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[Fic] Coup de Foudre (2/3)
Yep, I've written a continuation of the Foreign Exchange Student Kurt story! It's mostly just an excuse for some happy porn.
Title: Coup de Foudre (2/3)
Wordcount: ~10,500 overall
Rating: MA
Pairing(s): Kurt/Blaine
Genre: Erotica, WAFF, PWPish, Romance
Warning(s): sex, language, probably too much sweetness, embarrassment, mild alcohol use, porn watching
Prompt(s): Written for Anonymous' AU ficlet prompt: Klaine and one of them is a foreign exchange student.
Notes: Thank you to gettinglostinneverland for cultural advice and beta reading! This story wouldn't exist without her encouragement and inspiration. An extra thank you to nuestroamoresunviaje for some help with a key French phrase, and to teiledesganzen for insightful and interesting responses to my questions about German swearing. :) And, an additional thank you to Soizic and cymeteria. Cymeteria has been so generous with her Alsatian language & cultural advice and very patient with all my questions. <3 Any remaining flaws are not due to their diligence!
Summary: (AU) Blaine knows falling in love with the exchange student from Alsace is unwise, but he finds he cannot resist Kurt's charm. (Or, the tale of how Blaine Anderson lost his virginity to the hot French exchange student.)
Bonus playlist & art from gettinglostinneverland! She put together a wonderul bunch of songs by Tokio Hotel for Kurt along with perfect CD cover art here.
Previously: 1. Prologue
2. Seduction
Despite the airport flirtation, nothing much happens between them at first—nothing romantic or sexy anyway. Which is fine, because there may be something unwise about trying to kindle a romance with someone who'll be living with his family on exchange, someone who's going to return home, across an ocean, in just a few months. Who wants to court a broken heart? Or worse, who wants to be the cause of one?
So, no matter how cute or sexy Kurt is, and no matter how often Blaine catches Kurt looking at him (or Kurt catches Blaine looking back), Blaine does his best to refrain from making any overtures of romance. They do a lot together regardless. Which is both a relief and a delight, since Blaine wasn't sure if they'd get along well at all, or if Kurt would simply find his own friends at Dalton, and he and Blaine would be little more than roommates to one another.
But it turns out they have a lot in common. Kurt auditions for The Warblers, and they're ready to beg him to join before he's sung more than a few bars of "Defying Gravity". He loves American musicals—is obsessed with both Broadway theater and Disney films, reads Vogue religiously, and (unexpectedly) enjoys the spectacle of American politics.
He also has an unfathomable fondness for terrible American reality TV shows. And John Cougar Mellencamp.
"My father loves his music," Kurt explains, and he listens to it whenever he's feeling homesick. There's something extra-specially surreal about listening to Kurt, wearing his earbuds, singing along to "Little Pink Houses" and lowering his crystal clear voice to a growly, over-enunciated drawl.
(Actually, it's pretty adorable, and Blaine is trying very hard not become utterly besotted. Because what can he do about it reasonably? Not much.)
The focus of Blaine's efforts, therefore, is to make Kurt's time in Ohio memorable: The first weekend Kurt's there, Blaine gets two tickets to a local production of Rent for the Friday night. They sing together in the car all the way home. On Saturday, they tour the sights of Columbus. Sunday, Kurt is pretty wiped, still battling jetlag, so they line up a Hoarders marathon, order pizza, and wash it down with Coke Zero (which Kurt insists on calling it by its "proper" name, Coca-Cola Zero, and it’s weirdly sexy, the way Kurt’s mouth shapes the sounds). Kurt deems the evening Very American. The next weekend, they catch the annual sing-along Sound of Music on Friday and Six Flags on Saturday. Sunday they do their homework.
.
