question for canon and recovery kurt, do you still make music? - 🎀🐱
AC!Kurt: "They're only 10$ each if you want a CD... or maybe sub..?"
R!Kurt: "I mean, it'd be cool to again.. But I'm not ready for that.."
Corvus: The cuties..
Summary: After a late party, you request Kurt for a ride again on purpose. What starts as nervous conversation in his car turns into heated dry humping in a quiet lot.
The party last week had been a wash, too loud, too many people talking over each other, the kind of night that left you restless instead of satisfied. You’d walked out early, still thinking about the way Kurt’s hands had trembled when he touched you, the broken little sounds he’d made against your skin, the completely unfiltered way he’d looked at you like you were the first real thing that had happened to him in months.
You kept the ride receipt. You kept the username.
KurtsWorld96.
A week later you were out later than you meant to be, the last train already gone, and the idea of getting into a stranger’s car felt worse than it used to. So you opened the app, filtered for the one driver you’d already met, and requested him before you could talk yourself out of it.
He accepted in under thirty seconds.
When the beat-up sedan pulled up, Kurt was already half out of the car, trying (and failing) to look casual. The second he saw you he froze, then forced a smile that was way too big.
“Hey—hi. You’re… you’re actually here.” He rubbed the back of his neck, ears going pink immediately. “I mean, of course you’re here, you requested the ride, but—yeah. Hi.”
You slid into the passenger seat. The cameras were off this time. You noticed. He noticed you noticing.
“I unplugged them,” he said quickly, almost defensive. “After last time. Felt weird leaving them on. Like… I don’t know. Didn’t want to risk anything. Or make you think I was trying to get content out of it. Which I wasn’t. I swear.”
You buckled in. “I know.”
He let out a breath that sounded like relief and pulled into traffic. For a few blocks neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward exactly, just charged. Kurt kept glancing over like he still couldn’t believe you were real.
“So,” he started, voice a little too high, “uh… how was the party last week? After you left. I kept thinking about it. Like, did you have a good time? Or was it one of those nights where you show up and immediately want to leave?”
You told him the truth. The party had been fine until it wasn’t. Too many people performing for each other. You’d spent most of it thinking about the car ride instead.
Kurt’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“Oh.” A small, stunned laugh. “That’s… okay. Cool. I mean—not cool that the party sucked, but… yeah.” He risked another look at you. “I’ve been thinking about it too. A lot. Like, embarrassingly a lot. I kept replaying the whole thing and then I’d get all… distracted… and then I’d feel guilty for getting distracted, and then I’d just do it again. It’s been a whole cycle.”
You asked him if he’d told anyone.
“God, no.” He shook his head hard. “Who would I even tell? My chat would lose their minds in the worst way, and my parents still think I just drive people around for gas money. Besides… it felt private. Like it was just ours. I didn’t want to turn it into another story.”
The honesty landed heavier than the usual streamer monologue. You watched him for a second, twenty-three, living in the weird space between trying to become someone and still being painfully, earnestly himself.
“I requested you on purpose,” you said.
Kurt almost missed a light. “You did?”
“Yeah. I could’ve taken anyone. I wanted you.”
He went quiet for a long stretch of road. When he finally spoke again his voice was softer.
“That’s… really nice of you to say. Most people don’t even remember my name. They just want to get where they’re going and forget I exist. But you keep… seeing me. It’s a lot. In a good way. I think.”
You asked where he was headed after this shift.
“Nowhere special. Back to my mom’s place. Crash. Maybe edit some old footage if I can’t sleep. Which is most nights lately.” He gave a self-deprecating little shrug. “Glamorous life of the almost-influencer. What about you? Home? Or… somewhere else?”
You told him you weren’t in a rush to go home yet.
Kurt swallowed. The tips of his ears went fully red.
“Okay. Um. There’s a place I sometimes park when I need to clear my head. Quiet. No cameras. No streetlights really. If you… if you wanted to just talk for a bit longer. Or whatever. No pressure. I can just take you straight home if that’s better.”
You told him the quiet place sounded good.
He drove there with both hands on the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Ten minutes later the car was tucked under a row of trees behind a closed auto shop, engine off, only the soft dashboard glow left between you.
Kurt turned in his seat to face you properly. For once he didn’t fill the silence with a joke.
“I’ve never done anything like last week before,” he said. “Not even close. I keep waiting for you to change your mind and realize I’m just some weird guy with too many cameras and not enough game. But you came back. So… I’m trying not to screw it up by talking too much. Which is hard, because talking is kind of my whole thing.”
You reached over and rested your hand on his knee.
He looked down at it like it might disappear.
“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly. “Why me? Seriously. You could’ve had anyone react like that. Why the rideshare guy who’s still figuring out how to talk to people?”
You told him the truth: because his reactions were honest. Because under all the try-hard energy there was someone who just wanted to be chosen for a minute.
