Status: searching for a muse
Bad Romance.
first lesson.
The music is blaring, the bass shaking the structure of the building, pulsing through her body with her pulse. She’s dancing and intoxicated and without a care in the world, trying to have fun on one of her last few days before work starts.
He comes up behind her, and they dance and grind and grope. It’s a nightclub, what else were they supposed to do?
She turns around to face the man rubbing against her, and she sees the cute face grinning at her with his big lips and blonde hair that must be from a bottle. She grabs the attractive face of his, gets on her toes, and plants a sloppy kiss on him, and that’s enough of a move for him. His hands wander and hers just clutch the front of his plain shirt, her need for contact obvious.
She asks for his name; he answers “Sam,” and asks for hers.
“KC,” she says in his ear, trying to be heard over the music but took the opportunity to nibble quickly at his neck.
.
They stumbled through the doorway, not aren’t even over the threshold and before they’re on each other. Sam pushes her against the wall, shutting the door behind him with his foot, and she allows him to do so. His hands wander over her chest, hips, her whole torso; up and down, up and down. Her arms snake around his neck, holding his head to hers so he can’t move too far.
“Bedroom?” he says in between kisses, going down her neck now.
She leaves another sloppy kiss on him before taking his hand, almost like a child, leading him to a nearby room. She pushes him on the bed, straddling his waist. She removes his shirt, tossing it without a second thought, admiring the toned body before her. Her fingers run over his pecks, abs, down to his navel, and finally his belt buckle. He suppresses a shiver; her touch is gentle, almost like a ghost. She moves back up, her hands on his neck and collarbone as she kisses him, the heat increased between both of them with each passing moment.
He pulls away, taking off her top, but leaving the lacy bra underneath. His eyes instantly go to her side, where a tattoo is located. He wraps his arms around her waist, picking her petite body up with ease, flipping over and laying her down on the mattress gingerly. He takes off his pants, leaving his boxers, and puts his lips over hers, then moving down her jaw, to her neck, moving further south.
KC’s taken aback at the affection from him, seeing as usually it’s just fuck-and-go. But he’s paying attention to her, giving her what she wants. And she likes it. She didn’t realize how much she missed being touched all over instead of just two spots.
As he reaches her chest, he moves his hands underneath her, unclasping her bra, tossing it onto the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. He pays attention to her breasts, earning noises from her that rush blood to his own sensitive spots, and he begins to move quicker out of sheer instinct.
At her panties, he slips them off, and looks back up at her, as if asking for permission. She sits up a little, pulling him back up for another kiss, less sloppy and more needy. She tugs at the boxers, silently saying that they need to go. As he gets to it, she reaches over to the nightstand to crab a condom.
In a few minutes, he’s in, and she’s attempting to relax around him so she’s comfortable. Propped on his forearms above her, he’s looking at her, trying to figure out if he should continue or not. He isn’t sure yet if her eyebrows are furrowed in pain or pleasure.
When she moves her hips a little, he obliges, slowly at first until she claws at his back, urging him on as she does so vocally, too.
“I’m not that fucking delicate,” she growls. “Harder.”
She starts releasing these noises, moaning gradually louder and louder, not caring if the people in the apartment next to her can hear. Her eyes are squeezed shut, one arm draped around his arm, the other making fists in her sheets. He’s getting close and he thinks she is too, judging by how loud she is and how high-pitched each “ah” is.
When he hears his name roll off her tongue in between moans, though, he’s sent over the edge.
They stay there for a while, before he’s removing the condom, and tosses it into the trashcan beside the nightstand. She’s still breathing heavily, but at this point it’s evening out.
He’s not sure if he should go or not; he’s never done this sort of thing before. She rolls onto her side, facing away from him. He at first thinks that he should probably find a way home, but she’s back on her back, her eyes in his direction.
Her voice is quiet in the stillness, and he’s surprised that the same person was probably waking the neighbors during their activity. “Don’t go yet,” she says.
He relaxes onto the mattress, and hesitates with what to do next. When she doesn’t move away from the arm now around her waist, he exhales, his brief anxiety leaving with his breath.
When her breathing evens out completely, her chest rising and falling slowly, he puts a light kiss to her collarbone before falling asleep himself.
.
KC’s reading over the paper in her hands, going over the lesson last-minute again, making sure she remembers everything. It’s her first day teaching, not just at William McKinley High, but ever. She’s scared stiff, but she spoke to her cousin Will just before class, and he gave her a few pointers, so the anxiety isn’t as bad.
She writes a few bullets on the board, along with a question to start off the lesson with, and her name (Ms. Schuester). The bell chimes, and the talking continues among the students.
“Settle down, settle down,” she says, her voice going above the students’, putting the dot at the bottom of the question mark on the board.