Blaine plans a picnic and horseback riding for Kurt's third weekend in Ohio. They visit every deli in Columbus to find the items Kurt wants to include in their lunchtime spread. Their basket ends up packed full of fresh bread and fruit and imported French cheeses, artichoke tapenade, little stuffed peppers and olives, a roasted vegetable salad, two kinds of hummus, a box of crumbly oat crackers, and bottles of sparkling mineral water. Then they drive out to the stables west of the city where the Andersons board their horses. Because Kurt's not spent much time around large animals, he's wary of Cooper's old mare, Diamond. But after Blaine cuts an apple for Kurt to feed her, she soon charms away his nerves. (It helps that Diamond, having been Cooper's horse, is, by necessity and years of conditioning, calm and easy-going.)
Through farmland and sparse forest, they leisurely follow trails. The spring sun is warm, but the breeze comes cool from the north. On a sheltered slope beneath a pink-budding maple, they spread their wool picnic blanket and have a late, lazy lunch while the horses graze nearby. Kurt tries to teach Blaine the correct French pronunciation of the few phrases Blaine's been learning, and they talk about the village where Kurt grew up.
Kurt has photos on his phone. The medieval buildings look like something out of a storybook. Blaine says something about Kurt living in a fairy tale land. To which Kurt rolls his eyes and makes some disparaging sounding comment in French. He explains that one of the reasons he wanted to come to the US for a semester was to escape a group of bullies at his school. The program with Dalton sounded like a good opportunity, and by the time Kurt returns home, the bullies will have finished school.
Blaine's surprised, but maybe there are some things common to small towns no matter where they are. He takes a deep breath, weighs it, and then tells Kurt about the Sadie Hawkin's dance and why he transferred to Dalton. When Blaine falls silent, Kurt takes his hand and squeezes his fingers. Blaine squeezes back and finds, in Kurt's smile, an intimacy and understanding he didn't expect.
The afternoon chills quickly as the sun descends westward. They repack the picnic basket as gray clouds creep along the horizon. There are no mishaps on the ride back, but Blaine notices Kurt moving stiffly once they're back at the barn brushing the saddle marks from the horses' sweaty backs. He teases Kurt, "You'll be eating off the mantle for a week."
There's another moment between them, when they're standing by the gate, watching the horses trot off to rejoin their little herd. Blaine looks at Kurt, and Kurt looks back with such an unguarded expression of warmth, that Blaine is tempted to kiss him—they're alone. He starts to lean in, close enough to catch the scent of sweat and leather that clings; but when Blaine sees the way Kurt's breath catches, he loses his nerve and pretends he’s just reaching to double check the gate latch. The moment passes.
Most of the following day Kurt spends in a hot bath, listening to Tokio Hotel on his iPod headphones and reading a racy European teen magazine with both naked girls and guys in it. (It’s not pornographic, but Blaine wonders how Kurt got it through customs.) While Kurt soaks away the soreness in his muscles, Blaine does his homework. He leaves his bedroom door open so he can listen to Kurt's endearingly off-key singing as it drifts down the hall.
.
For Easter break, though it's still weeks away, they make plans for a road trip to Graceland with Blaine’s parents, because Kurt also, apparently, likes Elvis Presley. (It's like Kurt's doing an accidental impression of Jean Reno in Godzilla every time he gives Blaine a swaggery Southern sounding attempt at, "Thank you. Thank you very much." Blaine laughs every damn time.)
.
Once Kurt has settled into the Anderson family's routines, he surprises Blaine by asking Blaine's mother's permission to cook a meal for them all. Then she surprises Blaine by saying yes. She's rarely let Blaine do much more in the kitchen than help her with the holiday baking, but Blaine gets the impression her expectations of Kurt's efforts are not high, and she's only granting her permission in the interest of hospitality.
It turns out Kurt's an amazing cook. He treats them all to one of his family's favorites. ("My grandmother's specialty," Kurt says proudly.) Kurt roasts a whole chicken in white wine and olive oil with all the vegetables in the same dish, and it's the best thing Blaine's ever eaten. At least it is until the next week, when Kurt makes a thin pizza-like bread topped with fresh white cheese, onions, and bacon for a late Sunday supper while they watch a Meg Ryan double-feature on the TV.
