
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/89025.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Kurt/Mercedes, references_to_unrequited_Kurt/Finn
  Character:
      Kurt_Hummel, Mercedes_Jones
  Additional Tags:
      Kink_Meme, Pegging
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-05-22 Words: 2819
****** Starting a Sex Riot ******
by recrudescence
Summary
     Mercedes and Kurt have a night in after Kurt's mini sexuality crisis
     (spoilers for Dream On).
     Contains underage sex between consenting but inebriated minors. I do
     not encourage irresponsible behavior, identity theft, or trucker
     hats. Actual truckers are forgiven.
Notes
     Inspired by a prompt from the Glee Kink Meme: Mercedes fucking Kurt
     with a strap-on. I KNOW, I KNOW, BUT GIVE IT A CHANCE, OKAY?
"Let me just make sure I've got this down. You started dressing like a tractor
driver because your dad is dating Finn's mom?"
"Y...es?" Kurt's gaze went flicking down towards his lap, both hands fidgeting
with the trucker hat. His head felt naked without any accessories or hair
products, but a trucker hat was still a trucker hat
Mercedes frowned at him dubiously. "It's not some kind of misguided, ironic,
hipster wannabe, social-commentary thing?"
"No?"
A snort. "And here I was trying to be optimistic about it. Kurt, I'm sorry,
that is the stupidest thing I've heard all day. And that includes Brittany
saying elephants are in the dinosaur family."
"She said that?"
"That's your girl now," Mercedes patted him on the shoulder and gave a
dazzling, insincere smile. Kurt cringed. "Get with the program."
"She's not my girl."
"Does she know that?"
"I gave her a perfect record and she gave me my first kiss. We're good."
"Of all people to kiss..." Mercedes had a knack for trailing off her sentences
very eloquently.
"Excuse me, maybe I'm just not looking in the right places, but do you see a
line of people begging for the privilege? Not everyone can just throw on a
Cheerios uniform and snag a hot boyfriend." That came off as bitter even to
him.
"You think Puck's hot?"
"Everyone thinks Puck's hot. If you like guys with no hair."
"Finn has nice hair."
"He so does." Wince. "Maybe."
"That's, like, almost incest." She sounded surprisingly cheerful about the
fact. Something was seriously wrong with that girl. "Wanting to hook up with
the guy whose mom's hooking up with your dad."
"There is no hooking up." Not for lack of plotting.
"Do you want your dad to be happy or do you just wanna get your grind on?"
He looked up, nonplussed. "I can't want both?"
"Wow." She shook her head disbelievingly. "You've really thought this through,
haven't you?"
"Okay. You know what? I really, really like him. Even though he's eight feet
tall and incredibly hetero and has woefully uncontrolled vibrato. And it seemed
like it might work. No one said that these things had to make any sense."
"And you've never even done anything with another guy." She sounded pensive, a
little sad, and Kurt didn't know whether to be defensive or annoyed.
"Again with the no-one-lining-up thing."
"Okay, look." Mercedes fixed him with one of those I'm-about-to-say-something-
important faces. "You're wallowing. It's almost the weekend. Call me when you
put two and two together."
                                      ---
 
Kurt made Jell-O shots. He habitually used the basement fridge for snacks and
refrigerated skin products anyway. His dad was out with Finn's mom and it
seemed like a typical teenage act of rebellion, even though he color-
coordinated the flavors with the Dixie cups and made sure there were coasters
on hand, just in case. Bright blue Jell-O and white furniture made him jittery.
Mercedes sailed through the door with Queer as Folk DVDs—Kurt couldn't figure
out why she owned those when he didn't—and printed instructions for a
corresponding drinking game.
It went fabulously until there was a scene involving nudity and ice cream.
Kurt's face must have assumed a particularly pathetic expression because
Mercedes sat up in the nest of pillows they'd created and eyed him. "You think
that's hot?"
He wanted to say something blasé and off-the-cuff. What spilled out of his
mouth instead was, "Sometimes you just...you want it. And you can't do anything
about it."
"Yeah, you're completely helpless." Mercedes batted her eyes melodramatically.
"Nothing at all? Really?"
Kurt grinned at her, loopy from the alcohol. "You really want to know?"
It hadn't been until winter that he'd gone about working up the courage to buy
anything, but Santana had thrown a Slushie in his face the day before so he
hadn't felt bad about using her credit card. Girls should know better than to
leave purses under the bleachers. He always kept his in a locker when it wasn't
on his body
Kurt didn't care much for math beyond calculating measurements, but he figured
the accumulated costs of all previous Slushies thrown, plus the additional
expenses of dry-cleaning and facial toner and general pain and suffering from
having to explain the situation to his stylist...it all came to a total that
was at least enough to purchase a quality sex toy.
So he had.
Mercedes had both hands to her mouth. "Oh. My. God."
Kurt stolidly downed another shot. It tasted like raspberry acetone. "You
wanted to see!"