She spins on her heel and faces the class, ready to begin her first lesson, but is frozen in place and nearly drops her marker as she sees the blonde at a table near the back is the boy from her bedroom two nights before.
He comes up behind her, and they dance and grind and grope. It’s a nightclub, what else were they supposed to do?
She turns around to face the man rubbing against her, and she sees the cute face grinning at her with his big lips and blonde hair that must be from a bottle. She grabs the attractive face of his, gets on her toes, and plants a sloppy kiss on him, and that’s enough of a move for him. His hands wander and hers just clutch the front of his plain shirt, her need for contact obvious.
She asks for his name; he answers “Sam,” and asks for hers.
“KC,” she says in his ear, trying to be heard over the music but took the opportunity to nibble quickly at his neck.
.
They stumbled through the doorway, not aren’t even over the threshold and before they’re on each other. Sam pushes her against the wall, shutting the door behind him with his foot, and she allows him to do so. His hands wander over her chest, hips, her whole torso; up and down, up and down. Her arms snake around his neck, holding his head to hers so he can’t move too far.
“Bedroom?” he says in between kisses, going down her neck now.
She leaves another sloppy kiss on him before taking his hand, almost like a child, leading him to a nearby room. She pushes him on the bed, straddling his waist. She removes his shirt, tossing it without a second thought, admiring the toned body before her. Her fingers run over his pecks, abs, down to his navel, and finally his belt buckle. He suppresses a shiver; her touch is gentle, almost like a ghost. She moves back up, her hands on his neck and collarbone as she kisses him, the heat increased between both of them with each passing moment.
He pulls away, taking off her top, but leaving the lacy bra underneath. His eyes instantly go to her side, where a tattoo is located. He wraps his arms around her waist, picking her petite body up with ease, flipping over and laying her down on the mattress gingerly. He takes off his pants, leaving his boxers, and puts his lips over hers, then moving down her jaw, to her neck, moving further south.
KC’s taken aback at the affection from him, seeing as usually it’s just fuck-and-go. But he’s paying attention to her, giving her what she wants. And she likes it. She didn’t realize how much she missed being touched all over instead of just two spots.
As he reaches her chest, he moves his hands underneath her, unclasping her bra, tossing it onto the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. He pays attention to her breasts, earning noises from her that rush blood to his own sensitive spots, and he begins to move quicker out of sheer instinct.
At her panties, he slips them off, and looks back up at her, as if asking for permission. She sits up a little, pulling him back up for another kiss, less sloppy and more needy. She tugs at the boxers, silently saying that they need to go. As he gets to it, she reaches over to the nightstand to crab a condom.
In a few minutes, he’s in, and she’s attempting to relax around him so she’s comfortable. Propped on his forearms above her, he’s looking at her, trying to figure out if he should continue or not. He isn’t sure yet if her eyebrows are furrowed in pain or pleasure.
When she moves her hips a little, he obliges, slowly at first until she claws at his back, urging him on as she does so vocally, too.
“I’m not that fucking delicate,” she growls. “Harder.”
She starts releasing these noises, moaning gradually louder and louder, not caring if the people in the apartment next to her can hear. Her eyes are squeezed shut, one arm draped around his arm, the other making fists in her sheets. He’s getting close and he thinks she is too, judging by how loud she is and how high-pitched each “ah” is.
When he hears his name roll off her tongue in between moans, though, he’s sent over the edge.
They stay there for a while, before he’s removing the condom, and tosses it into the trashcan beside the nightstand. She’s still breathing heavily, but at this point it’s evening out.
He’s not sure if he should go or not; he’s never done this sort of thing before. She rolls onto her side, facing away from him. He at first thinks that he should probably find a way home, but she’s back on her back, her eyes in his direction.
Her voice is quiet in the stillness, and he’s surprised that the same person was probably waking the neighbors during their activity. “Don’t go yet,” she says.
He relaxes onto the mattress, and hesitates with what to do next. When she doesn’t move away from the arm now around her waist, he exhales, his brief anxiety leaving with his breath.
When her breathing evens out completely, her chest rising and falling slowly, he puts a light kiss to her collarbone before falling asleep himself.
.
KC’s reading over the paper in her hands, going over the lesson last-minute again, making sure she remembers everything. It’s her first day teaching, not just at William McKinley High, but ever. She’s scared stiff, but she spoke to her cousin Will just before class, and he gave her a few pointers, so the anxiety isn’t as bad.
She writes a few bullets on the board, along with a question to start off the lesson with, and her name (Ms. Schuester). The bell chimes, and the talking continues among the students.
“Settle down, settle down,” she says, her voice going above the students’, putting the dot at the bottom of the question mark on the board.
She spins on her heel and faces the class, ready to begin her first lesson, but is frozen in place and nearly drops her marker as she sees the blonde at a table near the back is the boy from her bedroom two nights before.