After that, Blaine's mother is happy to let Kurt cook a couple times each week. And Kurt lets Blaine help him in the kitchen, which is fun, because he's getting to spend more quality time with Kurt, and he's learning how to make some pretty tasty things himself. Kurt teaches him how to use the big chef's knife to dice onions and mince garlic, how fats and oils best carry the flavor of the dish, and which herbs can take the heat of cooking and which should go into a dish last to preserve their flavor.
On the night’s Kurt has cooked, there’s always a moment between them at the dinner table. It’s when Blaine has just taken his first bite, that he catches Kurt looking at him, soft and expectant. After Blaine swallows, he tells Kurt how wonderful the dish is, and the smile that blooms upon Kurt's lips feels like it's nourishing Blaine even more than the food.
But Kurt's not always the best teacher. Sometimes he's distracted, starts muttering to himself in French, and Blaine has to repeat a question a few times before Kurt hears him and responds. One night, Blaine burns the garlic he's sauteing in butter because Kurt won't tell him how hot the stove should be or how long Blaine needs to cook it before he adds the tomatoes. At the acrid stench of it, Kurt swears bitterly—something unfamiliar and emphatically not French—and says they need to start over. He's so curt about it, Blaine finds himself apologizing reflexively. He's never seen Kurt so perturbed.
"It's nothing, Blaine," Kurt says irritably, and he sighs as he wipes the burned butter from the pan.
Blaine's pretty sure it's not nothing, but it's not until after dinner (and a trip up to Kurt's room with a cup of tea) that he finds out what it actually is. Kurt's stepmother emailed earlier in the day to say she'd taken his father to the doctor with chest pains. His dad has a history of heart problems, and Kurt feels responsible, because he hasn't been home looking after him.
"Do you want to call home?" Blaine asks Kurt. "You're welcome to."
"Your parents won't mind?" Kurt asks.
"Of course not," Blaine says, but Kurt won't make the call until Blaine has double-checked with his mom and dad. Predictably, they say yes, so Kurt spends an hour on the phone with his father and stepmother in his bedroom. After he hangs up and emerges from his bedroom, he's all smiles, though his eyes are red-rimmed. "Can you believe? It was indigestion," Kurt says with a laugh. "I woke them. He's fine."
"I'm so glad he's okay," Blaine says and he hugs Kurt there in the hallway. He's relieved, too, that Kurt won't need to go home early. In his arms, Kurt is warm, adorably sniffly, and relaxed. His hair smells faintly of lavender from his evening shower. Blaine turns his face toward Kurt's neck and inhales, and that's when Blaine realizes, he really doesn't want Kurt to leave at all.
.
The following Saturday, Blaine's father takes them to the country club for a day of golf. Kurt is spectacularly, comically bad, but not too proud to laugh at himself. So the next week, when they go the the club, they swim instead, which Kurt does enjoy.
It's exhilarating to see so much of Kurt's body (he's pale and slim, but there's more muscle than Blaine expected to find under all the fancy clothes Kurt wears), and to be seen himself. Blaine catches Kurt looking at him with a slow smile and an interest that settles hot beneath Blaine's skin, and Blaine knows Kurt notices Blaine's appreciative looks back. But nothing happens.
They sit in the sauna and make small talk about the musical selections The Warblers’ council is mooting for Regionals. In the pauses of their conversation, Blaine entertains a porn worthy fantasy of Kurt taking off his towel and then taking off Blaine's towel and kissing him and sliding his hand down Blaine's belly and—
This isn't something Blaine should be daydreaming about in semi-public. He excuses himself and goes back to the pool to swim laps in the cool water until he's calmed himself.
.
(Blaine hears Kurt swear again—memorably—on another night, when he drops a jar of mustard that shatters all over the tile floor and splatters the cuffs of his trousers: "Himmel, Arsch, und Zwirn!" Kurt cries. It's delivered with such uncharacteristic venom, Blaine has to stifle a laugh. When Blaine inquires, Kurt runs a hand over his artlessly artful upswept hair, smiles sheepishly, and explains, "It's something my grandmother says.")
