Adam Tremlock (tremlock) wrote,
Adam Tremlock
tremlock

fic: you should take your shirt off (Quinn/Blaine, NC-17)

Quinn/Blaine
NC-17
“I was made an offer I couldn’t resist,” he replied, feeling heat tingle throughout his veins as he took in the sight of her, standing bare-foot in her bedroom with a loose tumble of curls cascading around her shoulders and the curve of her breasts soft beneath her shirt.
Notes: I have no clue what Blaine’s sexuality is in this, and I don’t think he does, either. This is pretty much mindless smut, ngl, although I’ve tried to dress it up with pretty words. Also known as the Quaine booty-call fic, in my head. Thanks to all of the Quainers in tinychat who forced me to finish and post this…even whilst scarring me for life. I love you all and I hope this doesn’t suck in a bad way. <3

She looked like a Botticelli painting, standing in the warm sun of the late afternoon, golden light highlighting her cheekbones and making her hair glow. She tilted her head slightly when the door closed behind him with a soft snick, but she didn’t look around. “You came,” she said quietly, voice low-pitched. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I was made an offer I couldn’t resist,” he replied, feeling heat tingle throughout his veins as he took in the sight of her, standing bare-foot in her bedroom with a loose tumble of curls cascading around her shoulders and the curve of her breasts soft beneath her shirt.

She finally turned to look at him. He stepped closer, enchanted by the thoughtful expression on her face. “I hoped as much,” she admitted, reaching out to caress the side of his face. “You should take your shirt off.”

He blinked. “What?”

Quinn rolled her eyes and sighed impatiently. “We hardly have all day. My mother’s going to be back by dinner.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling strangely disappointed, “okay.” He grabbed his shirt hem and drew it over his head, grateful that he had thought ahead to keep it simple with an old t-shirt, rather than a bow-tie and shirt like he had considered. “You too.”

She just smiled and stepped even closer, pressing his warm body against him and trailing a finger down his chest to flick at a nipple. He gasped, feeling his cock twitch in his pants. She pressed a close-mouthed kiss to his lips, somehow filthier than any kiss they had shared before, and reached down to unbuckle his jeans, before wriggling free of her own skirt and underwear until she was stood proudly naked before him, wearing just her t-shirt.  ”You should really fuck me,” she said, somewhat conversationally.

His mouth went dry. “Right. Yeah. I should…right. Yep.”

She laughed a little and pulled away to grab a condom packet from the bedside table, casually tossing it across the room for him to catch with shaky hands. “Put that on and get on the bed.”

“That must be the sexiest invitation I’ve ever received,” he said dryly, although his dick didn’t seem particularly perturbed, remaining hard and impatient in his boxers.

Quinn just smiled, completely comfortable as she lay down on her side on the bed, watching him with darkened eyes as he shucked his underwear and tore open the condom wrapper. He laughed nervously as he pinched the tip of the condom and started to roll it on. “Do you have to look at me like that? It’s making things kind of difficult.”

“You should see yourself,” she said simply, her voice husky. “You’re quite the picture, you know.”

He gave another nervous chuckle, feeling his face heat up. He was all-too aware that he was standing bare-arse naked in the middle of Quinn Fabray’s bedroom, clothes strewn on the floor behind him as he stroked his cock under her heated gaze. “So how do you want to do this?”

“You getting on the bed would be a great start.”

He blushed harder and carefully hopped up on the bed, dick bobbing slightly. Quinn leaned up to kiss him, pulling him on top of her and wrapping one hand around his dick. Her grip was unexpected and tight; he bucked sharply into her hand, heat lashing through him and his balls tightening.

“We should probably hurry up if you want this to last,” he managed to gasp, dropping his head to her shoulder and inhaling her scent—washing powder and tangerines—as she twisted her hand just so, thumbing the crown of his dick and dragging a whimper from low in his throat. She kissed him again, forceful and open-mouthed, before pulling him closer and wrapping her legs around his waist.

He could feel her, hot and wet against him. He bit back a moan, hips jerking, but he held back. “Okay?” he managed to get out, cock almost  hurting from the need to push in and feel her from the inside out, to get some sweet friction once more.

She nodded, licking her lips and if he didn’t know better then he might have thought that she was nervous. “Ready.”

He pressed inside her gently, oh so gently, feeling the warm grip and slide of her around him. She closed her eyes and groaned when he settled in fully, shifting her hips and arching up to bite at his jaw, all teeth and lips and tongue and need.

“You okay?” he asked, and he had to bite down on his lip when she clenched experimentally around his cock, the sensation both too much and not enough. His skin felt too tight, his cock aching with the need for more—to fuck, to take, to claim.

She tipped back her head instead of replying, the long column of her throat so soft and delicately inviting that he just had to bend down to suck kisses into it, letting his teeth scrape across the tender skin. The movement shifted him deeper inside her and god that was good, sparks lighting at the base of his spine and twitching his hips forward with the desperate need to just fuck into her, to press her down and mark her as his own.

“C’mon, Blaine,” she said, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, soft baby-blue t-shirt rucked up beneath her breasts and stretched almost obscenely over their soft swell. She scratched her nails through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, eyes dark and intent. “You need it. Just take it.”

He bent to kiss her once more, tasting her lipgloss and that hint of tangerines that seemed stained into her very skin, before thrusting forward. He could feel the clench of her muscles around him, the tight heat that welcomed him as he pushed in so easily, the way it clung to him as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back home again. She made a noise that was half whimper, half mewl, and ground her hips back against his, taking him even deeper and shit that sent a surge of heat through him, dick aching and becoming impossibly harder, throbbing inside her. He groaned and thrust again, watching in rapt fascination as a flush started to paint her throat and cheeks a pretty pink, her lips bitten red and parted as she gasped for air beneath him.

