Author's note: I am not dead. Just swamped with RL stuff.
"Day-vey! We got a tricky one!"
"Hit me!" It's slower than usual in the restaurant and he always likes the challenge that a tricky customer brings. He's never had a dissatisfied customer yet and it's a record he's not only proud of, but intend to keep.
"He's asked for the pork belly main, but with the pork belly entre sauce. Here, he gave me a card with his list of food allergies…"
He takes the card from Rachel's fingers and scans down the list.
"Tomatoes? The guy is allergic to tomatoes?"
"The acid or something?" Rachel says, hazarding what is clearly a guess, but she's a vegan, and he's cooked for her enough times to know she's probably right.
Dave grimaces, because he can't imagine not being able to not eat tomatoes. Or dairy. Or… wow. A lot of stuff. Gluten. Peppers. Some onions. Strawberries.
"And this guy is actually brave enough to try eating out?"
"Apparently, although he doesn't look too happy about it. Sounds like it was all his dinner partner's idea."
"Right. Well, go and ask him if he's okay with coconut cream, coriander, sweet potatoe and soy. I'll happily make him something from scratch, but it'll take a while."
He flicks through the other orders, making sure that everything is on track for timing and waits for Rachel to return.
"He said he's more than happy to wait, seemed pleasantly surprised the chef was so accommodating actually. He's cute. Just your type…" Rachel winks.
He rolls his eyes and sets about starting a new sauce from scratch, making a conscious decision to use the gluten-free soya sauce after rewashing the pan carefully to remove any traces of gluten or dairy. Maybe he's being over cautious, but he doesn't know how bad this guys allergies are, he might keel over and die, and that would be extremely bad for his reputation.
When he sends the dish out he's happy with it, a mildly spiced creamy coconut sauce, in which is settled the pork belly, garnished with curls of carrot and sprigs of cress, freshly steamed spring vegetables on the side. He hopes that the customer will be happy and he chances a quick peek through the doors as Rachel walks toward a table near the front. He can't see anything and he shrugs and goes back to work.
Kurt goes home fully expecting to have stomach cramps. At least. If it's just stomach cramps then he can deal with it. Curl up with some water, an antacid and hope that it passes quickly. If it's worse, well, he doesn't exactly want to think about it. Worshipping the porcelain throne from both ends is just unappealing on every level, which is why he avoids eating out. Usually. Except Blaine had asked, begged,and he's not about to say no to his oldest friend.
Except he doesn't have cramps. Or anything else. His skin doesn't even rise in the slightest rash and he can't help but be filled with stunned delight. Days later the memory of the food, falling apart in his mouth, creamy sauce contrasting with the slight bitterness of the cress, the vegetables all blanched perfectly. Well, it's been a long time since he's enjoyed a meal so much and not lived to regret the days following it.
The waitress had been friendly and accommodating, not something he comes across a lot when it quickly becomes apparent to them that he's one of those customers. Instead he had felt valued, his health issues taken seriously. It had surpassed his expectations, which he admits had been low to start with. Now, well, now he wants to go back. Wants to find out if it was simply luck or whether he might have just found somewhere where he can eat, enjoy his food and not have his body wracked with pains and skin covered in rashes for days following.
He walks in, even earlier than last week, it's quiet and it's the same waitress as last week, her face breaking out into a friendly smile as she heads toward him.
"Hi. Welcome back. Are you after a table?"
"Yes. Just for me this time. I just… really enjoyed the meal last week, and I hope your chef doesn't mind me coming back, but I've been thinking, dreaming, of that meal ever since I ate it."
"He won't mind at all. He likes a challenge. And anyway, he's used to cooking for me." Kurt's not quite sure how to take that, just smiles a little tightly. "I'm a vegan. I live with Dave. The chef."
"Oh," he says, nodding in understanding, smiling. "I'm Kurt. I think I'm on the slippery slope of becoming a regular here."
"Well Kurt, I'm Rachel. Would you like your regular table or would you like to start with a new table to join you on your slippery slope?"
He laughs and agrees that a smaller table, one meant for a single person would be ideal and he lets her lead the way.
Last week he'd done a glazed confit duck with orange and ginger, with wilted Asian greens set on a sweet potato puree. He'd deliberately left one of the duck breasts to the side, glazing it a bit differently in the hope that he'd get to work with it. The week before that he'd repeated the pork belly dish, because it had apparently made such an impression the first time, at least that's what Rachel had told him, eyebrows wiggling enthusiastically.
He'd made the passing comment to her that he hoped next time he came in he'd have free-reign to make him something new. He hadn't meant for Rachel to fucking tell the customer that, but she had and goddamn that woman has the biggest mouth, although he only knows she told him because she'd come back in to the kitchen laughing, eyes crinkled and told him that next week he gets free reign and then winked.
He's tried peeking out to catch a glimpse of him, because when Rachel tells him a guy is his type he knows he will be. Rachel has never steered him wrong but he's pretty sure scoping out potential guys while at work is incredibly unprofessional so he only chances it once, and the back of the guys head is all he sees. He grumps to Rachel about how she could have at least sat him on the side facing the kitchen and she'd laughed and pinched his cheek.
So tonight is the fourth time he will be cooking for him, and he's actually been thinking about it all week, creating something that isn't even vaguely on the menu, unlike the last three weeks. He's ordered in some salmon, because he's been working on developing the summer menu, but tonight it's cold out, and he needs Rachel to go and do some fact checking.
"I need to know if he's okay with citrus."
