Oooo interesting. For the record I think I’m always taking prompts! I’ve never really written much breath play so I’ll definitely give it a try. In the mean time I can highly recommend you check out certaintendencies Breathless, it’s CrissColfer RPF and it’s smoking hot!

adropofred:

no seriously if some of you come yank on my sleeve telling me in a small voice that your kink has never been drawn or even written i’ll try to do something about it

because some kinks are vastly unrepresented and it’s SAD

This is a public service announcement. Now go, prompt!

Oh oh oh I’m having more CSI!Kurt/Detective!Blaine feels! Although that would be a glass of vodka tonic not whiskey in Kurt’s hand….

*blush* awww, thank you anon <3

Arthur doesn’t really sleep any more, not really. He naps and he snoozes and he lays there quite and still beside Eames in the dark of the hotel room but Eames is used to turning over and finding Arthur gone.

He watches as the muted glow of the bathroom mirror highlights the lines of Arthur’s face. The smooth curve of his shoulder. The subtle line of the muscles in his arm. The world is barely awake outside - colours faded and grey through the mottled glass of the cheap motel and Eames thinks he could lay here forever, watching the slow, methodical way Arthur runs the cut-throat blade over his adam’s apple and the perfect angle of his jaw.

This was my first ever start on a Glee RPF. Darren gets drunk in a bar, Cory counsels him and then he fucks it all up. There’s a whole scene where Darren is sat cross-legged and barefoot outside Chris’s hotel room door and he hauls his guitar into his lap and starts making up a song about how sorry he is and Chris ends up opening the door just to get him to shut up.

“I love you.” Darren leans in a little way and lands an off-centre kiss to Chris’s lips before realising… everything - who he is, where he is, who he’s kissing… He pulls away suddenly and presses his fingers to his lips.

There’s about three and a half seconds where Darren thinks maybe he just imagined it, maybe he’s drunk enough to get away with it, maybe Chris will laugh it off, maybe - just maybe - he’ll get away with that.

Three and a half seconds is over pretty quickly.

“Excuse me, what the fuck was that?” Chris’s face is suddenly very very serious. A little confused, a little mad, and a little hurt. Darren wants to punch himself in the face.

“I— what?” Darren’s heart is suddenly racing, mouth desert dry, the whiskey making his head spin. He wonders if his ingenious cover of sudden amnesia will work.

“What did you just do?” Chris says it slow, like he’s talking to a child.

“Nothing.” Darren goes for a grin which he’s pretty sure he misses and ends up with a grimace.

“Great.” Chris gets up quickly, pulling his waistcoat down and straightening it out. “Night Darren.”

“Shit.” Darren spins round and off his bar stool and tries to grab Chris’s hand, missing by an inch and stumbling after him out of the bar. “Wait - wait! Chris please.”

Darren is half way out of the bar when he remembers he’s left his guitar back where he was drowning his sorrows. He takes a second to weigh up his options and then races back. He grabs the neck of his guitar, swinging it up to grab the strap as he bolts back out again just in time to see the elevator doors close on Chris’s flushed and hurt looking face.

And what if they can all see - all see the fingerprints that feel like burns, like tiny little sparks burning hot and red against his skin? What if they can see them trailed all over his body; down his throat and his shoulders, the soft tender skin on the inside of his elbows and the gentle rise of his chest?

What if they can see Darren’s kisses like brands all over him? Across his lips that feel bruised and swollen and blush red. Across his palm and his fingers where Darren had kissed and sucked and licked a wide stripe across his wrist and made him twist in the sheets and beg and whine and— He feels like every word he whispered against Darren’s scalp, every plea he breathed into the dark space between them is painted across his skin for all to see and he gasps, pauses, freezes up and feels like he’s falling.

Darren’s hand is warm and steady and soft against the small of his back - fleetingly familiar and safe and warm all at once. Just a simple touch propelling him forward and he keeps his eyes open, keeps his head up. The girls are smiling and open their arms to him, the boys all sat and haphazardly across the room and everything is okay, everything is normal, everything is okay.

The problem is perhaps that Blaine is just so lovely, so honest and raw and beautiful in a way that makes Kurt feel like he’s staring at the sun. Kurt isn’t any of those things - he’s bitchy and he whines, he’s fussy and pedantic and has impossibly high standards of everyone, including himself. Standing next to Blaine just always makes him feel as though he’s looking into the spotlight, not stood beneath it. A dark voice in his head tells him he’s more like Rachel Berry than he’d ever like to admit.

I have this folder called scraps for stuff I’m not planning on finishing or don’t think I’ll get round too, but I thought I’d share some them since I’m not writing anything else at the moment.

Yes!! Mood-saving smut to the rescue! Any time <3

right?! dat ass!!

Title: Drabble: The Skirt

Author: Little Miss GG

Characters: Kurt/Blaine

Rating: NC-17

Words: 1165

Disclaimer/claimer: I disclaim!

Notes/Summary: Ummm… Under the cut is a gif that is decidedly NSFW which was the glorious inspiration for this. Intercrural sex, cross-dressing, genderqueer language.

Read More