“Tell me what you need,” he demanded, fucking into her with every word and pressing so close that he could feel her heartbeat fluttering madly beneath her sweat-slick skin. He’d done that, he realised, lust coiling low in his stomach. He’d made her gasp, made her writhe, made her moan.

Her eyes had gone hazy and unfocused now. “Your fingers,” she said, arching her back and pushing her hips towards him, aching and wanting and  his, completely his. “Touch me.”

She took his hand, guiding it down to her folds. He pressed against the softness there cautiously, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do. Her hips twitched and she let out a gasp when he rubbed, fingertips sliding through her slick. Fascinated now, he circled a finger around her nub and watched as she jerked again, eyes squeezing shut. Her cheeks were flushed and her golden curls were splayed out across the pillows, coils of sunshine draped across a blue canvas like fine art. He traced a finger down to where their bodies connected, where she opened to allow him in, rooted so deep inside her and claiming her.

“Fuck me—come on—fuck me—”

He groaned at the broken sound to her voice, feeling her clench down around him as she threw her head back and gasped. Heat, slick and sensation were overwhelming him. "I'm not going to last—"

She let out an incoherent moan and he felt her pull impossibly tight, muscles fluttering like her eyelashes, her mouth dropping open into a perfect 'o' as she whimpered and jerked beneath him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and he could hear how she stopped breathing for a moment, body jerking spasmodically, before flopping bonelessly to the mattress, her expression loose and blissful. 

"Fuck," he groaned, hips twitching and pressing himself further into her, suddenly hyper-aware of the ache in his dick and the desperate need to come, to bury himself inside her and fuck her until he comes, deep inside. He's been so hard for so long that it feels like a century; a fierce, pulling ache in his groin that makes him want to drive into her and take all the pleasure she can give.

She lifted her head almost languidly, looking at him with hazy eyes. "Mfffrt," she said. She wriggled slightly, biting her lip as if in concentration, before wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him even closer to her, until he could feel her heartbeat still hammering in her chest against his own, breasts soft and skin damp with sweat. "Go on," she said, canting her hips towards his own. "Come for me, Blaine."

He let out a strangled groan and let go, pounding into her until she was panting below him, flush high in her cheeks and her ankles locked behind his back whilst she pressed frantic kisses against his neck, open-mouthed and sloppy and desperate

—and then he was jerking inside her as he came, pleasure flooding through his body and his vision whiting for a moment until he came back down and she had her fingers in his hair, pulling and tugging slightly and fuck, he was still inside her, his come cooling around his dick inside the condom. He made an embarrassingly breathless whimper and reached down to hold the base of the condom as he pulled out, Quinn watching him with a strange expression on her face. He chose to ignore it as he tied off the condom and chucked it in the vague direction of the waste bin. 

"Well." Quinn looked down at herself, stroking at a red mark on her hipbone and fuck, with the way she was laid out on the bed for him he was that close to getting hard again. "That was interesting."

Blaine felt his stomach flip, any lust re-igniting in his gut fanned out and turned cold. He felt like a bit of an idiot, now, sat on Quinn Fabray's bed stark-naked with half-dried come crusted on his dick and sweat drying on his skin. "'Interesting' how?"

She rolled off the bed and bent down to pick up her underwear and shirt. She pulled them on before answering, "Well, I always took you to be a bottom, to be quite honest. But, you know what, you're actually quite hot when you take charge."

Blaine swallowed. "Um. Thanks?" 

"You should probably get dressed," Quinn said, nodding at the clock. "My mom'll be home soon."

"Yeah." Blaine's throat felt raw. He was all-too aware of her juices drying on his fingers (would they smell like her? would he be able to suck on his fingers as he jerked himself off in the shower that evening, stifling his moans with his hand?) and his general nakedness. He caught the shirt that Quinn tossed at him, pulling it on over his head and trying not to openly ogle her as she wandered over to her chest of drawers and started to brush her hair in quick, precise movements—perfect control. Already he could see her usual, controlled persona falling back into place; the way she moaned and whimpered and writhed beneath him starting to become a distant memory, a dream to be revisited when he needed to get off. 

He was dressed and nearly out the door when she called after him.

"Blaine?"

He half-turned to look at her, seeing her stood in the middle of her room in just her underwear and a faded t-shirt, face clear of make-up and hair half-brushed. She looked tired. 

"We probably shouldn't do that again," she said softly, meeting his eyes with a gentle gaze. 

"Yeah," he agreed, feeling his throat tighten. "I know."

She bit her lip and looked at him. Just looked. As if he was something she wanted to place securely in her memory, something she would never get again but sorely desired. She looked down, then back up at him again. "But I'd be willing to if you wanted to. You know. Again."

Blaine looked at her in return, seeing a red mark on the side of her neck that he didn't remember making and remembering the feel of her skin and the scent of her hair, and something lurches in his gut at the idea of never having her again. "Same," he said after a pause. He smiles at her—and when she smiles back, it's like his heart doesn't know that it's just a smile as it picks up in triple time.

"Thursday at six?" Her smile grew. "Dinner first?"

"I thought a lady didn't put out on a first date," he said, not even bothering to restrain the huge grin creeping across his face. 

Quinn laughed and ducked her head, eyes warm. "I've never done things in the right order."

"Six on Thursday it is."


Tags: writing
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