"He was okay with the orange last week…"
"Yeah, but that was sweet and reduced. What I've got planned has both lemon and lime in it. With fish. Make sure he can eat fish!" He calls after her as the door swings shut. The lemon-scented risotto is already halfway done, and he's made it for Rachel as well to eat when she can have her meal just before the rush starts, and he likes that this guy comes in earlier, whether it's out of consideration or if it just suits him, he appreciates it.
"Fish is fine. Citrus is fine unless you're planning on sending out a lemon on a plate. And here, I copied his food-allergy card for you so you can keep it as reference."
He takes it, and then looks at the name scrawled on top in Rachel's overly flowery script: Kurt. So he has a name now, and he nods absently, not really needing the piece of paper because he remembers nearly all of it from the first time, but he files the name away in his mind.
"I'm making him crispy-baked salmon on lemon scented risotto with micro greens and caramelised lime, drizzled with chive infused avocado oil. Double check with him that the chive is okay, it's part of the same family as the onion."
Rachel gives him a mock salute, muttering 'yes chef!" at him under her breath before leaving again and he grins. He loves his job.
He strolls through the market stalls – he knows what he needs, and actually eating out has taught him a few new ways of cooking some of the lesser bought vegetables he sees around him. He used to enjoy cooking before it became the chore that it is now, having to carefully read every ingredient label and know what can and can't be substituted. He feels sort of rejuvenated having been fed amazing meals for the last four weeks, and Tuesday night has now become his favourite night of the week.
Sundays he comes here and buys his fresh produce for the week. It's not convenient, but the food is the freshest he's found, and he's been coming here for nearly two years, long enough that all the store owners know him, calling out his name in greeting and he enjoys the almost festive atmosphere that the new season brings. Even though he can't eat a lot of the produce he can still enjoy the scents, and some of the stall owners seem to take him as a personal challenge. He knows he can get goat cheese feta and camembert now, along with some amazing home preserves and baking.
Coming here used to be his weekly treat, a sense of homecoming, but Tuesday night has taken that place in four short weeks and he wonders if Blaine had any idea when he begged that they go and try Ambrosia. He's so glad now that he gave in and agreed. He waves at Michelle, turning toward the stall where he can get a loaf of gluten free bread and he feels the icy-cold slime-feeling on his hand and he grimaces, looking first at his hand, then at the destroyed ice-cream-cone and then up to the startled face of a man who looks more than a little sad that his ice-cream is dripping off the fingers of a stranger and also smeared on his shirt.
"That was a really good frozen yoghurt."
"I'm so sorry, let me buy you another. Was it Leigh's stall?"
"Uh, it's okay. Really. It was already my second one, I just couldn't decide between my two favourite flavours."
"No, I insist. At least a voucher for next time you come. Just let me go and wash my hands –"
"I'd offer to lick it off, but that would be a little forward. Wow. Ignore me. That was seriously inappropriate of me. Sorry."
He lets out a bark of laughter, because it's been a while since a guy has actually been suggestive and apologetic in equal parts. In fact, he doesn't know if he's ever met a guy like that and he winks, equal parts amused and turned on. It's been a while.
"If it wasn't seriously inappropriate, I'd let you."
He gets a surprised laugh it response, and he doesn't miss the flare of interest as he walks back toward Michelle, her stall has running water and quickly rinses his hands. He feels a little flushed, because he had actually meant that, and he's out of practise with the whole flirting thing because it's been so long, but it feels pretty good. And despite his earlier protestations the guy hasn't voiced them again. He wipes his hands on his jeans to dry them and turns, smiling and gesturing toward Leigh's ice cream and sorbet truck near the start.
"I'm Kurt. And I really am sorry about your frozen yoghurt. And your shirt." A shirt which the guy has taken off, tucking it in the back-pocket of his jeans, revealing a black t-shirt which is stretched over a thick chest and around muscled arms and he swallows as his mouth fills with saliva.
"It's no problem. Really. I'm David. Dave. So… you come here often?" He laughs again, because it has to be the oldest pickup line in the book, and the guy is looking a bit sheepish but not overly apologetic.
"Every Sunday. You?"
"First time. My roommate forced me to come, she was raving about the ice-cream place actually. They do really good soy ice cream apparently."
"Yes, they do. Although I've never tasted their dairy equivalents. I'm allergic."
That makes Dave stop, and he steps to the side, glad he's in such a public place if the guy suddenly turns out to be a serial killer, and the way the guy is kind of grinning at him, like there's been this huge revelation…
"Wow. That… that's too much of a coincidence. I believe I've cooked for you. I'm the head chef at Ambrosia."
The look of surprised delight on Kurt's face at his declaration makes him smile wider. Rachel was right. He is his type.
"Oh. Well then, I hope Rachel always passes on my compliments. I'm a big fan…" the word trails off, and he silently adds 'of your cooking' in there, but he also knows that with that flirting tone he could take that to mean whatever the hell he wants. His job doesn't exactly lend itself to meeting possible new people so it's rare that he actually meets someone that seems to tick all his boxes. And then some, because boy does he tick them. He'd feel bad at the intense look he's giving Kurt, but he can feel it being returned ten-fold and holy shit he's glad Rachel isn't in the vicinity because she'd be making sly innuendos about getting rid of sexual tension with a knife and…
"She never has actually. She's terrible at passing on compliments, especially to me. Thinks my ego is big enough when it comes to my cooking…"
"Oh, I'm sure it's more than big enough."
Dave laughs out loud, shaking his head but not letting his eyes leave Kurt's face. The comment is thrown out like a challenge, eyes sparkling with amusement and attraction, and he can only guess that he's paying him back in some way for his offer to lick his fingers clean. He can only blame his lack of brain-mouth filter which apparently disappears when faced with… Kurt. He's never that forward unless he's had a couple of glasses of wine, except with Kurt. Fortunately for him Kurt is responding in kind.
