo that was released showing flirty, married, undercover Jeller from a prompt by the insanely talented Snapdragon83. We did a little fic swapping. This will be a two-part story, and I'm guessing the plot of part 2 will be pretty obvious for those who understand the title and the not-so-subtle suggestion within the story. : - ) I'm still continuing Breakdown as usual, but I wanted to post this story as part of premiere week preparations (I CAN'T WAIT!)
One warning: definitely on the heavier end of the smut scale and lighter on the plot end. Ahem. I hope you enjoy!
Part 1
"Damn," Jane complained as she looked in the refrigerator. "I forgot to throw the beer in the fridge this morning."
Kurt stepped up beside her, dropping a few ice cubes into his glass of bourbon. "There are other ways to wind down, relieve stress," he commented before he took a drink.
"That sounds promising," she purred. Then she teased, rummaging through the freezer, "You're talking about the chocolate ice cream?"
He stepped behind her, amused, as he answered, "Obviously." His ice rattled in his cup as it clanked onto the counter.
Jane hissed air through her teeth in a startled gasp when he nibbled her ear with his ice-chilled mouth, his arm hooking under hers, hand pressing against her chest to nudge her close. "That's cold," she attempted to scold, contradicting the reprimand by tilting her head and offering him unencumbered access.
He chuckled against her neck, his hand running down her arm and over the flimsy fabric of her thin white shirt. The relative silence halted with a too familiar click-clack sound. Jane shook her head and asked, "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" lifting her hand and displaying the handcuff he'd placed on her right wrist.
"Who me?" he roguishly gleamed. She turned to face him while he took her left hand in his. "Felt like following through on that suggestion I made earlier. You. Me. Handcuffs."
"You need help to keep me under control?" she jabbed.
"Ever since you're back, you're always rushing me."
"No I'm not," she replied with disbelief.
"You are. I'm an artist. Artists shouldn't be rushed."
"You're crazy," she countered, shaking her head at his bravado.
"Many artists are," he responded, directing her left wrist toward the right without the slightest true resistance from her.
As the second cuff clicked, Jane stared into his eyes. Strangely he didn't gloat over the fact that she obviously wasn't fighting him, and she didn't make any statement or move to dissuade him. "Just remember, fair is fair," she commented without emotion.
"What do you mean?" he asked, almost immediately forgetting her comment and his follow-up question when she lifted her arms over his head and rested them on his shoulders, the cool chain of the handcuffs behind his neck. She stepped her foot between his legs and slid her knee higher.
"Well you've got me here. So what are you going to do with me now?"
"See," he commented, "always rushing me. It's not always about the destination…it's about the journey."
"But I like arriving at the destination," she said with a feigned complaint. She added, playfully, "Of course, sometimes I like arriving, then leaving and returning to the destination multiple times in one night."
"I'll see what I can do about that."
"Well, I—" she stopped when he abruptly swept her off her feet and carried her over near the door. Anticipating that he was taking her to their room, she was surprised when he stopped in the hall, pushing her back against the wall.
He lifted her hands above her head, the fierce determination in his eyes giving her pause. Putting one arm around her waist, he lifted her, using his free hand to guide her wrists in place and hooking the chain of the handcuffs over a large coat hook mounted high on the wall.
Standing so he was almost against her, he planted his left palm on the wall near her head and said, "I'm so damn glad I have my wife back."
"And I missed my husband," she sweetly answered.
His eyes drifted down her shirt, his fingers tugging the neatly tied white bow as he watched it tumble into two separate ribbons, one over each breast. His finger, beginning at the bottom hem of her shirt, moved up over the center row of buttons to her face. His mouth gravitated to hers, and the ravenous way that she kissed him made him almost forget what he was doing. It was hard to follow a well-schemed plan when she looked like she did, and tasted like she did, and felt the way she felt against him. His leg moved between hers, parting her thighs as his knee met the wall. Almost involuntarily, her hips moved forward, seeking him.