"Yeah." Mercedes was still staring into the drawer and her voice was a little
higher than usual. "And I thought this would end like the time Puck asked if
you had on a thong. Y'know, when you shrieked like a little girl and bitched
about how your face was gonna clash with your vest for the rest of the day. And
seriously, Kurt, vests? Because unless your middle name is Shrek or Aladdin,
that's kinda—"
"Oh, I see." Kurt studied his cuticles, feeling his cheeks burn and hating
every capillary. "This is called changing the subject, right? Let's do that."
In unison, they seized Dixie cups and slurped down the contents.
No one spoke. Kurt waited.
"Why do you have a strap-on?" Mercedes blurted out after a few tense minutes,
during which she had obviously been instructing herself not to ask. "Why would
a guy need to strap anything on?"
"Therewasasale."
"Hold up, I'm sorry, I thought for a second you said there was a sale." Now she
was smirking at him like Kurt was some adorable new brand of moron.
"If you made a purchase over a certain amount, they'd throw in an additional
staff-recommended item. I just wanted to get things over with, so I didn't pick
one. They did it for me, and I was using a girl's credit card, so clearly
someone assumed..." He scuffed his hand along the covers. Explaining wasn't
helping. "It's not like I was going send it back. 'Oh, sorry, don't need this!
I'm not actually a Latina cheerleader, just borrowing the identity of one!'"
"So, do you ever...?"
"No, Mercedes, I use it to dust the furniture." He rolled onto his back and
closed his eyes, draping an arm over his forehead.
"I was going to ask," she said smoothly, "if you ever wish you had someone to
try it out with."
Kurt did another shot.
 
                                      ---
 
"Boys are ridiculous."
"Damn right."
"No," Mercedes took great pains to enunciate. "I mean, boys are ridiculous."
"Are you expecting me to disagree with you? Because I'm not."
"If I was ever, for some reason, to expect someone to have boysenberry lube, it
would be you. And I don't even know what the hell a boysenberry looks like."
"If I was ever going to get naked and do obscene things in the presence of a
lady, it'd be you."
Mercedes hummed a few bars of "The Lady is a Tramp" and kissed him on the
cheek, which made his toes curl into the softness of the carpet. "I had a huge
crush on you, remember? I can deal with it."
All things were muzzy and peaceful and there was a hand on his stomach that
wasn't his own, and Kurt wriggled up into the contact. He felt flushed and
languid and warmth-filled all over, like he'd been downing straight-up
endorphins instead of ineptly mixed shots. "Did I take my pants off or was that
you?"
"That was you," Mercedes answered lightly, like there wasn't anything out of
the ordinary about it. Maybe the drinking had kick-started the same effect in
her. She paused, letting one silver-painted fingernail skim against Kurt's
navel, above the waistband, until he was batting at her with both hands and
giggling like an idiot.
"What," she asked, suddenly serious, "would you do right now if there was a guy
here instead of me? Like...if Finn was here?"
"Blow him," Kurt said dreamily, without any hesitation. "I really want to try
that."
"Jesus, Kurt..." She looked glassy-eyed, though that could have been from the
vodka. "I can't help you there, you know."
"Babe, you know I love you anyway." The words were a little hazy, but he meant
them.
It wasn't anything completely new. They'd had too many fashion consultations
and frenzied fitting-room adventures for casual baring of undergarments to be
an issue. And Kurt was sure they'd polished off a good number of the Jell-
O shots, which had to help.
So when Mercedes's jeans and top were folded on one of the chairs, it felt more
like a really bizarre makeover than anything else when he went about helping
her adjust the straps and fasten them around herself. In a bra and underwear
and...that. Kurt took a deep breath.
"Is it okay?" She looked uncomfortable.
"Y-yeah...yeah, I just haven't..." he fumbled, feeling wetness against the
inside of his shorts and reflexively turning his head away. "I'm not used to
seeing it on a real person."
But it was. He knew the shape of it, very well, but it was surreal actually
having it on someone. Curving, pink-tinged and thick—he hadn't known how to go
about choosing the right one, other than guessing at sizes, so he had gone by
color—with the latex of the harness buckled around her hips. Somehow, the blush
on her cheeks looked like it might be more than just makeup, but that could
have been wishful thinking on Kurt's part because his own face felt ready to
dissolve from the heat in it. He swallowed. Puck wasn't good enough for her.
Anyone lucky enough to land a girl like this, somehow who was sweet and
reliable and confident and insane enough to do anything for a friend, should
know how to treat her right. Kurt managed a shaky little laugh. "You really are
going to start a sex riot."
She beamed. "Does this mean we get to tell Ms. Sylvester 'I told you so'?"
He didn't say anything. Sliding off the edge of the bed, kneeling without a
single sound and sucking it, letting the base of it nudge against her as he
parted his lips over the cool tip of the toy. This is what it feels like. Only
silicone, nothing real, but this is what it feels like to get on your knees in
front of someone and really do this.
His back bowing, fingertips touching lightly at the soft smoothness of her
thigh, and then he was boldly letting them trail along the hem of her panties.
"I can help you out, too." His voice was cracking and somehow that was the most
embarrassing thing about the entire situation. "We should be fair about this."
He felt her breath stutter and tremble, and he looked up. "Or...did you and
Puck...?