"I haven't had any complaints from any of my diners yet."
"Oh, you call them diners do you?"
"Well yeah, it is a meal that's meant to be savoured. You'd agree wouldn't you?"
They stare at each other and he can feel the sexual energy twanging between them like an over tight string on a guitar and he's never wanted to just reach for someone and kiss them so badly. To his knowledge there's nothing stopping him, except…
"Can I kiss you?"
"I don't know. Can you?"
He rolls his eyes and snorts.
"I've been eating strawberry yoghurt. How bad are your allergies?"
"Not that bad…"
And then he's being kissed, warm dry lips dragging across his cooler ones and he can't believe he's kissing a guy he just met. He lets his hands go to lean hips, tugging him closer, feels the scrape of stubble over much smoother skin than his own, then a hand sliding and grabbing his ass and he smiles into the kiss, can't resist nipping a little before reluctantly pulling back. In the middle of a market isn't the place for an exploratory make out session with a guy he barely knows.
"Tuesday. I'll se you Tuesday. Can you wait until I finish up?"
Kurt nods, licking his lips and he wonders if Kurt could taste the strawberry on his lips.
"I look forward to it. It's my favourite day of the week."
"Good, you can buy me dessert."
"I don't know about buy, but I'll definitely take care of dessert."
The look in Kurt's eyes are filled with promise and he swallows, grinning.
"And I look forward to that."
He's not nervous, but he wouldn't exactly describe himself as collected and calm either. It's Tuesday and he's come home to change before heading to Ambrosia. Not something he normally does but today is not normal. He doesn't know what really came over him on Sunday, apart from the intense level of attraction he's not really felt since — well, since he was a teenager and couldn't control his hormones. He'd thought, for a short while after saying goodbye to David on Sunday, that maybe he was just long overdue some sexual release with something other than Mr Palm and his five sons. But even after a particularly thorough session in the shower involving his hand and favourite dildo he'd still twitched at the idea of Dave's hands on him.
He looks around his apartment, it's tidy and clean and he's stocked up on certain essentials he hasn't needed for far too long. They'd expired. The condoms his dad shoved into his wallet when he was a teenager didn't even have that dubious claim to fame. He's just been busy. The last time he'd bought condoms he'd been quietly optimistic. This time he's pretty sure there's no optimism involved, it seems much more like certainty, promise. For both of them. He's pretty confident that Dave's behaviour was equally out of character as his, at least from what Rachel has said in passing. That is the only slightly reassuring fact that maybe he affects him just as much. Fuck he hopes so.
Leaving the light beside his bed dimmed low he pats his pockets, wondering if he needs to take anything with him. He has no idea what time Dave finishes up, but he guesses it will be late. He has a book he's reading on his tablet, along with a journal article, but he's always thought of people sitting alone at tables reading look very alone and he huffs. Rather be thought alone than be bored for several hours. It means taking a satchel though, and he'd prefer to have his hands free and the filthy places his mind goes with that thought are automatic and incredibly arousing. He takes it anyway, telling his traitorous body it can afford to wait.
A bit later than his usual time, he holds the door open for a couple already leaving and the smile on Rachel's face is flattering. It's nice to have someone so apparently happy to see him.
"Kurt! I thought you were going to ditch us tonight when you weren't here at six."
There is nothing in her tone that suggests she knows that him and Dave have now met, that they have sort-of-plans tonight and he sits down and places a drink order. It's something he's not done before and it causes her eyes to widen slightly and he shrugs, telling her he feels a little adventurous tonight. It's an understatement, but it also elicits nothing but another smile and that confirms that Dave hasn't told her, and he feels a little worm of doubt wiggle in his stomach. Why wouldn't he tell her?
"Well, I'm glad you're here. Dave has been asking if you've turned up every time I go into the kitchen. He has another dish he wants to try out on you."
He bites back the smile at the memory of Dave saying a meal is meant to be savoured, and maybe Dave was afraid he wasn't going to turn up for whatever reason.
"I look forward to it," he says brightly to Rachel.
She returns the smile and then goes back to her job, stopping by his table frequently enough, checking his water and refilling his wine before bringing out what looks amazing.
"It's corn fed chicken breast, wrapped in streaky bacon, filled with crushed chickpeas, diced parsnips, olives & fresh herbs," she states, placing the dish down. There's the side of freshly blanched vegetables and his mouth waters at the scent of everything.
He thanks her and sets about eating, enjoying the salty crunch of the bacon coupled with the soft tenderness of the chicken, balanced by the crumbly tangy contrast of the inside. He finishes and his plate looks, as always, as if he's licked it clean. Rachel appears and reaches for his plate, and now that he knows his compliments aren't reaching the kitchen he'll try something else, and hope Dave doesn't take it personally.
"Tell him it needs improvement."
"Oh, I will," Rachel says, seemingly delighted with his comment.
He grins and sits back to wait, drawing out his tablet and wondering how long he has to wait.
"Apparently that needs work."
"What?" His head snaps to her from where he's plating up.
"Kurt. He said it needed improvement."
He opens his mouth to object, because that dish is delicious but then he nods, ducking his head to hide a grin. He hasn't told Rachel about meeting Kurt on Sunday, and he's not an idiot. He'd heard of the market before, had been intending to go ever since he heard of it, but finally two weeks of Rachel nagging him daily he'd given in. He'd enjoyed it of course. More after meeting Kurt and his mouth waters and body tingles just at the thought of him. If it weren't for the fact that he is completely sober, both now and on Sunday, he'd think it was a drunken hook-up, not something he's done in years, due mainly to lack of time and energy rather than not wanting to, but he's always preferred… dating. Becoming head chef had also made him incredibly antisocial.
