A/N: I don't think I have ever written out of the perspective of one character only – except for my weird rambles for myself, arguments, with myself.
But this fic is here to entertain you and make you happy and for me to grow as a writer, too. So something in my mind was all up for it today. I miss Blaine from this perspective even so he is there all the time, so close. How does this make you feel? I am honestly curious because I never quite get the appeal of this writing a scene from one side. Maybe that is simply the obnoxious control freak in me.
If you can explain it to me Please do in a review or my PM box. Open 24/7.
It would be really amazing to know what you think about this one-shot. I might write the same scene out of Blaine's perspective if you are interested, and to satisfy my oen obessive need for a stronger presence of Blaine in this.
Shots Of Love: Kurt
It is almost too much, too close, and yet somehow not enough, never close enough.
The feel of his skin against mine, his embrace so complete while he moves with me, in me.
I find myself, forearms pressed against his back, holding on to his shoulders, trying to pull all of him yet closer into me.
Impossible of course, with how close we already are, faces buried in each other's shoulders, panting heavy into each other's skin. My thighs pressed firmly against his sides. Slightly lifted of the bed holding on to him, to us.
Hips rolling we move slow and deep, and now, 'OH GOSH' he is matching our movements with slow, gentle but firm strokes.
I arch into his touch, throwing my head back into the pillows…and … Do I think it first? Say it first? "Blaine, Love You. Oh my Gosh! BLAINE!"
It does not matter at all, the only thought in me is love, the only thing I feel him, and that tingling blast of heat filling me so completely, as I sore high, feeling his eyes on me, and he follows me almost instantly on the way up, "So Beautiful. Gorgeous. KURT!", and then, down.
My grip already tightens around his shoulders again, he knows how much I hate, how little I like, losing his touch, his warmth, our warmth. Always too quick, no matter how long we just took to read and listen, smell, taste and watch each other grow more complete in our embrace.
"Baby, I'm right here," Blaine whispers as I gasp and groan at the feel I love, of Blaine, no longer joined with me, sinking his weight further into me, the mattress squeaking lightly under us, making us grin and laugh with the still lasting buzz, into each other's hot sweaty skin, tingling all over.
I don't even notice it at first, Blaine reaching for the nightstand, "Prepared this time," he whispers with the kiss into my chest, my heart, as the cool washcloth glides gently between us.
Oversensitive still, we both gasp at the new friction more than the cooling feeling that is only welcome on this hot summer night.
A/N: So this is what happens when I draw inspiration from reading a book on human intimacy. I call this Love.