Somehow, wearing nothing but a strap-on and her underwear, Mercedes could still
pull off looking haughty. "You think I'd put out for just anybody? Hell, no."
"Good. Everyone's first time should be special."
"Yeah, I saw that sex-ed DVD, too." She rolled her eyes, then focused them on
him, narrow and dark and challenging. "Show me what you'd do if you had him
here. What if Finn was looking at you right now? What would you do for him?"
Eyebrows easing upward, fingers transferring the much-maligned boysenberry
lubricant from her hand to his own. "Everyone knows you can put on a kickass
show."
That was all it took to have Kurt squarely in the center of his bed, tucking
his knees under him, underwear skimmed off and onto the floor before he had
time to think about it. Popping open the container, sending the sweet scent
wafting through the air. Slick and sure and in, a whimper tangling in the back
of his throat and his legs involuntary pushing apart even further. Another.
Rocking down onto his fingers, head back, throat bared, and Mercedes breathing
in sharply behind him while whispering a few filthy selections that should have
had no place in the mouth of a dentist's daughter.
"I'd show him..." Kurt barely heard his own voice, "He wouldn't know what to
do, so I'd have to...do it...show him m'self. And I wouldn't mind him watching
because I'd know he'd just want to learn so he could do his best."
Frankenteen. The white knight who stepped in to save Kurt from the dumpster
whenever he could. A little slow on the uptake, but always with good
intentions. Strong and powerful enough to easilygo about holding him down and
gasping and groaning and carefully, uncertainly fucking him blind. Kurt's
fingers curling, jaw dropping, knees pressed into the bedding.
"Yeah?" Mercedes was saying softly, more strained than he could ever remember
hearing her, and Kurt fought the urge to bury his face in the pillows.
"And I'd...I'd let him fuck me. Any way he wanted." On his back, on his knees,
on his stomach, on the damn 50 yard line if that's what Finn had a fetish for.
He'd considered the possibilities thoroughly, but saying them out loud had him
gritting his teeth in shame even as his cock pulsed against the curve of his
palm. "Anything." Squirming back onto his own undulating fingers, bucking up
into the hand cinched around his erection. The mattress dipping, a soothing
hand stroking over his back, and Kurt's eyes screwed shut.
There. Blunt and wide and slick against the base of his spine. Mercedes petting
up and down his back, two of his fingers still hilt-deep and slippery-squirming
inside him, and for a moment Kurt wanted nothing more than to melt through the
mattress and die.
Her lips were damp and soft against his ear. "Can you really handle it?"
"Yeah, oh, fuckyeah, just do it. Just fuck me with it." Pushing up onto his
hands and knees, sweat dragging in rivulets over his skin, thighs parted and
chest heaving and Mercedes faltering behind him, not moving. "Please."
He turned his head, looking at her for the first time. Mercedes's eyes were
heavy but alert and when she kissed him her mouth was tart with artificial
raspberry and genuine need.
Crying out sharp and loud, and this was nothing like slicking the toy and
working it into himself; no, this time it was Mercedes--someone else, an actual
second person—who was using one hand to guide it and had the other braced to
the mattress. Kurt's head falling forward, body lurching from the effort it
took to move his unsoiled hand over hers to grasp and grip and lock their
fingers together, all while feeling the rub of it inside him and the heat of
her skin and the curves of her breasts and the slick-silky material of her bra
against his bare back.
Finn didn't see him like this. Finn probably didn't know a single thing about
him, probably only recognized him as a cartoonish little queer out of the
corner of his eye, and Finn would never, ever trust him the way that Mercedes
did. And somehow, none of it seemed to matter as he was working himself back
against the pressure as she rolled her hips forward and every muscle in his
body obligingly clenched, and the next thing he knew he was spilling over his
fingers and spattering the sheets he'd just washed and he was moaning. He never
moaned.
"Oh my God." Mercedes was saying it again and again. Undoing the harness to let
it fall beside the bed, then reaching out to him, and Kurt went melting into
the embrace, lax as all the Jell-O they'd consumed.
Somehow, he was able to handle dragging on a fresh pair of boxers and then
dragging himself into bed, sheets gliding against his legs and Mercedes's arms
gliding around his waist. No toothbrush, moisturizer, or sleep mask for once.
Maybe this was what it was like, being so comfortable around someone that even
skin-replenishing didn't matter. For one night, anyway.
The ceiling blurred before his eyes and his head lolled against Mercedes's arm;
one hand blindly, clumsily cupped her face so he could urge it close enough to
kiss. "You're gorgeous." He was rather proud of his ability to speak in full
sentences. "And whenever you end up with someone who deserves you, you're going
to make them so happy every day you're together."
Mercedes hummed vaguely into the pillow, but he could tell she was pleased. He
would have grinned if he wasn't preoccupied with not drooling before passing
out. "Hey," she murmured sleepily. "We'll get it right. We've still got time."
Then she started, her eyes flying open. "Is your dad gonna walk in?"
"Door's locked," Kurt mumbled, nuzzling into the smooth curve of her shoulder.
"And I left a note on it saying I'm getting smashed and watching soft-core
porn. Everything's fine."
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