He pulls out the berry coulis he'd made especially that morning, strawberry free of course, sieving it to remove the pulp and seeds. Then there's the slightly failed dark chocolate mousse he tried to make with soy. He doesn't know what part of dairy that Kurt's allergic to, if he'd been able to get away with lactose-free cream. Either way, it's still sinfully rich and gooey, and he places a careful spoonful on a new plate.
"What are you doing? You don't do desserts," Rachel says, looking over to where Mike is twisting toffee into decorative coloured spirals and making bubble sugar for garnishes. He grins at Mike's shrug, because Mike had asked the same thing that morning when he'd been sieving the coulis, and Mike had actually got the real answer.
"I'm making sure he walks away a satisfied customer," he says instead, and there's nothing more that annoys Rachel than not knowing something and he returns Mike's grin. She looks between them, and he knows she's seconds away from placing her hands on her hips and tapping a foot at him. He's literally saved by the dinging of the bell as Santana rings for service, having finished up the plating. She huffs, eyes narrowing but he just shrugs, going back to paring an apple.
It's definitely not the most well thought out or creative dessert he's made, but he's going to make up for that. He hopes. Taking one of the bright red spirals of toffee and dark blue bubble sugar shards from Mike's work station he lays it out, getting the small container he bought on Sunday from the freezer. Then rings the bell, waving the other two waitresses away, deliberately wanting Rachel, and he's scooping the vanilla-soy ice-cream onto the plate before placing the spiral and shard artfully. It looks good and he hands it to her.
"Tell him it's compliments of the chef."
She frowns and points a well manicured finger at the small tub of soy ice cream.
"Where did you get that?"
"At that market you recommended to me."
"And you didn't bring me home any?"
"And have it disappear from the freezer before tonight? Not fucking likely."
"Tonight? Why's tonight so special?"
"I have a date. Now can you take that out to him before it melts please?"
"Bossy bossy! You'll be telling me about your date!"
He grins and looks across at Mike, Noah and Santana. They all know he has plans, and that Kurt is the one he has plans with; is sitting out there waiting for him. He's had to talk to them about him leaving early, leaving Santana in charge as sous chef. He'll wait until the main service is finished, which isn't actually too long now. He throws himself back into work, knowing it will make the time fly, and also looking busy will stop Rachel asking him questions. The next time he looks at the clock he startles, because it's almost nine, which on a Tuesday night is definitely past main service and he unties his apron, glancing over where Santana is scrubbing at the grill.
"Kitchen's all yours."
She looks delighted as he heads out back to the staff room to change, and he's taken more care with his bag. It always has a change of chef whites, but this times he's pretty much packed an overnight bag. He changes into his street clothes. Jeans and shirt. He really wishes there was a shower, because he feels hot, sweaty and slightly oil covered, not ideal when trying to impress a guy. But then again he's pretty sure Kurt's already impressed. He exits through the side door, leaving his bag in the staff room and enters the restaurant through the front door. It feels weird. Rachel starts as she sees him, frowning and he waves his hand and heads directly for Kurt's table, sitting down and returning the slow smile he gives him.
"I thought I was meant to organise dessert."
"You are. I haven't had any."
Eyes spark with amusement and promise and holy fuck this is good.
"I thought you had a date." Fucking Rachel. He smiles apologetically to Kurt, who just looks amused and turns to face her.
"I do. And you're interrupting it."
She looks between them, torn between obvious delight and annoyance and he just wants her to go away. Soon. She just nods decisively and thankfully leaves them, but not before she takes Kurt's gratifyingly empty dessert plate.
They just stare at each other for a while, and he really wants to just lean over the table and kiss him. More than kiss. Both of which are unprofessional in his place of work but he's almost willing to risk it.
"So, you want to get out of here?"
"Oh yes. I believe I owe you a dessert," Kurt says with a raised brow, and he's not an idiot, this is everything and nothing all at once and while he really wants it to develop into something, right now he doesn't care over much either way.
"Your place or mine? Keep in mind that I live with Rachel and unless you want to have breakfast with her tomorrow then…"
"Mine. Definitely mine."
"Okay then. Let's go."
There are undeniable fluttering butterflies in his stomach as he pushes open the door to his apartment, hands shaking just ever so slightly as he pockets his keys and hangs up his jacket. He doesn't get why he's nervous now, when he's made it obvious what he wants. That Dave has made it equally obvious that he wants the same thing. There's no fear of rejection, no possible miscommunication just… this. Except he doesn't do this. He's always been in relationships before having sex, but fuck, he really wants sex right now. Has since Sunday when Dave had been so wonderfully flirty and amusing and arousing… He feels hands settle on his waist and he sways back ever so slightly, feels the warm solid wall of Dave's chest behind him and relaxes against it.
"Yes… just, I don't normally do this."
There's a pause, he can feel Dave's breath against the skin on his neck and he presses back into him, just in case he thinks that he might not want this, because of what he's said.
"Uh, well, neither do I... not in a long time."
He's not quite sure how to take that, but the lips he feels pressing into the nape of his neck have him tilting his head, allowing better access and he lets out a low hmm of encouragement. The hands move to his hips, pressing a bit firmer and he turns with them, turns until he's facing Dave, looking into warm hazel eyes and he can't help return the soft smile.
