Work Text:
Kendall’s getting ready for work.
It’s 5am. You’re slowly waking up, covers brought up under your chin tightly. Cushy and warm. Your eyes will drift shut, but then fabric will shift, a scratchy, almost inaudible sound. A drawer will be drawn; hollow, smooth. You swear your eyes are flung open, but by the time you’re seeing, he’s already in the act of whatever he was beginning to do when the noise was made. Long fingers push beneath his waistband to straighten his shirt; a tie is picked out that he’ll inevitably forgo.
This should be routine. Monotony, really, but sometimes, you’re eased from that space into one of almost a third party observer. It’s very intimate; you feel like a voyeur. Privileged to watch him in this space, where not many have seen him. He sits on the edge of the bed and ties his shoes tight. His shoulders tremble a bit with the effort. The hairs at the nape of his neck are longer with new growth. You want to scratch his back.
When he rounds the corner of the bed to come say goodbye, you feel caught. You’ve never been good at pretending to be asleep, or, pretending to have just been asleep, and this knowing, almost suspicious smile slides easily across his face. A wordless, quick kiss before leaving, one that’s usually left as is. But this morning you chase him, sit up straighter in the bed to try and press your lips back to his. He says your name like he’s scolding you, lips pulled away just enough to be noticed, to make a statement, but his eyes glitter, pinch a little in delight.
“I never ask you for anything-“
“Uh-huh-“
“Just- just five minutes?”
The bed sinks a little as his knee presses into it. It’s almost a shot of adrenaline- your stomach heats, scalp tingles, body comes alive with anticipation. The thrill of success.
“Five minutes?”
He’s leaning in over you, smile warm with affection.
“Well- maybe six?”
He doesn’t laugh, but he huffs through his nose and kisses you again and that’s good enough. Your body’s still stiff and sore from sleep, but you roll and lean up into him, and the tip of his nose feels good when it nudges against your cheek, into your aching sinuses. His hand is up under your shirt, palm pressed against the heft of your breast and lifting, fingertips dimpling the skin, just enough to make your stomach clench. You’re trying to be respectful of the effort he’s put into getting ready; your hands are on his neck, pads of your fingers against the back to pull him forward, the rest to gently guide him. Its like he intentionally made you wait through the night- and that you were conscious of it while you slept. When his tongue smooths over yours, you moan.
Kendall’s phone is in his hand almost the same second he’s pulling away. You watch him open up the clock app, set a fucking timer for five minutes. He taps the screen as he sets it down onto the bed beside you, starting it.
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” he sounds firm -
But you don’t take it seriously at all.
The illusion of urgency did make it so much more exciting, though. Rushing and struggling around each other to get naked enough. Panting, giggling when you bump a knee against a leg, an elbow against a chest. When the leather of his shoes catches on the sheets as he tries to separate your legs even further.
He’s so big you feel it in your hips. It sets all your joints ablaze, makes you sob. Your knees tremble, liquified. He grunts and tips your hips to make this easier for him, to give him easier access to the places that make you cry.
“Is that good?”
“ Yeah -“
A hand runs over your thigh.
“You’re shaking already,” he’s making fun of you.
You laugh, the sound little more than wobbly puffs of air.
“Yeah it’s just really- mmph - really hitting the spot?” It was stupid and meant to be a joke but you still flush at it, especially when his laughter seems almost startled. “You know?”
“Well I hope this, uh, satiates you- that it’s enough for you.”
The head of his cock nudges some spot that practically makes you jump. Makes your clit throb in this near-sharp, maroon tenderness. The crisp neatness of his appearance has been forgotten, your fingers gripping the back of his shirt so tight the wrinkles might be set into the fabric forever. He bites your neck hard , in that spot beneath the junction of your ear and jaw. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to pull away, when that timer goes off, or even long after. You’re begging him not to already, saying please, sounding so fraught, over and over in this way that makes him moan, that compels him in ways little else does.
But then, it goes off, and something else compels him, too.
“That’s five minutes,” he says it like you didn’t know, or trust him. Like he feels sorry for you that the time had passed. Your hand reaches over, struggles to grab the phone to stop what you were sure was the loudest, most abrasive alarm ever made. He's still going, slower, maybe to see if you could get there, definitely not just because it makes him melt to see how badly you need him.
“N-no it hasn’t been,” there’s real desperation there, but you’re also positive he’s messing around, and that you’re just playing along .
“Please- “
He isn’t, though. He stops completely, sees the way you slump in disbelief, hurt. It’s mean but he grins, teeth pressing into his lip, cheeks, into his vision. When he slips out you both can’t help but look, see the way he’s still hard -it aches, honestly- see the shine on him and the way it beads in certain places. It looks even pinker nestled between the opened fly of his cool toned slacks. You both make a noise at it- a whimper, a staggered breath. You push yourself to sit upright but he still pulls away, feels his fingers itch with the urge to wrap around himself and tug- it’d probably only take a few times, the rush of denying you almost better than giving you what you want.
Instead, he stands beside the bed, clenches his jaw as he attempts to right himself, trembling and panting, cheeks and lips flushed. Somehow he finds it within himself to ignore the way you’re practically prostrating yourself for him on the bed, chest flush with the sheets, hips raised above, less to entice him and more to stop yourself from grinding against the fabric for something. It feels silly, but your eyes sting.
“Kendall-“
He kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t really have to be on time.
“I’ll see you tonight.”