A/N: I WOULD JUST LIKE TO SAY THAT MY SISTER IS A HORRIBLE PERSON WHO PUTS WAY TOO YUMMY OF IMAGES INTO MY MIND. But she didn't intend this to go the way I took it, which is why I'm posting a non-explicit version for her that she'd like on her own account. LoL. XD

And so, enjoy this random, plotless, AU-ish, sexy Dave/Kurt oneshot. :D
(even though I should be working on La Vie Boheme right now. Hurm. :/ )

Tossing his keys onto the table, David Karofsky shrugs off his heavy winter coat and rubs his neck with his hands, lolling his head side to side. He exhales deeply before pinching between his eyes.

"Honey? Do we have any aspirin left? I may have a headache in the process of forming. Today at work was extremely stressful, what with the holiday rush and all. I can't believe Christmas is next week…" he drawls, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs and plopping himself down into it.

"Oh, poor baby," comes his spouse's voice from the hallway behind Dave. "I'll be right out. Would you like me to rub your shoulders? Get you a beer?"

Dave shakes his head and loosens his tie. "No, thanks. For the beer, I mean. I don't feel like drinking. But that shoulder rub sounds nice." And a small, tired smile lifts the corner of his mouth.

He soon feels slim-fingered hands on his shoulders, a little cool, but on his hot skin it feels wonderful. The hands slip under the collar of his button-up shirt and slide over his trapezius to his chest, the buttons flying open. They recoil, returning to the shoulders to shrug back the fabric and work deep into Dave's aching muscles.

"Mm… yeah, right there. Ah! Oohh…" Dave murmurs, his eyes closing automatically as pain and release collects and evaporates in his stressed tendons.

"Feeling better?" the other asks, leaning forward to murmur the question seductively in Dave's ear.

Dave grins, a huff of a laugh breezing past his lips. His eyes remain closed. "Yeah, much. Thanks, Kurt."

He finally opens his hazel brown eyes and turns to peer over his shoulder at his husband, but as he does so, he jumps in his seat, the blood rushing to his face in a blush as his eyes bulge and his jaw falls slack.

Kurt smirks knowingly and paces around to face Dave, noticing how the businessman's eyes never leave Kurt's form, and instead, only seem to study it further.

Kurt strikes a little pose, one finger to his bottom lip and one foot popped in the air as he bends over slightly, his butt propped up. "How do I look?"

Dave blinks a few times, trying to keep himself from drooling. He shakes his head in bewilderment. "I… don't even… God. Wow. I just… Damn."

Kurt giggles. He gazes down at himself for a second, knowing all too well how amazingly sexy he looks. He found the outfit in the lingerie department at Victoria's Secret. The clerk at the register didn't even bat an eyelash, most likely assuming that Kurt was buying it for his girlfriend or wife. Pssh. As if Kurt would ever go near something with a vagina.

The outfit itself is composed of a silky, clingy sort of red fabric lines with velvety soft white fur at the top, the fur stretching across the expanse below Kurt's collarbones and acting as fluffy little off-the-shoulder straps on his biceps. The bottoms are red short-shorts of the same fabric as the top, complete with a shiny black belt and corresponding golden buckle in the shape of a bundle of holly berries with leaves. Kurt even went so far as to purchase a teeny Santa hat on a headband and shiny knee-high boots with white fur trim (but no heels; he neatly chopped and filed down those) to match.

It doesn't help any that there is a gold ribbon with a Christmas bow around Kurt's neck, as if he were a present.

Kurt pulls out a handful of real mistletoe from his boot, being slow and sensual as he does so, dipping down low, bending over enough for Dave to catch a glimpse of the bottom bit of skin of his ass, and then slowly slinking back up into standing position, mistletoe held above his head. He steps close to Dave and leans over, mistletoe between them, high above their heads.

"David, baby," he sings, "Hurry down the chimney tonight~." And he gives his husband and long, passionate, tender kiss that makes Dave's heart race even faster than it already had been, even going as far as to make him pant through his nose during the kiss.

Kurt pulls away, and Dave moves to grab him by the belt loops and yank him down. But Kurt stops him, lowers his greedy hands and making a clicking noise with his tongue.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Kurt scolds, "You're not supposed to touch a lap dancer unless they touch you."

Both of Dave's eyebrows rise. A mischievous and disbelieving grin crawls across his lips. "…You're going to give me a lap dance? Dressed like that?"

Kurt winks. "That was the plan, yes. Consider it… an early Christmas present."

The grin on Dave's mouth only gets broader as waves of arousal streak through his body. "Well then, I sure as Hell can't turn down an offer that tempting," he remarks, a wolfish look in his eyes.

Kurt loves that look. He taps (the boots make such a lovely sound on their hardwood floors) over to the stereo in the living room and turns on 'Santa Baby,' the sexy Christmas classic.