"We don't have to do anything…"
Kurt stares, knows the look he's giving him very clearly spells out that something will definitely be happening. He's been half hard since Rachel brought out the main dish, just simmering on the edge with anticipation and there's no way he's not moving forward for whatever they decide to do. He's over thinking it so just leans forward, hand reaching to curl around Dave's neck, bringing their mouths together in a kiss. He feels the fingers move a bit lower, firmer and then he's being pulled against Dave's body, crotches pressed against each other and he notes gratifyingly that he's also half-hard.
They're thrusting against each other, mouths open, tongues sliding wetly. His entire body tingles suddenly and he lets out a little sound of contentment, pushing himself closer to the hands, body, lips that are trying to touch every part of him. He's more than okay with that, and he pulls at his shirt, wanting it off off off. Now. He ends up pulling away from him, simply so he can get naked, and the speed at which the hands return to his now bare skin is wonderful. Dave has taken the opportunity to remove his own shirt, which he's torn about. He'd have liked to remove it himself, or at least watched him remove it… but now there's just an expanse of honey-hued skin covered in a decent covering of hair and he licks his lips, swallows, mouth suddenly dry.
"Did you want to do this in your entrance way, or do you have a bedroom?"
Oh god. That's all sorts of humiliating, that he's that desperate they didn't even get more than a few feet, then he remembers it was Dave who couldn't seem to get his hands on him fast enough and he smiles slowly, hooking a finger into one of Dave's belt loops and nods. He tries not to break eye contact but fails miserably, eyes flicking to lips, bare chest, and the slightly paler skin that is revealed where the jeans are pulled away from Dave's body.
"Hey, careful." And then he's being turned, and he's almost walked backward into his coffee table.
"Mmm. I'm a little distracted."
"Yeah. Come on… just tell me where."
He almost expects Dave to pick him up, and huffs a laugh at his own fancifulness, instead muttering about being eager, although he's not sure if it's aimed at Dave or himself. Either way it doesn't stop him giving directions, following Dave in his own apartment. He's insanely glad he tidied now, not that he's naturally messy, but he feels like Dave might be judging everything he sees. He's wrong though, so totally wrong. All of Dave's attention is solely focussed on him and he lets out a long breath at that realisation, because it's been a while since he's had the undivided attention of someone he finds equally compelling.
"Let's see if you look as gorgeous out of clothes as you do in them hmm?"
Then there are fingers easing down his fly and his fingers scramble to Dave's. He might have missed the opportunity to remove his shirt, but he can definitely assist with this.
He means every word he says, even if it sounds cheesy. Kurt is one of the most attractive men he's seen in a long time, and while he has no idea if he's flaky, he suspects not. He knows Kurt has a good sense of humour at least, and he's had relationships based on less. Not that he's had many relationships, but he suspects he's definitely slept with more guys, with the way Kurt stuttered about not normally doing this. He also doubts Kurt roomed with trainee bar tenders that used him to test drink concoctions before going out clubbing. He's not ashamed of his sexual history at all, he's always been careful, but he also really meant it when he said he hadn't done this in a long time.
He pushes Kurt's pants down, palms a hand over his arse cheeks and presses his erection to the firm line of Kurt's hip. The movement traps Kurt's hand between their bodies, where it had been skirting the band of his boxer briefs, jeans already around his ankles and while he remembers he toes off his sneakers. Not exactly high-class, but when he's on his feet all day on a floor that gets more slippery as the day progresses they're the safest thing.
Lowering his mouth he sucks and licks at the now naked skin between Kurt's shoulder and neck, and all he can taste is clean. A taste that tells him Kurt has had a shower in the last few hours. It makes him a little more self-conscious about his own state after a busy dinner service, but also thrills him a little knowing Kurt cared enough to shower. Although he has no idea what Kurt does for a living, maybe he tastes this clean all the time. He makes a trail of sucking nipping kisses down his torso, enjoys the gasped 'oh fuck' Kurt lets out, head tilting back and hips snapping forward.
He kicks the shoes and jeans to the side and then lowers himself to his knees, his hand still massaging an arse cheek through the stretchy fabric of Kurt's underwear yep, pretty clean smelling here too, although the tang of musk and heat has him running his nose up the length of Kurt's erection, breathing in deeply through his nose. His sense of smell is always heightened, it's part of being a chef, exploring textures with his tongue, and as he drags his tongue up the fabric feels like fine sandpaper. He pauses and looks up, finding Kurt watching him intently, chest rising and falling rapidly.
He wants to ask Kurt if this is okay, but he hopes that he'd say something. He'd seen the empty wine glass on the table, has no idea if he's had one or several. He's sober, is glad he is because he wants nothing to dampen the memories of what he is doing right now. Fingers slide the waist band down and he pushes them down, along with Kurt's pants, which are much nicer than his denims. He licks up the length of his cock slowly, savouring the silky smooth softness of skin, the warmth and heat, the salty-bitter drop of pre-come that explodes on his tongue and sets his taste buds racing and his mouth fills with saliva.
Fingers curl into his hair as Kurt balances on one leg, allowing him to pull off his shoes and pants and throw them to join his own clothes somewhere on the floor. He wants him completely naked, will return the favour once he's had his first proper taste. He's not going to rush this, not when it's been so long, and not since he's been looking forward to it since Sunday. He's not being rushed though, Kurt's fingers in his hair aren't directing him any which way, just there. He licks his lips, using the pooled saliva to moisten his entire mouth. Using a light touch he holds Kurt's cock and then pushes his pursed lips over the head, creating as much suction as he can.