He, too, instinctually reacted, answering her responses as she matched his. His hands moved over her hips before traveling to her ass and pushing her toward him. She hummed immediately at the pressure against her already needful body, shifting from side to side to encourage her skirt to ride up so he could be even closer. His arousal pressed against her thigh, she was suddenly reminded of her bonds when she wanted to reach between them, release the button on his pants, and shove her hand in to touch him. She could already feel it in her mind, the back of her hand splitting his zipper as she wrapped her fist around him. Damn, she'd missed this man, not just while she'd been on the run, but in the twelve or so hours since she'd last been with him like this.
His hands simultaneously returned to her hips, trusting now that she would stay wedged against the front of his body. His fingers leading the way, his hands progressed from her hips down her outer thighs, first finding the softer smooth patch of skin where her legs were uncovered. His fingertips hit an unexpected snag, and he leaned back to investigate.
"Oh fucking hell," he said as he looked down at her figure, realizing that she was wearing black garters. "You're trying to kill me?"
"Yea," she answered, a little shy beneath his lusty gaze, insanely turned on from their activities and his obvious excitement, but still frisky enough to tease him. "That's been my plan all along…to get to your millions."
He bobbed his head, "Impressive long game." But he wasn't nearly as playful, too busy admiring the sight of her to really joke.
"You okay?" she smirked.
"You never wear stuff like this."
"Going undercover with me turns you on, so I decided to take advantage of that."
"No it doesn't," he argued, never looking away from her legs for even a second to argue.
She gazed up in the air, counting instances of evidence to back up her point, and he finally surrendered. "Okay, fine, sometimes it does. It probably always will now because I'll be picturing this under whatever you're wearing." If he was trying to sound reproaching, he failed.
After taking in her form, he eradicated the meager distance between them, his hands braced on the wall next to her head as he stubbornly refused to put them on her where she so desperately wanted them. She hooked her ankle behind his knee and encouraged him between her legs again. His hands found their way back to her, as they inevitably would, his fingers sneaking beneath the flap of fabric that hid her buttons while he carefully opened them one by one and looked at each new inch of exposed flesh like its own prize.
He was growing impatient, and had she not been so turned on, she would have told him that he was often the one who rushed things, not her. But she noted the way she was already grinding her body against his leg, and knew she was just as guilty of being swept up as he was. And the months of separation didn't do anything to ease their mutual yearning.
Once her shirt was unbuttoned, he parted it as far as he could, pushing it back to her shoulders to expose as much of her as possible, but unable to remove it completely because of her restraints. His hands brushed slowly but with a firm grasp around her waist and to her back, crushing her against him as he kissed her neck and the uncovered part of her shoulder. He definitely needed to take her on a second honeymoon, where they could do this for days and try to make up for lost time.
She attempted to curl her arms around him, and the links on the cuffs made tiny metallic clacking sounds as they moved over the hook, forcing him to focus. He moved back one step, only enough to put some space between them, and she actually whined at the separation. His eyes skated over her figure like he couldn't stop studying her, his gaze filled with so much longing that it made her skin prickle.
He leaned lower, kissing the swath of breast that wasn't covered by her bra as he reached into his pocket and produced his keys. "Giving up already?" she gloated, assuming that he was unlocking the cuffs.
"Nope," he replied, his voice muffled against her.
He opened the small knife he kept on his keychain, and she joked, "Do we need a safe word?"
Amused by her question, he said, "Can't we go with the usual, 'Kurt-don't-you-dare.' That always seems pretty effective."
She waited until he looked at her face, his eyes full of love and his expression overflowing with evocative intent. When he looked at her like that, it was a miracle that the word 'no' even existed in her vocabulary. "That'll work," she finally replied.
The lightness of the moment dispersed in the next heartbeat when his concentration turned back down to the parts of her that were already showing. She didn't need to look at his pants or lean against him to know how hard he was for her, his focus as sharp as it was on the most serious missions. His chest moved more heavily, his mouth slightly gaped, his pupils so dilated that they threatened to overtake the vibrant color that surrounded them.