Dave moves to sit on his hands, because he knows anything Kurt does will make him want to touch, but he knows what the rules are, so he can't. And it might just kill him, but he can handle it, because this is Kurt, the man he's known since high school, the man he redeemed himself to, the man he married. He trusts him. And he can always get some touching in later, if he needs/wants to.

In time with the beat, Kurt struts over to Dave and steps around the chair in a circle, dipping and popping his hips and sliding down the wooden backing at the sides, barely brushing Dave's arms.

Dave shudders, and watches with sick fascination as Kurt rolls his hips to the sides and in front of Dave, his hands skimming Dave's thighs and arms in the process. Kurt doesn't hesitate to start singing along with the woman in the song, careful to pitch his voice lower and huskier than hers and sounding out a few of the words slower, more sexually.

Meanwhile, the poor businessman is struggling to contain himself. His heart is thudding in his chest, in his ears, in his head, in his groin. His hands slip out from under his own thighs and twitch, grasping the sides of the wooden dining chair, his fingernails digging deeply enough to possible get splinters in the tender skin beneath. He bites his lips as Kurt straddles his lap, hovering, slinking up his chest, ducking down to drag his lips over Dave's neck without a single kiss, lip, or nip.

Dave groans between clenched teeth as Kurt does one better, gripping the back of the chair behind Dave's head and flipping his body over, grinding without touching down Dave's front with his backside.

"Fuuuuck," Dave curses softly, and he wants so badly to touch, to taste, to have Kurt flush against him; anything instead of teasing him like this.

"Be patient, love," Kurt purrs, spinning slowly back around and sitting down, his chest leaning against Dave's, his arms around Dave's neck, his hands dangling over the back of the chair. The slimmer man scoots closer and closer, his hot breath ghosting over the skin exposed from Dave's unbuttoned shirt.

Dave's pants are uncomfortably tight. It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to buck his hips up against Kurt's, every last drop of control not to smash their lips together.

"Dammit, Kurt," he pants desperately, his eyes filled to the brim with lust, and his face flushed, "This is too much… I can't…"

Kurt silences him with a finger to his husband's lips. "Then let me help you," he replies in a hushed whisper. The song ends, and as silence fills the room, Kurt takes this opportunity to lift himself off the older man and take him by the hand to guide him to their sofa.

Dave sits back on the cushions, and watches as Kurt ever-so-casually tosses off his headband… and yanks one end of his bow, unraveling it until it falls to the floor… and unbuckles his belt, tugging it through the loops and throws it somewhere… and steps nearer and nearer until his boots are kicked off and he's topless, his lean, pale skin shimmering in the candlelight (damn, Dave thinks, I hadn't even noticed the candles and little peppermints scattered all of the loft).

Kurt sits in Dave's lap again. Dave is tense, more than hard, and ready to touch. Kurt raises Dave's hands and places them on his hips. "Will you do the honors?" he murmurs, purposely slipping both of his husband's thumbs underneath the brim of his short-shorts.

Dave smirks. "Don't mind if I do." And he simply tears them away, shoving them off of Kurt's lean legs (make sure to run his hands down the length of them, causing his lover to release a small mewl). Kurt hadn't been wearing any garments beneath the shorts.

Naturally, Kurt is as aroused as Dave is, and Dave takes some pride in that fact. Kurt assists Dave in removing his shirt and unbuckling his belt, and as Kurt hovers above the two of them, Dave leans back against the support of the couch and slides off his dress slacks, suddenly all too mindful of the way their length bump, even through the fabric of Dave's boxers.

Both men hiss at the contact, and without pausing, Kurt removes his lover's underwear as well, scrapes off Dave's socks with his feet, and rubs flush against the larger man, their mouth connecting at once.

Dave's hands fall to Kurt's hips, slipping lower to cup his buttocks as the smaller man grinds against him again, this time closer and rawer, and it all but nearly sends Dave to the edge.

Breaking their heated kiss, Kurt breathes, "Prepare me."

And that's all the invite Dave needs.

Distracting Kurt with another sensual kiss, their tongues gliding over one another, Dave reaches back between the cushions for the tube of lubricant he knows fell back there the last time they couldn't wait for the bedroom. He finds it, pops off the cap with his thumb, and reaches around to the back of Kurt's legs to squeeze some of the semi-fluid onto his opposite hand.

The kiss has been broken by now, replaced by Dave's mouth actively working along Kurt's earlobe and neck. Kurt moans his name – "Oohhh, Daviiiid…" – and fists his hands in his lover's hair. Dave doesn't mind in the least; the occasional tugs as Kurt shudders and jerks his entire body from the pelvis up is reminders of how much he enjoys every little thing about the man in his lap.

Dave warms the lube in his hand, coating two fingers, and circling them around the ring of muscles at Kurt's entrance. Kurt doesn't even flinch. Instead, he moans under his breath, starting to kiss at Dave's collarbone.