Then the fingers in his hair tighten, and he hears Kurt swear creatively. He'd grin, or say something, but instead focusses on the slide, the contrast in texture, the smell. On Sunday he hadn't really been intending the metaphor between sex and food, but he does consider sex and food to be very similar. He definitely enjoys them both equally. Well, almost equally. He moves his hand back to cup the swell of arse cheek, his other hand resting on Kurt's hip, thumb brushing over the taut skin on his lower stomach as he starts the instinctive up-down motion. He's not going for fancy licks or twists, there will hopefully be time later to find out exactly how to make Kurt fall apart. Judging from the sounds he can hear above him, muffled by the blood rushing in his own ears, he's doing just fine anyway, Kurt's body thrusting toward him as much as he allows.
The twinge in his jaw reminds him he's out of practice but he ignores it, instead pays attention to the drag of soft skin against the roof of his mouth, the taste of leaking pre-cum on his tongue, the sounds Kurt is making, the smell of their combined arousal and the sight of Kurt, watching him do this, cock sliding in-and-out of his mouth.
Either it's been too long or he's somehow being given a blowjob by a blowjob god. They have to exist right? He knows logically that it's probably a combination of factors, but it feels like the first time, all his nerves on fire with the newness, spiked with a healthy dose of fear that he's going to come too quickly and embarrass himself. He's fairly certain he won't but a small part of the squirming in his stomach is definitely nerves. He doesn't want to screw this up. He tosses his head, back, clenching his eyes shut to avoid looking at the sight, because it's a bit of sensory overload. The hot-tight-wet heat around his cock, pulling and sliding, fingers pressed into his hips, the occasional scrape of stubble on the skin of his inner thigh and the arousing sound of flesh on flesh, mixed with what he can only think of as contented humming from Dave.
The closed eyes don't help, the sight of Dave's head bobbing seared into his mind. He opens his eyes again, looking down the length of his body to meet intense eyes, watching him and he licks his lips, body tingling and shuddering slightly. He feels Dave's fingers tighten on his hip and he can't help but make a small sound of disappointment when Dave's mouth leaves his cock. He wants it back, the heat of his mouth, but instead he feels a large warm hand enclose him instead, and he's okay with that for now. Dave stands, and he doesn't know if the drag of his erection against his leg is deliberate or not, but it feels amazing, knowing he's had that effect on him.
Dave nuzzles into the crook of his neck, tongue swiping and teeth catching ever so slightly.
"Out of practice…" Dave says, voice rough, teeth scraping over his earlobe. Then his neck is being licked and sucked at again, the hand on his cock is moving faster, firmer. "Can you come like this?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Definitely," he replies, and holy fuck if this is Dave out of practice he really wants to experience him with practice. Fuck, he wants Dave to practice on him. Daily. Multiple times a day even. Dave mumbles about that being do-able he realises he's said it out loud, and his brain-mouth filter just doesn't seem to function with Dave. Although he can't be too upset, because it's got him here, with his fingers still clinging tightly to Dave's head. There's a hand on his cock, another on his arse and he can feel the hot firm poke of Dave's cock against the sensitive skin of his side.
A flare of panic shoots through him. Fuck. Dave's erection. God he's an idiot. An ungrateful selfish idiot. He suddenly wants nothing more than to run his fingers down Dave's body, circle his cock and feel the warm heavy weight of balls in the palm of his hand. He wants to touch. Dave doesn't seem inclined to let him though, body angled, hands and arms blocking him, so he has to settle for curling fingers in his chest hair. He'd be more frustrated but he can't help but be a little distracted, the hand on his cock bringing him closer and closer. He feels his fingernails scrape skin, both on Dave's chest and his head, his body has started trembling and he manages a breathy-shaky 'fuck close, please' which just spurs Dave on, hand firmer and faster. Then he's coming, white hot, all the muscles in his body seeming to flex and release at once and he can hear his breath, coming in sharp pants.
He doesn't have a chance to catch his breath before he's being kissed, his open mouth a clear invitation and he kisses back, tongue sliding against hard teeth and warm hot flesh. Then he's being jostled, guided backwards, and god, they didn't even make it to his bed, although at least he can say they made it to his bedroom. Just. Dave pulls the sheets and duvet back and he watches, heart rate slowing down slightly but his skin prickles with the knowledge that the night has only just started.
He runs his hands down the length of Kurt's body, hoping the sensation is equal parts relaxing and arousing. He didn't intend to draw this out for himself, but he's completely okay with the direction that it's heading. He's always enjoyed the journey as much as the destination. He follows Kurt's body as he reclines, leaving little space between them, can feel the heat between their bodies, his cock hard between them. Their skin is bathed a honey- yellow in the dimmed light, everything looks warm and monochromatic. Feeling the press of leg he lifts up and allows Kurt room to move, breathing in sharply at the sight of Kurt spreading his legs, leaving him straddling just one warm thigh. He feels Kurt's hand finally close around him, groaning at the sudden pressure and friction after so long of nothing. He's happy with whatever Kurt wants to do, will take his cues from him. He rocks forward into his hand, bracing his arms, although it's all awkward angles and just not quite enough.
He kisses along the ridge of collar bone, enjoying the tang of sweat that's now present, mixed with the faint bitterness of come where his hastily wiped fingers have left a faint trace. Kurt's hand seems fairly determined, twisting around to be more comfortable as he strokes and he moves with it. He lets his hand brush over Kurt's softened cock, wondering if he'll get hard again. The fingers that have been digging into his upper arm are suddenly gone and he watches as Kurt's hand scramble at the bedside table, pulling the draw open. Dave swallows thickly when he sees the condoms and lube, those are big fucking cues right there.