.
Most nights, they help each other with their homework, Blaine with Kurt's English assignments and American History essays; and Kurt, since he's a year ahead, helps Blaine with his Analytical Geometry and Chemistry. They watch a lot of movies together on the weekday evenings after they've finished their study. A lot of romantic comedies and musicals.
.
It's an ordinary Wednesday morning, over mugs of coffee, glasses of orange juice, and bowls of cereal, that his parents tell him that they'll be out overnight this upcoming Friday. Since Blaine's never given them a reason not to trust him on his own—and neither has Kurt—they'll be left only with a list of phone numbers in case of an emergency and a request to stay in for the evening (accompanied by two crisp twenty dollar bills with which to buy a delivery dinner of their choice).
Blaine wants it to be a good evening for them both, even though they've pledged to stay home. So Blaine makes plans: baking plans. He'll dazzle Kurt with homemade cheesecake and cookies and a marathon of golden age Disney animation in high definition. He emails his Aunt Jillian to ask for her lemon chocolate cheesecake recipe.
Because Blaine wants it to be a surprise, Friday afternoon, he banishes Kurt from the kitchen. His parents leave them with a cursory reminder not to do anything stupid.
.
Later that evening, the cheesecake remains an unrevealed surprise chilling in the fridge. They've had dinner (Chinese delivery), and are in the den with a plate of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies and tall glasses of iced Acaí Mango Zinger tea. Blaine pops open the case for Snow White and lifts up onto his knees to poke the open button on the Blu-ray player.
"Blaine?" Kurt interrupts. His querying tone is full of something unfamiliar that prickles the back of Blaine's neck.
"Hmm?" Blaine casually turns with the disc balanced on the tip of his index finger.
Kurt cocks his head to the side, and his smile turns sly. "I wonder..." Kurt says. He raises one eyebrow and curls his bottom lip between his teeth as his smile widens.
"Yes?" Blaine prompts. The look on Kurt's face has Blaine rapidly going the wrong temperature, but he can't tell if that's too hot or too cold.
"Eh, if you have something... more adult? Because we are alone tonight."
"Adult?" Blaine echoes.
"Yeah. Maybe you have a good porno?"
Blaine's eyes widen. "You, uh, you want to watch porn?"
"You don’t watch porn?" Kurt frowns at him.
"No. I mean, yes, I do, sometimes, just not, you know, with someone."
"Oh, okay," Kurt says, and he leans back, farther away from Blaine. "We don't have to anything that discomforts you." But he looks so disappointed as he glances down and fusses with the ends of his scarf. "Let's watch Snow White."
With a sinking feeling, Blaine realizes this might actually be A Moment—a chance for some undefinable more with Kurt—and he's missing it, messing it up, being stupid and unsophisticated, and Kurt will think him a little boy, and oh, god. He's got to pull it together.
"No, no," he says, "We can watch something together. I just... I've never done that before—most of the guys I know are straight—and it's, um, I guess, you know, it's cool. We can do that. Together. I'll uh, go get my computer." Blaine smiles as brightly as he can manage and stands up so fast he goes woozy for a second.
But Kurt's smile makes all his discomfort worthwhile. Blaine takes the stairs up to his room two at a time. He has no idea what the etiquette is for watching porn with someone. Are they meant to, like, jerk off together? (Or, god, jerk each other off?) Or just sit quietly, squirming and waiting to excuse themselves to separate bathrooms. He doesn't know. He hates that he doesn't know.
Blaine hesitates before grabbing the tissues from beside his bed, just in case. There's an unopened box of condoms in his night stand drawer that Cooper gave him last time he visited (and that had redefined mortifying for Blaine), and tonight, Blaine is glad they're there. But he doesn't take them with him. Leaves them, and the lube (which has been opened) tucked discreetly under the current issue of Rolling Stone.
