Summary: Kurt and Brody's "one-night" stand. Hard R maybe. Not smut, not really.

A/N: Nothing that graphic here. It's Kurt's POV, so it's supposed to be slightly romanticized, but I've never really written a full on male-on-male sex scene, so that's probably just a copout. There's also very little dialogue because of my attempted poetry, so that too. Also, I am tired as I write this, which might be why it's so nonsensical and all 50 shades of suck.

this ancillary love

His first thought is that Rachel really understated Brody's attractiveness. His next was that Brody must have been predestined to meet people in various states of undress.

"Brody," he said proudly, his hand in Kurt's.

"Kurt," he answered back calmly.

Kurt wasn't exactly sure where his relationship with Blaine stood, but it was never quite a point of hesitation that night.

–

He was quite the charmer, as Kurt would find later in the night, as he grinned at him, under the guise of alcohol. Kurt swore he had heard Rachel tell him Brody was straight, but the performer had let it slip that he'd always had these thoughts—these crazy thoughts—that maybe, yeah. Maybe he'd sleep with a guy. Sure, why not?

Kurt hummed soberly to his left and sipped his diet coke.

–

It'd never occurred to Kurt that maybe he was taking advantage of Brody—he was never the type to do anything so—spontaneous—and so when Brody invited Kurt into his dorm room twenty minutes prior, Kurt showed little hesitation.

Maybe Blaine briefed his mind, but very little.

Brody was near naked on top of him, lips attached to his jaw, right beneath his ear, whispering words of agony, of pain and pleasure. His hips bucking softly between Kurt's legs.

He was hard—Brody was—and Kurt was mewling with a desire too fierce to quench—at least until Brody grinded just perfectly into the apex of his thighs, pressing perfectly at his own erection, and eliciting a groan right into his ear.

Brody smirked against Kurt's ear and rolled his hips once more.

At which, all pretenses dropped, and Kurt's fingers slid up Brody's scalp to hold him in place—hot breath coming in spades at his clavicle now, his head slipping back unconsciously, exposing a long, pale neck and an enticing Adam's apple for Brody to take his teeth to.

And boy did his body arch into Brody's when strong hands slipped around his back to encircle him fully.

Brody's hands made their way down to Kurt's whitey-tighties—the last remaining barrier between him and Brody's boxer briefs. Kurt barely registered the chill of the air as Brody's warm hand was around him in an instant, stroking roughly, fumbling almost, and nipping at Kurt's chin.

Kurt allowed his fingers to trace the elastic of Brody's underwear unwarily, dipping beneath the fabric occasionally as Brody worked him up. He wanted to feel him, to see him and please him, take him on in the most personal of ways—"Off," he'd mumbled as he fondled Brody's lower back shamelessly.

Kurt blinked and Brody had removed the article of clothing, straddling his leg as he continued pulling at Kurt's erection. He tried to glance down, to get a peek at the—surely perfect—cock quietly twitching against his thigh, but the hand—moving in time with his pulse—was both highly distracting and in his line of sight.

He came quickly and quietly, a thousand tiny needles softly prickling his—well, his prick afterward. It wasn't quite amazing, not that sex had ever been for him, but when Brody reached into his nightstand for a condom and slipped it on—Kurt pretty much knew that this was going to happen. And when he squeezed a generous amount of lubricant into his hand, Kurt pretty much spread his legs wide.

Brody was sweet—slow and sweet, not drunken and bastardly like he should have been in his condition—as he entered Kurt, his fingers gathering moisture from Kurt's previous orgasm to lubricate his soft cock back to strong and stiff, and ready.

He let Kurt get used to the slow friction burning his insides before picking up the pace, and pumping heavily, switching direction every so often in an attempt to tattoo every inch of his rectum with the mark of a true warrior—a brash and devilish future Broadway star pounding his prostate to the beat of the drum coursing through his veins.

It was frivolous, really, the way Brody kissed him—agonizingly slow, crooked and unstable, with a determination so honest and endearing that Kurt nearly melted at the thought of anything more than a simple one night fuck.

–

He awoke wrapped up in Brody—the taste of secondhand alcohol still on his morning breath, sweaty, and sticky, and smelly, but good. Amazing even.

Brody stirred awake slowly, blinking dazedly at Kurt, letting a soft drunken grin break the morning ice.

"Hi."