Chord was chewing gum and popping it as fiercely as the natural laws of gum and his mouth would allow. He was sitting right next to Amber too and he took vicious pleasure in watching her entire face draw into lines of tighter and tighter irritation as he chewed and popped and smirked at her. He blew a huge bubble then, watching it swell and swell, till it popped obnoxiously right beside her ear. She finally snapped and whipped her head around to glare at him, eyes slitted with rage.
"What the fuck is your problem?" she hissed quietly.
"You are," Chord responded, the anger that had been simmering in his belly for weeks now – weeks and weeks and fucking weeks – finally making it out his mouth. Amber had been pulling away from him since that first kiss during Human Nature. She had been one of the reasons he loved working on Glee last season and when he was signed back on it was just so good spending time with her on set again. Then came the kiss.
TV kisses were not meant to be brain meltingly intimate. It was acting so you didn't kiss like you would when it was real, when the cameras were off. You kissed so it looked good – so it imitated sexy and hot. But somehow, the chaste lip tango he and Amber had to perform after that admittedly brilliant duet shook something loose in both of them. The cushion of her lips against his had felt like coming home; had swelled his insides with want and heat, flushing his face and ears. He'd slid his tongue against the slick inseam of her mouth, longing to take the kiss deeper, but she jerked away at the sensation, eyes wide on his face and something tremulous and afraid in her gaze. "Don't," she'd whispered, taking a step back from him and he had had to crush the urge to reach for her and pull her back against him.
They had had to suffer through four more takes of the kiss and by the time the director was satisfied Chord's dick was hard enough to hammer nails and Amber looked all kinds of soft and sweet and gone – just gone.
"You need to grow up Chord. We're working here and you're carrying on like a spoilt child." She did withering scorn so well. She could be all sunlit sweetness and then she'd switch and that tongue would cut at him till he felt about three years old and like he'd had his hands smacked by mommy. It made him even angrier.
"Well according to you and all your interviews all I am is a child anyway – with giant lips you don't know how to handle. You're such a fucking liar Amber."
Her mouth and eyes widened into shocked Os for just a moment and then rage smashed the shocked indignation out of her. "Oh no you did not just say that to me! I'm the liar? Who's the one who ran back to his dead eye'd infant of an ex right after we kissed? Don't come at me Chord like I'm the one who didn't want to claim whatever the hell was happening between us. That was all you and your cowardly, white boy bullshit! And if you pop that goddamn gum one more time God help me I'm going to smack your stupid smug face so hard your ears will ring for a week!"
"Um...guys?" Naya's voice dropped between them like a miniature bomb and they both realised that they'd stopped whispering some time ago. The entire cast and crew were looking at them with varying expressions of scandal and glee. "Oh lord," he heard Amber whisper beside him, mortification in every syllable.
"Uh – I think that's lunch," came Brad's voice and with a tiny, hiccoughing sound of relief Amber rose to her feet and flounced out of - fled – the room.
"Chord," came Cory's voice, warning edging his name.
"Later Monteith," he replied as he followed Amber's swiftly retreating backside.
He caught the door of her trailer just as she began to slam it shut, leaping up the stairs and right into her space. Her chest was heaving and she shoved him, hard, trying to keep him out but he wrestled his way through and banged the door behind him, feeling triumphant.
"Get out Chord." Her voice was hard and implacable but he ignored it. He finally had her alone and he wasn't going anywhere till he got some answers.
"No. Not till you tell me that you want me as much as I want you."
"Boy I think you have me confused with one of your groupies. Your dick is far from golden honey and I don't need your brand of arrogance in my life. Now get the fuck out."
Chord grabbed her then, fingers digging into her arms and dragging her against him – the full, hard ridge of his jean clad cock riding the yielding softness of her belly. The touch of her mouth sent a pulse of delicious right through his body and he deepened the kiss like he had been wanting to do for so damn long. She whimpered, tiny fingers clutching in his hair and then dragged him backwards onto the cream couch she sometimes napped on between takes. He slid his hands into the stretch of the leopard print leggings she was wearing as Mercedes that day and his long, thick fingers delved into the wet folds of her soaking cunny, sliding his knuckle firmly against erect little nubbin of her clitoris.
"Oh my god!" she moaned, head tossed back as he bit at the fragrant skin at her neck.
"You want this dick don't you?" he rasped hoarsely against her ear, thrusting hard with every word.
"You want me – I know you do. So here's what's going to happen."
Thrust.
You're going to go out with me, in public."
He thrust his fingers again, three now, fiercely inside her and she gasped, pussy clenching helplessly around the ruthless digits.
"We're going to have several fabulous dates where we hold hands and I kiss you and we make a spectacle of ourselves."
Thrust.
"Then you're going to become my girlfriend."
Thrust.
"And then you're going to stop deflecting when you're speaking about us in interviews."
"F-fuck you Chord," she panted, pulling viciously at his hair and digging her nails into his neck and back.
He smirked, eye's gleaming wickedly, ruthlessly. "I'm not letting you come till I hear a yes. Say it baby. Say: yes Chord."
She wailed as his fingers twisted and reached, hitting her spot and forcing her body into convulsions of pleasure. He sucked the desperate sounds from her mouth, biting at her lips and thrusting his tongue against hers in an imitation of the motion of his fingers in her dripping snatch.
"Say it Amber," he gritted, voice a ruined, gravely growl and his dick throbbing where he ground it against her thigh. She met his eyes then and he drowned in the melting brown depths, licking at her bruised, kiss swollen lips – biting down on the flushed plushness.
"Yes Chord," she whimpered, bringing her forehead to his, a grimace of pleasure creasing her face.
His thumb stroked her clit then, once, twice, and she came in a wet, wailing explosion all over his hand and wrist and pants. Chord followed soon after, his cock jerking wet, hot pleasure all over the inside of his boxers. They lay there, breathing each other in, muscles like melted sugar, the aftershocks of pleasure still trembling through them.
"Oh my God wardrobe is going to be so pissed," giggled Amber from where her head was resting on his chest, surveying the mess of come stained clothing and dishevelled hair. Chord beamed at her, big and goofy, and nuzzled at her cheek.
"I honestly don't care."
Amber snorted and kissed him, long and sweet and deep.
"Of course you don't."
End.