Kurt stared at you for a long second. Then he let out a shaky breath and laughed once, soft and disbelieving.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
You unbuckled and climbed across the console before he could second-guess himself, settling into his lap. The sudden weight of you made him jolt, hands flying to your waist on instinct. His thighs were warm and tense beneath you; you could already feel the thick, insistent heat of his cock trapped against the seam of his jeans, twitching the moment your weight settled fully.
“Is this okay?” you asked.
“Yes. God. Yes. More than okay.” His voice cracked. “I’ve thought about this exact thing every night since last week. Just… you here. Like this.”
You rolled your hips once, deliberately, grinding the soft heat between your legs against the already-hard line of his cock through both layers of clothes. The friction was immediate, rough denim dragging against the thin fabric of your panties, the heat of him searing through like a brand. You felt the exact shape of the head, already damp, catch and slide.
Kurt’s brain short-circuited all over again.
A broken sound punched out of his throat. His fingers dug into your sides hard enough that you could feel the slight tremor in them. The air in the car suddenly felt thicker, warmer, filled with the faint scent of his cologne mixed with clean sweat and the unmistakable edge of arousal.
“Holy shit—you’re so warm. Even through everything. Never felt it before”, he whispered, eyes huge.
You did it again, slower this time, dragging yourself along the full length of him. The wetness already gathering between your legs made the fabric slide easier, a soft, slick sound barely audible under the quiet of the lot. He met the movement with a helpless upward buck, the muscles in his thighs flexing hard beneath you, forehead dropping toward yours. His breath was hot against your cheek, coming in short, uneven bursts.
You kissed him.
Kurt made a startled little noise against your mouth, then melted into it almost immediately, clumsy, eager, lips soft and a little too open at first. He tasted faintly of the energy drink he’d been sipping earlier, mixed with pure nervous heat. He didn’t really know what to do with his tongue, so he just followed your lead, breathing hard through his nose, one hand still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d pull away. The kiss was messy and sincere; you could feel his heartbeat racing against your chest.
When you broke the kiss for air he chased your mouth for half a second before catching himself.
“Sorry—was that okay? I’ve never… I’m not good at this yet.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, and he whimpered into it, a soft, high sound that vibrated against your lips. His hips stuttered up against you, the thick ridge of his cock dragging along your clit through the fabric. The wet spot on his jeans was already spreading; you could feel the growing dampness seeping through, warm and insistent against your most sensitive skin.
You guided one of his hands up under your shirt. He hesitated, fingers trembling against the soft skin of your stomach, the slight coolness of his palm contrasting with the heat building between you.
“Can I…?” he asked against your lips, voice barely there.
You nodded.
He pushed your shirt and bra up together the same way you had last week, clumsy and careful. The cooler air of the car kissed your bare skin for half a second before his mouth was on your chest like he’d been starving for it. He latched onto one nipple with a broken moan, sucking greedily. The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, soft lips, tentative tongue swirling, the faint scrape of teeth when he got too eager. You felt the vibration of his moan travel straight through your breast and down between your legs. His other hand stayed on your ass, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, pulling you tighter against the hard, throbbing line of his cock while he nursed at you.
You kept grinding, slow and steady, and he matched every roll of your hips with a shy, desperate thrust of his own. The wet sounds of his mouth on your tits mixed with the soft creak of the seat, the quiet, punched-out noises he kept making against your skin, and the increasingly slick slide of fabric against fabric. Every time you dragged yourself along him you could feel more of his pre-cum soaking through, the denim growing hotter and wetter under you. The scent of sex was starting to fill the small space.
“Feels so good,” he mumbled between sucks, switching to the other nipple. The second one was already tight and sensitive; the first pull of his mouth made your breath catch. “You’re so soft… and you’re moving on me and I can feel how wet you are through everything… I’m not gonna last. I’m really not.”
You tipped his face back up and kissed him again while you ground down harder. He kissed like he was still learning, messy, earnest, a little too much tongue sometimes but the way he trembled under you made up for every bit of inexperience. One hand stayed on your breast, thumb brushing the wet, swollen nipple he’d just left, the pad of his thumb slightly rough against the slick skin. The other guided your hips into a faster rhythm. You could feel the tension coiling low in your stomach, the friction against your clit turning sharper, wetter, almost too much.
“Talk to me,” you whispered against his mouth.
“I don’t know how to do this right,” he admitted, voice cracking. His breath was hot and shaky against your lips. “I just know it feels insane. You’re on top of me and you’re letting me touch you and suck on you and I keep thinking you’re gonna realize I’m just some awkward kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing. But you keep going. You’re still going.”
You rolled your hips in a long, deliberate drag that made the head of his cock catch against your clit through the soaked fabric. The pressure was perfect, thick, insistent, the damp heat of him searing through. Kurt’s whole body jerked. A full-body shiver ran through him; you felt it under your hands, under your thighs.
“Fuck—do that again. Please.”