Taking a deep breath he pulls back and then tries to calm his racing heart. He's not going to ask, just wants to make this good, for both of them. He starts laying tiny light kisses all over Kurt's face, shifting slightly, moving the lube and condoms out of the way for now. He moves his hand, letting his fingers brush against the soft skin behind Kurt's balls, the small ball of nerves in his gut relaxing as Kurt shifts and spreads his legs even further apart and that's all the invitation he needs. He runs a finger down between Kurt's arse cheeks, massages the hole slowly before running his finger back, slowly.
He's not going slowly to give Kurt an opportunity to stop him, he's going slowly so he can enjoy this, the first time he's touched here, the feel of a new undiscovered body waiting for him to explore. He captures Kurt's mouth with his, tongue moving in a hot slow thrust as his finger travels back to his hole, circling with a soft pressure, massaging before trailing away again. He repeats this, although he's not sure for how long exactly, Kurt's hand still moving on his cock, pressure and movement not consistent enough to drive him mad, but more than enough to keep him interested; thrusting toward Kurt in soft shallow movements.
When Kurt starts pressing his arse down against his finger and hand he grins, his hand moving away to reach for the previously discarded lube. He pauses to run his hand over the half-filled erection though and he grins into Kurt's neck, nipping softly before Kurt lets out a breathless laugh. He likes the sound. A lot. Fortunately it's a pump bottle, no fiddly lids to deal with and pulls a condom out of the box while he's at it. Warming the lube between his index and middle fingers and thumb he goes back to massaging the tight entrance, although he feels it relax again quickly against his finger tip.
The soft moan that Kurt releases as he presses in with one fingertip makes him feel smug, even more so when he glances down and sees Kurt's cock twitch in its half-hard state. He keeps pushing, feels Kurt pushing back as his finger sinks deeper inside and he circles it slowly, continuing the soft massage between where his finger is and the warm weight of Kurt's balls. He wants to go down on him again, bring him back to full hardness. He shifts, moving his weight back solely to his legs, uses his other hand to move Kurt's other leg so he's kneeled between them. Kurt has released his cock willingly and for a brief moment his finger is the only part of him touching Kurt before he leans in and licks up the length of his cock before continuing to lick up his body.
"Oh fuck," he mutters and he feels Dave hum against his left nipple. His whole body feels extra sensitive, the blunt pressure of Dave's finger moving in and out of his hole, other hand alternating between gentle caresses and firmer grasps on his thigh, mouth and tongue making him feel like he's being savoured, enjoyed slowly for reasons unknown and being worked open with inherent dedication. Fuck. The press of a second finger starts the achy-stretch of muscle and he relaxes as Dave massages, firm and slow, fingers twisting and scissoring while his mouth leaves a trail of kisses across his chest, the occasional tiny nips distracting him from the stretch.
It feels slow, languid, although he knows it's partially due to already having come, his body relaxed but still aroused, his cock laying half-filled with promise. He spreads his legs a little wider, wanting to give Dave easier access. More access. His leg muscles already feel shuddery achy and warm, and he guesses no matter how much stretching and exercise he does nothing is quite like having sex. However having sex with someone who is as obviously as generous and attentive as Dave brings it to a whole other level.
The pressure of a third finger has him biting his top lip and canting his hips up. He reaches for Dave, wanting to touch and taste and kiss, feeling a bit uncoordinated at the dual need to not move away from Dave's fingers inside him, but closer to his body. He somehow manages to communicate what he wants with mumbled words and finally Dave is closer, his body brushing against his own and combined body heat making his skin prickle. He can reach Dave's cock again, enjoying the satin texture and warmth against his fingertips, the faint scratch of pubic hair on his skin.
The frantic need to be filled is increasing, and he can only imagine that Dave must be getting impatient, although he's not showing any outward sign, despite several more minutes of careful preparation passing. Then the deliberate, it has to be deliberate swipe across his prostate pulls a low groan from him and his cock fills further.
"Come on…" he demands.
It seems to be the impetus that Dave's been waiting for and he hums quietly as he feels fingers slide out and hears the quiet tear of foil. He rolls over, pulling his knees up beneath him and trying not to feel embarrassed and exposed despite always feeling this way with new partners. He hopes that what Dave will be, his new… whatever.
"Yes, before the next ice age preferably…" Embarrassment makes him nervous, but instead of a snarky reply he hears a low chuckle and feels a solitary finger running down the length of his spine and he arches into the touch. The pressure at his hole increase and he experiences an all over body tingle as he relaxes and presses back. He's held in place, a hand firm on his hip as he hears Dave emit a gratifying moan and he feels more than a little smug. Dave lets his body settle for a brief moment, and he's on the brink of telling him to move, that he needs him to move before Dave is pulling back and yeah, this is where they want to be. Where he wants to be. Holy fuck. Each thrust of Dave's hips forward have him skittering forward with the power of them, and he braces himself more forcefully on a forearm, pushing back to meet each snap of hips.
Their breathing sounds loud, and he reaches down to palm his own cock, knowing that with the time and care Dave has taken he's going to come again, that Dave wants him to come again. He's not been with many people, but some more than others all had moments of pure selfishness. He suspects Dave is at least trying to make a good impression, a strength tempered by gentleness and really good sex. It's not even over yet and it's better than the majority of his previous experiences. Jesus Christ, who is this man?
His control feels tenuous, the hot tight sensation around his cock familiar but not. Kurt's body straining and pushing back against him in all the best ways possible and he swallows roughly, increasing his pace slightly. 'Yeah, faster' Kurt breathes, and he obliges, hands on his hips pulling into him harder and deeper. He can see Kurt's elbow jiggling, knows that he's jerking himself off, and that knowledge makes him let go a little bit. Not completely, but enough that the sound of flesh slapping together increases in frequency.