Careful to avoid her skin, he moved the knife beneath her bra and cut the fabric between the cups before they sprang apart, her breasts freed from their covering. She was poised to yell at him for ruining one of her very few nice bras, after all, she typically preferred more utilitarian designs, but, damn, if the way he sliced through that one garment because he was unwilling to wait any longer didn't send a very deliberate and demanding pulse between her legs.
He took a few steps back toward the kitchen, his concentration fixed on her. "Going somewhere?" she asked with a bit of irritation showing.
"Thirsty," he absently stated, as if answering was relatively unimportant.
Retrieving his glass, he returned, taking a sip of bourbon and grabbing a chair from beneath the table to place right in front of her. She was beginning to grow anxious, enjoying this experience, but also ready for some kind of relief for the aches that were becoming uncomfortable. She looked up at the hook to figure out how to get her hands down, and he said, wagging his finger side to side, "Unh uh."
He stepped over the chair, taking another swig before he put the glass on the floor and without any sort of warning wrapped his lips around her nipple and pulled it into his mouth. She breathed in one sharp squeal at the contrast between his chilly mouth and warm breath as he lavished attention on just that one spot.
For a short while, that single space of pleasure was enough. Her cheek rested against her arm as she watched the way he pleased her, his pink tongue occasionally darting out from his lips as it moved over her.
Excitement continued to build, but it drew even more attention to the places where he was absent. She wanted him to stand close, at the very least, lean his solid frame against her, offer some modicum of pressure. While he continued lapping and sucking, his hands moved up over her thighs, lifting her skirt over her hips because it had disobediently fallen. Although he made all attempts to appear in complete control, her skirt finally frustrated him enough that he unzipped it and yanked it to the ground, tapping one of her legs and then the other to get her to lift so he could sling it across the floor.
She lifted her foot again to kick off her heel, and he reached down and grabbed the arch, looking up at her and asking, "Leave those on?"
"Okay." She negotiated, "If you will, you know…keep going…I'll leave them on."
He paused and sat back, his hands on her thighs, massaging because he couldn't seem to stop feeling her. "Keep going?"
"Yes," she impatiently countered.
"What is it you want me to do?"
"You know what I want you to do," she griped.
And, of course, he did. There wasn't one single answer that would have made her happy, he had several options to meet her needs, but he was toying with her. "I'm not that smart," he beamed.
"Touch me or lick me or…something. Now."
He continued touching her thighs, closer to her knees than her hips, and reached out and licked her tummy before he looked up and said, "Better?"
He chuckled while she scowled and said, "I need this. I need you."
Her endearing disgruntlement won him over, and he moved his right hand from her outer leg inward, his fingertips brushing her skin while he progressed to her inner thigh. She stared down at him, beginning to moan before he even reached the top of her thighs, and then snarling with disappointment when he moved his hand back to her belly. Before she could complain any more, his thumb stretched over to her sex, tapping just below the space where her body began to part. She sighed like she'd been given more than he was actually offering, just out of the joy of finally feeling some realization of her desires.
His thumb drifted lower, parting her folds and sliding down, seeking and finding the wetness that had been gathering for him. When he moved upward again, he stopped short of her clit, not offering anything so direct that might help push her over the edge too abruptly.
One solitary finger slid lower, following the crevice down to her warm center and slipping shallowly into her. She was a gorgeous knot of wants and needs, of arousal, pleasure and frustration all in one, appreciating what was being given but constantly wanting more. She was almost positive she heard herself moan when he leaned closer, his face drawing nonchalantly nearer.
"Stop messing around and go down on me," she rasped, imagining the feeling of his mouth on her so clearly that not experiencing it was torment. She started to ask nicely, managing to say only "Plea—" before he silenced her, his lips encircling her clit and offering a loving but firm suck.
