Anonymous prompted: Married, long time going without sex, Kurt comes home one night to find a very scruffy disheveled Blaine, drinking alone, they undress each other sensually, and they have rough, wild sex.
They haven’t had a quiet dinner at home in weeks, either missing each other entirely or one of them rushing in the door with takeout that they eat in front of the television before the other rushes out again, and there is something so quietly satisfying about washing dishes while Blaine dries, on an evening where they have no where to go and nothing to do, the apartment lit softly yellow with fairy lights, just the sound of the running water and the tick tick tick of the clock on the wall.
Kurt passes over a plate dripping wet from the sink, smiles as he watches Blaine rub it dry. There isn’t anything particularly erotic about it, other than it’s Blaine and sometimes Blaine doing nothing but breathing and standing in place and existing is enough to make Kurt flush with fond arousal. But this is not fond arousal, him with his arms elbow deep in murky dishwater, bits of lettuce floating on the top, body frozen and eyes glued to Blaine’s hand rubbing and rubbing and rubbing at that plate.
Kurt wants to grab it and smash it on the floor and climb onto Blaine’s lap to ride him into oblivion.
Where the hell did that come from?
this prompt is from 5eva ago but something popped into my head when I was scrolling through my inbox, so better late than never? or something? i’m terrible i’m so sorry.
forever is our today (oliver/felicity, g, 1545 words
of nothingness and, appropriately, Queen lyrics as sung by Emily West because good LAWD child can sing)
She comes into the foundry at 3:45 in the morning the day after her mother leaves, folding her fingers over each other like she did the time they met at a coffee shop, voice as small as he’s ever heard it. “Can I —” She takes a moment to clear her throat, compose herself, and he almost winces because he’s supposed to be the one who wears the masks, not her. Never her. Nonetheless, when she straightens her shoulders and looks him dead in the face and asks, “Can I still talk to you about my day?”, he’s nodding before the third syllable is even uttered.
Alright, I’ll let you go “off-format” for this one, esp since this popped into my head…
Oliver thought he’d been doing a pretty good job, letting Felicity go. He hadn’t chased her down when she’d walked away from him (not once, but twice). He hadn’t tipped over a single table in fury when she’d gone to Central City to see Barry. When he’d found out she’d taken a job with Ray Palmer at Queen Consolidated, hell, he’d congratulated her. When they worked together in the foundry, he gave her space and absolutely did not find himself constantly sneaking glances in her direction.
Okay, that last one might not be true.