A/N: Inspired by a FF reviewer's request for Kurt taking care of Seb while he's sick, something other than a headache or a cold. I had a lot of ideas, but this is the first one I got the chance to write. From the 'Daddies' verse which includes Kurt and Seb's adopted son Thomas and his labradoodle Hepburn. Warning for mentions of bondage, oral sex, and a little frustration. :)
Kurt stands at the end of the California king-sized bed, hands resting on his hips as he eyes his sexy husband, raking down his body with smiling blue eyes, licking dry lips as they fall past his bare chest and linger on the white cotton sheet that covers his hips down to his legs, knowing without seeing that all he's wearing underneath is a pair of deep purple briefs. Kurt's gaze returns to Sebastian's face, biting his lower lip to stifle a giggle at the bright pink paste caked all over his tan skin.
"Tell me again," Kurt whimpers when the urge to laugh becomes too irresistible, "how you are covered in head to toe poison ivy?"
Sebastian sighs, wiggling his nose when it itches to keep from scratching, staring forlornly at the paisley print oven mitts on his hands, duct taped around the wrists to keep him from ripping them off and scratching himself within an inch of his life.
"Kurt," Sebastian groans, rolling his dry, irritated eyes to the ceiling, "I've told you this story three times already."
"I know," Kurt says, "but the part I can't seem to wrap my mind around is how a grown man comes home covered in poison ivy when his five-year-old son and their puppy don't seem to have a single rash."
Kurt turns his head to look back at the little boy, whose arms are wrapped around his beige dog's neck, staring up at his fathers anxiously. Kurt examines them both with shrewd eyes to make sure that his original assessment was correct.
"Nope," Kurt says, turning back to his husband with a wicked grin. "Not a rash to be seen on those two."
"Well," Sebastian starts, eying his amused husband with agitation, "I…"
"Thomas," Kurt interrupts, calling over his shoulder, "would you like to tell your daddy why it is that you're not covered in head to toe poison ivy like he is?"
"B-because," Thomas stutters, not sure if he should be answering and getting his daddy into trouble, "Hepburn sensed the danger and kept me away?"
"That's right," Kurt coos, his voice thick with condescension, "that means that you, Sebastian Smythe, have less common sense than a dog."
"To be fair, labradoodles are very intelligent," Sebastian retorts with a smirk.
"Okay, well," Kurt claps his hands together and smiles, "there's nothing much more I can do for you, babe. You have your calamine lotion opened and ready to be applied, you have a Big Gulp of Coca-Cola, and…" Kurt grabs the remote for the t.v. off the bedside table and puts it on the sheet beside Sebastian's left oven mitt, "…now you can watch your programs."
Kurt winks at him, smiling sunnily, and Sebastian mocks him, grimacing when the calamine lotion cracks again right below his eyes. He purses his lips and blows a stream of air up to try and dislodge a flake from his eyelid. He finally gives in and brushes it away with the rounded dome of the ridiculously oversized oven mitt.
"I'm taking Thomas out for some ice-cream, as a reward for not rolling down a hill into a patch of poison ivy just to retrieve a tennis ball."
"Yeah!" Thomas crows. All semblance of anxiety bleeding away with the promise of a fudge-dipped soft serve cone, the boy runs off with Hepburn on his heels to put on his sneakers. Kurt's eyes follow him out the door; then his gaze turns back to Sebastian, lying helpless on the bed, glaring up at Kurt with burning, vengeful eyes.
"Do you know what this reminds me of?" Kurt purrs, approaching the bed, sliding up slowly, trailing light fingers over the sheet, fingertips barely brushing Sebastian's skin.
"What?" Sebastian snaps, but not as sharply as he intends, his eyes focused on where Kurt's fingers linger above the sheet, dancing in little circles to and fro without touching his body.
"Do you remember in that blessed time before we had a little boy and a dog, when we could fuck in the living room in the middle of the day…" Kurt leans over, letting his lips travel an inch above Sebastian's chest, his breath tickling his skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end (or try to since they are pretty effectively plastered down with calamine lotion). "I used to tie you to the bed…" Kurt whispers in a husky, hungry voice, watching the bulge beneath the white sheet grow as he speaks in soft tones against Sebastian's cheek. "I sucked you off till you couldn't see straight…" He lets a single finger tease the head of Sebastian's interested cock through the sheet. "I licked you and teased you, kept you on the edge of cumming all night long…and you used to call me…master?"
Sebastian moans into Kurt's mouth where it hovers, lips parted, within a breath of his own.
"Yes…" Sebastian sighs, waiting for Kurt to kiss him, to touch him, to put him out of his misery. It would only take a minute. Thomas can definitely wait.
"Good to know," Kurt says, grinning wide, pulling away slowly, feeling Sebastian's hard cock throb once beneath his fingers as he steps back to view his handiwork - his cocky husband, hard and panting, completely helpless to do anything to relieve the pressure.
"I'll just let you think about that while we're out." Kurt takes a step backward toward the door.
Sebastian suddenly realizes that Kurt is leaving, and his lust-blown eyes widen with panic.
"Wait…wait, Kurt…" Sebastian looks down his body at his now rock-hard cock straining against his briefs. He pulls off the sheet and fumbles with the elastic waistband of his underwear, trying to sneak a large, quilt-covered hand underneath. Kurt chuckles as he disappears out the door. "Kurt?" Sebastian calls out. "Kurt?...Kurt!"
"Don't worry," Kurt yells from the front door. "I'll bring you home something to cool you off."