Had he been able to see her face, he would have seen her eyes flutter up as she was finally feeling something she'd craved so ferociously. With each of his focused draws, she moved toward him, encouraging that finger that was barely inside her to move more deeply. Every time she got what she wanted, she found she only wanted more. Finally, just as she was about to scream a loud and very candid order, he let his tongue sweep up and swirl over her clit, adding to the sucking sensations. She felt everything finally build to its climax in a thousand furtive pulses and explosions through her body, all emanating from the place where her flesh met his mouth.
Even as she started to come down, she still felt residual longing, as if he'd met one need but others still lingered. He stood in front of her, the backs of his legs pushing the chair away, sliding his tongue into her mouth as she still gasped from echoing orgasmic reverberations. She tasted herself on him, mixed with spicy bourbon, the kiss so thorough and deep that it reminded her of how much she wanted to bring him the same release.
Her hands were still over her head, and while he kissed her, she heard his belt fall open and his zipper lower. She felt irritated that she couldn't touch him, couldn't stroke the cock that she knew was hard as steel and ready for her. He was hers, body, mind and soul.
Toying with him was out of the question. It probably wouldn't take much to finish him off, and he'd made her feel so wonderful that she wanted to offer him the same in return. When he wasn't buried in her with his next breath, she said, "Don't you want to be inside me? Feel me around you, so tight and wet from how hard you made me come?"
Jane seldom said such things, and knew perfectly well that he was often trying to get her to talk like that. It was apparent that her words had had the desired effect. He'd been unbuttoning his own shirt, but when he heard her questions, he didn't even bother taking it off before continuing. He lifted her legs around him, pulling his lower lip into his mouth and trying to calm himself as he felt the heels of the shoes she still wore scratching at his skin. Supporting her weight with his body, he reached above and unhooked her hands, leaving the cuffs on but allowing her forearms to rest on his shoulders.
He lined up at her entrance, piercing her body with one powerful thrust, groaning loudly as he finally sank into her warmth. She could hear the sounds of her wet body taking him in, his tensely pleasured grunts in her ear and her own counter gasps that she was powerless to control. "I want to feel you come in me," she added, knowing that she was very near another orgasm and wanting him to finish with her.
Shouting roughly, he thrust into her as hard and deep as he could a few final times before he plunged into her as far as their bodies would allow and froze. She screamed uninhibitedly until her lungs were out of air, her body reaching a second stronger orgasm that made her twist against him until she couldn't move any more, each body jerking slightly as the final wave of release hit before they toppled against the wall.
He retrieved the keys from the floor, releasing the cuffs. Holding both of her wrists in his hands, he soothed over the parts of her skin that had been restrained. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she responded without hesitation. "Better than fine."
First removing the shirt and ruined bra, he rubbed her shoulders for a moment, easing the muscles that felt tight. Giving him a certain look to make sure he knew she was happy and well, she pulled away.
She practically glided across the floor, going to the freezer and opening a drawer in the kitchen before she returned to him. Taking his hand, she dragged him toward the bedroom. She shoved him onto the bed, watching him fall without a fight before he tossed the last vestiges of clothing across the room like they offended him.
She sat next to him, her legs tenting over his as she peeled the lid off the ice cream. She scooped some out with the tip of her spoon and held it for him to take a bite.
After he swallowed it, he asked, "Fun or not fun?"
"Very fun," she answered, taking her own bite.
"So no regrets or…anything?"
"Not at all," she suspiciously asked. "Why are you asking me that?"
"Something you said earlier…'fair is fair.' You had fun, I had fun. So that's fair, right?"
She tapped the frigid spoon very low on his abdomen, watching him jump from the sudden shock of cold before she offered him another bite. First gazing angelically, she wrinkled her nose before she shook her head. "Nope."
"What are you planning?" he asked bracing his upper body on his elbows.
Impishly she lifted her eyebrow and responded, "I guess you'll have to wait and see."