You did. He sucked in a sharp breath and buried his face between your tits again for a second, just breathing you in, nose pressed to the soft valley, inhaling like he was trying to memorize the scent of your skin before latching back onto a nipple with a needy little whimper. His hips were moving more confidently now, still clumsy but desperate, chasing the friction like he couldn’t help himself. Every upward thrust pressed the full, heavy length of him against you; every downward grind of yours forced a soft, wet sound from the soaked layers between you.
The pressure built fast for both of you. Every grind sent a sharp pulse of heat through you; every suck of his mouth on your nipples made your thighs tighten around him. You could feel your own wetness soaking through your panties, mixing with the growing mess on his jeans until the friction turned slick and filthy. Kurt was shaking under you, breathing hard, the wet spot on his jeans growing by the second. His cock throbbed so hard you could feel each pulse against your clit.
“I’m close,” he warned, almost panicked. His voice was wrecked, high and thin. “You’re gonna make me cum in my jeans again. I can feel it. And you’re—you’re getting louder too. Are you close? Please say you’re close. I want you to feel good too. I need you to.”
You kissed him hard and ground down with more purpose, chasing your own orgasm against the thick, throbbing line of him. Kurt kept sucking on your tits between kisses, messy and eager, lips wet, tongue working, the occasional soft scrape of teeth sending sparks straight down. One hand squeezed your ass; the other stayed cupped around your breast like he couldn’t stand to let go. The dual sensation, rough, slick friction on your clit and the hot, wet pull of his mouth on your nipples pushed you over the edge first.
You came with a soft, broken sound against his lips, hips stuttering, thighs clamping around him as the waves rolled through you. The pleasure was deep and pulsing, centered right where his cock pressed hardest; every aftershock made you grind down harder, chasing it.
Feeling you pulse and shake on top of him was all it took.
Kurt came with a loud, wrecked moan into your mouth, hips locking up as he pulsed hard into his jeans. Thick, hot wetness soaked through the fabric in heavy spurts until you could feel every throb against your still sensitive clit, warm, messy, flooding the space between you. He kept grinding weakly through it, clinging to you, sucking desperately at your nipple even as his body shook apart. The wet sounds were obscene now; the scent of his release mixed with everything else until the whole car felt heavy with it.
It took a long minute for both of you to stop trembling.
Kurt stayed buried against your chest afterward, breathing hard, lips still brushing your skin like he didn’t want to pull away. His hands had gone gentle, one stroking slowly up and down your back, the other resting lightly on your waist. You could feel his heart still racing against your ribs, the damp heat of his spent cock softening slowly between you, the cooling wetness on both your clothes.
“…holy shit,” he whispered eventually, voice hoarse and a little dazed. “That was… I felt you. When you came. I felt it. And then I just—yeah. I couldn’t hold it.”
He finally lifted his head, cheeks flushed dark, eyes glassy and soft. A shy, almost embarrassed smile tugged at his mouth. His lips were still shiny from your skin.
“I made a mess again. Like, a real mess this time. It’s… everywhere.” He glanced down between you, wincing a little at the dark, wet patch that had spread across the front of his jeans and the corresponding dampness on your panties. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get it on you too.”
You told him it was fine. That you liked feeling it.
Kurt’s ears went red all over again. He carefully helped you fix your shirt and bra, fingers still clumsy, then just sat there holding you for a while longer, forehead resting against yours. The quiet of the lot settled back in around the soft sounds of your breathing.
“I don’t want to take you home yet,” he admitted quietly. “Is that weird? I just… I like sitting here with you. Even if I’m all sticky and awkward and probably smell like sex.”
You stayed a little longer.
Eventually he cleaned up as best he could with the stack of fast-food napkins in the glovebox, still half-hard and sheepish about it. When he finally put the car in drive his hand found yours across the console and stayed there the whole way back, warm, a little clammy, holding on like he was afraid to let go.
At your drop-off he hesitated before unlocking the door, engine still running, the soft glow of the dashboard lighting the side of his face.
“Same deal as last time,” he said, voice soft. “If you ever need another ride… or just want to talk… or anything. Request me. I’ll be there. No cameras. Just… me.”
He gave you that same awkward, hopeful little smile, the one that made him look younger than he was.
“And, uh… thank you. For coming back. For letting me… all of that. You’re still the best passenger I’ve ever had. By a lot.”
You reached into your bag, found a scrap of paper and a pen, and wrote your number down. When you held it out to him Kurt stared at it like it might vanish.
“Is this… for real?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“For real,” you said. “Text me. Or call. Whatever’s easier.”
He took the paper with both hands, careful not to crease it, and looked at it for a long second before tucking it into his pocket like it was something fragile and important.
“I will,” he promised, that shy smile breaking wider, hopeful and a little stunned. “I definitely will. Tonight, even. If that’s okay.”
You told him it was more than okay.
He waited until you were safely inside before pulling away. In the rearview mirror, Kurt was still smiling to himself, shy, a little ruined, fingers brushing the pocket where your number sat, already counting the minutes until he could use it.
For the first time in a long time, the next request didn’t feel like a maybe.