Dave gently slides one digit in, giving time for Kurt to relax. They try not to do this too often for fear of the possible health risks, yet because of that, each time they go this far, Kurt is nearly as tight as he was as a virgin.

Carefully, and mindful of Kurt, Dave shallowly thrusts his finger in and out until Kurt is softly murmuring a request for the next digit. Dave complies, and is gentle as he stretches his lover, because he harmed Kurt once in the past in a moment of lost control, and he swore never to do it again.

With the addition of a third finger, Kurt is whimpering, wanting more, wanting the real thing. So before Dave can even react, Kurt reaches back and plucks Dave's fingers away, only to ease himself down onto Dave's member with a hiss of slight pain from himself and a long, low moan of pleasure from the larger man.

"G'dammit," Dave curses gently, "Why are you so fucking perfect all the time?"

Around a trembling lip and even greater trembling abdomen, Kurt sputters as confident as ever, "B-because I'm me, of course."

And Dave would laugh if Kurt hadn't chose this precise moment to grip Dave's shoulders and begin rocking back and forth, slowly building up the strength to lift himself up and down, performing a lap dance of a whole other sort.

Dave moans loudly, his hands shaking where they caress Kurt's sides. He thrusts up to meet Kurt each time, the action succeeding in hitting Kurt's sweet spot, making him cry out.

"I love you, l-love you, loveyouloveyou so fucking much…" Dave groans, tossing his head from side to side as Kurt releases a low whine, coming down harder and faster on top of Dave, and Dave returning the fervor with angled slams of his own.

They almost can't hear their own hearts beating any longer. They almost can't hear their own breaths passing in and out of their lungs. The only sounds that seem to register are clips of stuttered phrases and grunts of passion, backed up only by the sweet, muffled slaps of slick skin on skin, forming altogether a shockingly lovely harmony not too different from real music.

All too quickly, the shield of warmth surrounding Kurt builds too much and an icy-hot, chillingly burning slice of desire cuts through the smaller man's lower stomach, his seed spilling out into the space between them. He pauses in his movements, miniature quakes running down his system, his head buzzing and his heart coming down from a high.

Inside him, he can feel Dave's member tighten, ready to implode himself. He's always pulled out before he came before; but Kurt knows that there's no time in this instance. So Kurt simply tightens his grip around his husband with his thighs, causing his muscles to clamp down around Dave's length. Kurt can feel everything; Dave's vocal cords as the man shouts, "Fuck!" as well as his seed, melty warm and like a rush of hot cocoa down one's throat, followed by the tense and release of Dave's grip around Kurt's lower back, the small man hardly noticing the time when Dave initiated the embrace, and soon the way the businessman pants, his breath moist on Kurt's chest, his eyes fluttering open as his mind returns post-orgasm.

Kurt leans back, lifting himself off of his lover onto to curl right back up to him, laying into his side under one of his beefy, muscled arms. He leans up and plants kisses on Dave's stubbled jaw. "I love you," he says, always liking the tender expression that crosses Dave's face when Kurt says those delicate words.

Dave doesn't reply, having already said it during their lovemaking, and instead opts to run his finger down his own stomach and bring the taste of Kurt up to his mouth.

Kurt wrinkles his nose. "That's disgusting. Why do you always do that?"

Popping his finger form his mouth, Dave grins. "Because. You always tend to taste sweeter than should be humanly possible."

After a short pause, Kurt laughs weakly. He shakes his head and nuzzles into Dave's neck, his lips sticking slightly to his lover's skin as he retorts with a single word, "Weirdo."

And Dave doesn't mind the name-calling, because really, it's just a form of payback from high school. And he knows that it's true, anyhow. He is weird. Weird for being attracted to men, weird for falling in love with the kid he once bullied, weird for being okay with his sexuality, weird for being so perverted, and most of all, weird for actually marrying such a fashion-and-music-obsessed gleek.

But this sort of weirdness Dave can handle. And this sort of weirdness he wishes for each Christmas, and by some wonderful twist of Fate, isn't disappointed.

A/N: Seriously, this is her entire fault. Upon watching the Christmas episode of Glee (during "Baby It's Cold Outside" I jizzed over Kurt's singing and said 'derp' in unison with my sister whenever we saw Blaine's face), my sister says, "Ari, come here for a second. I want to tell you something."

Mind you, she knows all of my obsessions. She knows how my brain works. And this is what she murmurs into my ear:

"You know you'd like to see Kurt in a tight, silky set of short-shorts with a little belt and off-the-shoulder white fur on a tube top, sticking his cute little butt out and popping his hips with a jingling Santa hat on his head, singing 'Santa Baby,' while dancing in little black boots in front of Dave."

…I got a nosebleed like all those animes I watch. I swear, that image is so damn sexy I don't even know where to BEGIN.

And so I wrote it. Buuuut with extras. LULZ. XD