Part of him wants to lean back, have Kurt ride his cock, so that he can just watch his cock slide in and out as Kurt sets the pace. Another time. Now he just needs to focus on the feel of it sliding into him, the pressure around him. Then he can't, the sensation just too much to think about and he finally finally lets himself go, thrusting rapidly as he nears the edge. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, the harsh sound of both their breathing in staccato pants and Kurt's litany of 'oh fuck yes, please, faster, god, yeah, oh, oh, oh' and a small part of his brain, a part that hasn't taken a leave of absence, is turned on even further by the words. He doesn't talk much himself during sex, preferring his actions to speak for him, but listening to Kurt he has a new appreciation for the spoken word in bed.
It's shocking when the desperate sounding 'Dave…oh god, please' causes his orgasm to rip through him, taking him by surprise, his own fault for holding off for so long, holding back as long as possible, and his fingers tighten on Kurt's hips as he grinds down as he rides through it. He continues to thrust, slower, taking in large gulps of air, grateful that he stays hard for a little while after he's come so he can get Kurt off. Except Kurt's arm isn't moving any more, and now that he's more in a mind to pay attention after the last few frantic minutes he feels a sudden sharp frisson of fear that maybe he's hurt Kurt in some way.
He runs shaky fingers down his back, a gentle caress and he desperately wants to ask if he's okay when Kurt moans, hips twitching and pushing back, and he lets our the breath he'd been holding. Not hurt then. Thank fuck. He doesn't stop the gentle caress of his fingers over sweat damp skin, and he places small kisses randomly, tongue darting out just to taste the saltiness of Kurt's skin and he gets another quiet moan.
"I can't, really, not a third time. Not without feeding my first…"
He can't help but feeling smug, and a little miffed that he apparently completely missed Kurt's second orgasm after working so hard to ensure it would happen, and he chuckles softly.
"I already did that."
"Well then, feeding me again."
He laughs again and pulls out with a low hum, grinning slightly at the twitching flare Kurt's arsehole gives and pulls off the condom, tying it shut. Kurt is moving away, and he wants to protest, wants to wrap his arms around him and just drift off to sleep really. Except… he doesn't know if he's welcome to stay the night, it's not like they really talked beforehand. Fuck. He's filled with a sudden insecurity and he doesn't know whether to start getting dressed and leave, or just curl up beside Kurt and pull him into his arms, or ask if he can have a shower… or if he was serious about wanting to be fed.
"Come on, help me strip the bed and make it. Then we can shower and go to sleep in a nice dry bed and not… um…"
His shoulders slump with a release of tension he wasn't even aware was there and he pulls Kurt into a quick hug, not sure if the pinkness in his cheeks is a blush or just the after effects of sex. He helps strip the sheets off and remake the bed superfast, admiring how comfortable Kurt looks naked, and how sexy as well, but he knows Kurt isn't even trying, just making the bed while being inherently sexy.
"So, I know you said I had to feed you before the third time, but as your guest are you going to cook for me tomorrow?" Dave asks as they step into the bathroom.
"When I have a chef in the house? Not likely. I'm going to take advantage of your skills while I have them. All of them."
He can feel the heat of a blush in his cheeks and he lets his fingers tighten on the skin of Kurt's stomach for a brief moment before they step into the shower stall together.
He wakes up feeling warm. Warmer than usual, and that in itself is unusual because he usually throws the blankets off after overheating and wakes up cold. This though, the weight of an arm resting heavily at his waist has him working his bottom lip between his teeth in an effort to keep back the delighted laugh he feels bubbling in his stomach.
The shower last night had been languorous, just warm water and soapy hands washing each others bodies, no urgency or sexual overtones, just… something he hopes to experience more of; that sense of contentment and easy companionship. The aftermath of the sex, gentle and nurturing with the softest of kisses, coupled with the earlier proof that Dave is a generous lover with a sense of humour, even now it makes his body thrum with energy, and it's not solely sexual. Yeah, he definitely wants more of that. He'd seen Dave's uncertainty that maybe he'd only wanted a one night stand, which he'd corrected as quickly as possible. He likes Dave. A lot. He feels the focus of his thoughts shift against him and the quiet waking up sounds that Dave apparently makes and he grins, pressing back against his body.
"Morning…" Dave mumbles sleepily.
"Mmm. Morning. Sleep okay?" He cringes and rolls his eyes at himself, glad that Dave can't see his face, because it's mundane and boring and it's like Dave is a guest, and he's… well, he's not sure yet what Dave is exactly, but he's serious about Dave cooking him breakfast, and he'd never expect an actual guest to do that.
"Yeah. I slept really well. Sex does that to me."
"Food too I bet…"
He feels Dave's body shake with quiet amusement and revels in the fact that Dave's arm around him tightens just ever so slightly.
"They are pretty closely linked for me… Sex is like food… sometimes you want a long drawn out degustation menu with matching wines, and other times you want a quick fast pop tart."
Kurt can't help the laughter now and he shakes his head, shifting and turning to face him.
"And sometimes it gives you stomach cramps and an embarrassing rash."
"We're talking about food right?" Dave asks, but he's grinning so he guesses Dave's just being facetious.
"You just said they were pretty much interchangeable… so, you going to feed me?"
"Definitely not interchangeable. And I guess if you want food I guess I am going to have to cook huh? You haven't offered me as much as a glass of water since I walked through the door."
"Like you gave me a chance! Anyway, I offered you my body, and considering what you just said, that's plenty of sustenance," Kurt says, grinning. He likes that they can joke like this, that it is already so easy and effortless, not awkward at all. Dave laughs again, and then he's being kissed, and he can feel that Dave is smiling against his own smiling mouth and yeah, this feels just right.