Chapter 5: Undressing in the Dark
The climb to Kurt’s loft was a blur of stolen kisses and fumbling hands on cold railings. The keys jangled violently as Kurt tried to fit one into the lock, his breath coming in sharp white puffs in the chilly hallway air. Jude’s mouth was on the back of his neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, his hands firm on Kurt’s hips.
The door finally gave way. They stumbled inside, into the expansive, shadowed space. The door slammed shut with a final, heavy thud, sealing them in.
Before Kurt could hit the light, Jude had him pinned against the wood. His body was a line of heat, his hands cradling Kurt’s face. “Look at me,” Jude breathed, his voice gravelly.
In the sliver of moonlight from a distant window, Kurt saw his eyes—dark, hungry, stripped completely of their easygoing calm. This was the Jude from the alley, primal and possessive. Kurt’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird.
“I see you,” Kurt whispered.
That was all it took.
Jude’s kiss was consuming. It wasn’t romantic; it was a claiming. His tongue delved deep, his hips grinding against Kurt’s, making them both groan into the other’s mouth. Kurt’s fingers scrabbled at Jude’s leather jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor with a soft thump. Jude’s hands were at Kurt’s blazer, yanking it down his arms, the fine fabric catching at his elbows before joining the jacket.
They shed clothes in a desperate, uncoordinated dance, moving away from the door. A trail of garments marked their path across the polished concrete floor: Jude’s henley, Kurt’s cashmere sweater, their belts snaking away. Each new inch of exposed skin was met with lips and palms. Jude sucked a bruise into the hollow of Kurt’s throat. Kurt scraped his nails down the taut muscles of Jude’s back, feeling him shudder.
“Bedroom,” Kurt gasped, tearing his mouth away. He led the way, backwards, through the archway into his sleeping area, never letting go of Jude.
The moonlight here was stronger, pouring through the large skylight overhead, painting Jude’s skin in shades of silver and blue. He looked like a statue come to life, all lean muscle and intent. He pushed Kurt gently onto the rumpled duvet and followed him down, his weight a perfect, welcome pressure.
They rocked together, both hard in their remaining clothes, the rough friction of denim against silk boxers maddening. Kurt hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Jude’s jeans, popping the button.
“Off,” he demanded, his voice ragged.
Jude shifted, kicking the jeans and his briefs down in one motion. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, curving slightly upwards. Kurt’s mouth watered. He reached out, wrapping his fingers around the shaft. It was hot, velvet over steel, a bead of moisture already gathered at the tip. He smeared it with his thumb, earning a guttural sound from Jude, whose head fell back, tendons straining in his neck.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Kurt muttered, more to himself than to Jude. He stroked him slowly, learning his rhythm, the way his breathing hitched when Kurt’s thumb pressed under the head.
Jude’s hand closed over his, stilling him. His eyes were black with need. “Kurt. I need to be in you. Now.”
The raw words sent a lightning bolt of pure desire straight to Kurt’s core. He nodded, scrambling to shove his own pants and boxers down his legs. Jude reached over to the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer. The click of the lube cap was obscenely loud.
Jude slicked his fingers, his gaze never leaving Kurt’s face. He nudged Kurt’s legs apart, his touch reverent and impatient all at once. The first cool, slippery press against his hole made Kurt jerk. Jude held him steady.
“Relax for me,” Jude murmured, leaning down to kiss him, deep and distracting. As their tongues slid together, Jude’s finger breached him, a slow, insistent pressure that burned for a second before melting into a sharp, stunning fullness.
Kurt broke the kiss, a gasp tearing from his throat. “Yes.”
Jude worked him open with a focus that was its own kind of artistry. He added a second finger, crooking them, stroking relentlessly inside until Kurt was a writhing, pleading mess. Each brush against that perfect, deep spot made stars burst behind his eyelids.
“Jude, please, I’m ready, I’m so ready, just fuck me, please,” Kurt babbled, clutching at the sheets.
Jude withdrew his fingers. He poured more lube into his palm, slicking himself with rough, hurried strokes. He positioned himself, the blunt, hot head of his cock nudging against Kurt’s entrance. He paused, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Look at me,” Jude said again, his voice strained.
Kurt forced his eyes open, meeting that stormy green gaze.
Jude pushed in.
It was a slow, inexorable invasion, stretching him, burning in the best way. Kurt cried out, his back arching off the bed. Jude sank deeper, inch by breathtaking inch, until his hips were flush against Kurt’s ass, fully sheathed.
They stayed like that for a suspended moment, joined, breathing each other’s air. The fullness was overwhelming. Kurt felt speared, possessed, completely filled.
“Okay?” Jude rasped, sweat dripping from his temple onto Kurt’s chest.
“So okay.Move. Please, move.”
Jude began to rock, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in. The rhythm was brutal and perfect. Each thrust punched a ragged noise from Kurt’s lungs. The bedframe began a persistent, rhythmic knock against the brick wall, a primal metronome to their coupling.
Jude shifted his angle, and on the next deep plunge, he nailed Kurt’s prostate dead-on.
“Fuck!” Kurt screamed, his vision whiting out. “Right there, oh my god, right there!”
Jude hammered that spot with relentless precision, his own breaths coming in sharp grunts. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, stifled moans, and the creaking bed. Kurt’s whole world narrowed to the point where their bodies joined, to the exquisite friction, to Jude’s face above him, tense with pleasure.
Jude reached between them, his hand wrapping around Kurt’s leaking cock. His strokes were rough, perfectly timed with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much, a coil tightening impossibly fast in Kurt’s gut.
“I’m gonna come,” Kurt warned, his voice high and broken. “Jude, I’m—”
“Come,” Jude ordered, his thrusts becoming erratic, harder, deeper. “Come all over my hand. Let me see it.”
The command undid him. Kurt’s orgasm ripped through him like a seismic event, a blinding, paralyzing wave. His cock pulsed in Jude’s fist, streaks of hot release painting his stomach and chest in frantic bursts. His body clamped down around Jude, milking him.
The tight, fluttering spasms pushed Jude over the edge. With a choked, raw shout, he buried himself to the hilt and emptied into Kurt, his hips jerking through the pulses. Kurt felt the hot flood inside him, a possessive, intimate claim.
The aftermath was a collapse. Jude’s arms gave out and he slumped onto Kurt, his weight a heavy, welcome blanket. They were both slick with sweat and come, breathing in ragged, discordant gasps. The room slowly came back into focus: the silver moonlight, the distant hum of the city, the scent of sex and salt and skin.
Jude finally rolled to the side, pulling Kurt with him, keeping them connected. He nuzzled into the damp mess of Kurt’s hair. Neither spoke for a long time.
Kurt’s fingers traced idle patterns on Jude’s bicep. The vulnerability he usually guarded so fiercely felt cracked open, exposed to the night air. It should have been terrifying. Instead, a strange, buoyant peace settled in its place.
“So,” Kurt finally said, his voice hoarse. “The shoot’s tomorrow.”
Jude’s laugh was a soft rumble in his chest. “Yeah. The shoot.” He pressed a kiss to Kurt’s temple. “You’re gonna be incredible.”
“We,” Kurt corrected softly. He tilted his head back to look at Jude. The post-coital haze in his eyes was already giving way to a thoughtful, searching warmth. “It’s we now, isn’t it?”
Jude held his gaze, his expression sobering. His thumb stroked Kurt’s cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear Kurt hadn’t even felt fall. “Yeah, Kurt. It’s we.”
Outside, a distant siren wailed. But inside the loft, under the watchful eye of the moon, the only sound was the slow, synchronized beating of two hearts finding, for the first time, the same rhythm.