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[suchmiracles]

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[speed_of_snark]

Jean-Paul surprises himself by bursting into laughter. "Kurt, that's terrible," he chastises, but he hugs the other man tighter all the same.

"You're the king of dad jokes, it's awful."

[suchmiracles]

The sound of Jean-Paul's laughter makes everything worth it.

"Well, at least I'm king of something," Kurt replies playfully, leaning up a little so he can look Jean-Paul in the eye before kissing him again.

[speed_of_snark]

"King of my heart," Jean-Paul purrs before he kisses back. He lets his body do what it wants to without fighting it - his limbs tangle around Kurt's form, his mouth opens readily, and his hips lift gently.

He waits for the guilt to come, but it does not.

[suchmiracles]

Kurt huffs a fond, amused breath against Jean-Paul's lips at his comment, the lightness quickly taken over by the electricity and heat of their contact. Each of his partners is so different from one another; he relishes the feel of the French Canadian against him, his slim hips and the warm muscles underneath the fabric of his clothes.

He shifts slightly as they kiss, letting the hammock move until he's straddling Jean-Paul's hips.

"Du bist sehr schön," he breathes, thumbs drawing fans over Jean-Paul's cheeks.

[speed_of_snark]

Jean-Paul's eyelids flutter, mostly closed, and his head rolls to chase those soft touches. His hands slide over Kurt's thighs, mapping the taut lines of muscle there.

"Don't know what that means," he sighs as he moves his hands to lovingly squeeze Kurt's ass. Every inch of the man is lithe and tight, and Jean-Paul touches Kurt's body with something approaching reverence.