sevenswells | [ONE-SHOT] Summer Time (Mark/Chris) (ENG)

Title: Summer Time

Author:

sevenswells

Beta: Once again,

drgaellon saves the day!

Rating: NC-17

Fandom/Pairing: Glee RPS, Mark Salling/Chris Colfer

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Comments: Summer of Fics strikes again! °0° This is not the sequel to Emit Remmus, but in my head they're related, it's supposed to mirror it somehow - at least the title literally does. It was inspired by

gwendy1 's epic comment on Emit Remmus, Ella Fitzgerald singing Summertime (she's my favourite singer of all times) and Mark talking about corvids. I saw that video yesterday evening and I found myself strangely turned on by Mark's nerdy talk ("Can I finish? This is ~*really*~ important!" awwww <333 ), plus the temperature last night was like four hundred degrees and I decided I had to find a way to exorcise the heat because I was liquefying. And now I will stop with the RPFs and go back to food porn, sorry about that.

Word count: 687 w.

It's a dream he often has, but he knows it's happened.

They're lying in bed together, naked, Chris's body draped over his, a leg over his thighs, an arm across his chest. Chris's head is half resting on a pillow, half on his bent arm, so that his forearm is up, wrist crooked, and his fingers are lightly brushing Chris's shoulder, round and round in erratic circles.

The place where their skins meet is sticky with sweat, and hot, but neither of them wants to move just yet.

The blinds are shut, but the afternoon glow is nevertheless present in the room, making everything appear somewhat golden, and all around the lines are burnt. Through the still air, he hears Chris's breathing, steady and relaxed, although he knows that Chris is half-awake, half-dozing, just like he is. They can't really sleep, because it's not really time to, even though he would admit he has no precise information about that. The scorching heat doesn't help, either; it's been like this for hours without the slightest alteration in the temperature. It's just been going on and on, and he has no idea how long they've been like this.

Something does change at some point: he hears a caw, outside. Or maybe he's just invented it, in one of the short dreams that creep up on him every time his eyelids flutter closed, and that vanish when he re-emerges from time to time. But this cry, this caw, it breaks their lull.

"A bird," he mumbles. "And a fish."

"What?" Chris whispers in return.

"You're the fish," he insists, words slowly unfurling on his tongue as if he were drunk. "I'm the bird, obviously, 'cos I like them. You're the fish because you're at ease. Always. A social fish."

Chris chuckles very, very softly, and he feels him shifting. Chris places his cheek on his chest and moves his leg away from his thighs. It's suddenly cooler, which is supposed to be fine, but the hot-cold sensation in the few seconds where his body re-adapts isn't comfortable.

"You're not making any sense," Chris says. It's a simple statement, without any derision.

He feels Chris's fingers playing lazily with one nipple, as if Chris just discovered he could occupy himself with it. Then, once again as if the idea has just crossed Chris's mind, Chris's hand goes to grab his cock without further ado, and in very slow strokes starts masturbating him, while Chris's mouth closes on his nipple and sucks gently. It's nice but weird, because he's aroused yet still drowsy. He never knew arousal could also be, well, calm, like that, and it's not the first contradiction Chris magically turns into an accepted fact.

Chris is stroking in a leisurely way, like he has all the time in the world, like there could be no end to this.

"But where would they live?" He asks, his words still hushed, as they often are in suffocating afternoons like these.

"Who, my love?" Still moving his hand, Chris stops sucking on his nipple and Chris's chin goes to rest on his chest.

"The bird. And the fish."

"Tell me."

Chris never stops stroking, never steps up the rhythm, which couldn't possibly slow down any further.

"It's this quote," he continues. "They may love each other, but..."

He's a little surprised to feel the orgasm build up in his stomach, steadily.

"But?"

"But where would they build a home to-gether?"

Pleasure hits him in the middle of the word "together," so it comes out cut in half by a small gasp. Chris still doesn't stop and milks the last thread of come out of his cock. When it's over, Chris's hand just stays there around his softening shaft. It was not a devastating orgasm, only a sweet, pleasant one. His muscles merely feel a little bit heavier than before, his head a little lighter.

Then he hears Chris telling him in a murmur, "You already know the answer to that, though, don't you?"

And the dream usually ends with the words, "At the edge of the water."

Current Mood: hot
Current Music: Summertime - Ella Fitzgerald