.
Back downstairs, Blaine sets his laptop down with a quick smile at Kurt and then goes to root about in the drawer of the TV console, seeking the HDMI cable. Behind him, Kurt's scrolls through Blaine’s porn directory (labeled “8th Grade Civil War Report”) for something suitable. What Blaine has is largely free, amateur stuff. What he can get away with without rousing too much suspicion with his parents—or the sort of thing that, if they did find it on his computer, he wouldn't immediately want to die. It's pretty tame really. Mostly just guys sucking dicks.
"Is this everything you have?" Kurt asks just as Blaine finds the right cable. It's tangled up with a couple other cords, so he sets to untangling them.
"Um, pretty much?" Blaine says over his shoulder.
"Will it be okay if I look for something else?"
"Sure, go ahead."
He hears Kurt typing. "Tell me what you like? Other than, eh, what word do you use for it—fellation—when you go down, use your mouth?
"Blowjob," Blaine says quickly. "We call it a blowjob."
"Blowjob? All right. Well, you seem to like that. Anything else?"
"Uh, kissing?" Blaine says; it's the first thing that comes to mind.
Kurt doesn't say anything for a moment, and there's no keyboard noise, so Blaine turns to look back. Kurt's looking straight at him with his eyebrows raised and a flush dotting his cheeks. "Kissing? You mean—?"
"I mean," Blaine runs a hand over the back of his neck. "It doesn't have to be kissing, but I like it when I can see the guys' faces, when they seem to actually be into each other? Not just close up shots of..." Blaine makes an illustrative hand gesture toward his own crotch. (And regrets it instantly when Kurt's gaze drops and the corners of his lips quirk.)
"Ah. You don't like to watch fucking?" Kurt asks, slow to bring his gaze back up.
"Oh, I like it. I just don't save those ones. In case my parents—"
"I understand," Kurt says. "I'll find some fucking with kissing for you." He winks.
"Um, thanks?" Blaine says, and he carefully winds up the cables he doesn't need, puts them back in the drawer and slides it closed softly. He turns the TV so he can get one end of the HDMI cable plugged in. Takes the other end and knee-walks back to Kurt and his laptop.
"Do you like big men? Or, ah, hairy men? Like, eh... bears?"
Blaine shakes his head. "No, I like pretty... um, pretty guys. Like, slim and fair is kind of my... type?"
Kurt nods and types some more, clicks a few things, and then stops and stares at the screen. The volume is muted, so Blaine's not sure what he's looking at. Previewing something for Blaine, like he's some kind of personal porn shopper.
"May I see?" Blaine asks.
"Bien sûr," Kurt says and scoots sideways, angling the screen and waving for Blaine to come sit next to him.
Blaine kneels beside Kurt and looks. "Oh," Blaine says, because Kurt appears to be signed in to the VIP members section of a fairly swank looking European pay site. And the boys are definitely to Blaine's taste. Pretty and sleek, what body hair they have is neatly groomed. Best of all, they look like they're genuinely enjoying each other. The preview clip Kurt watches features a pale, dark-haired boy on his back while he gets fucked by a tanned blond boy, and the way he's looking up at his partner is kind of awestruck and adoring. Blaine really likes that. It sends rush of heat to his face. "That's, um. Yeah, that's definitely hot," Blaine says.
Blond boy leans down and sucks at dark-haired boy's jaw and throat, starts to fuck him deeper and harder, but slow, like he's making sure they can both feel everything. And dark-haired boy's brow is furrowed in some kind of ecstasy that makes Blaine ache to know the feeling himself. The way the guys mouth works, Blaine can tell he’s making noise. And with that, Blaine's pulse sinks even hotter and heavier, and his cock jolts hard behind the zipper of his jeans.
"You like this one?" Kurt asks.
"Yes," Blaine breathes.
"Okay," Kurt says, and he clicks the download button. "I'll return soon," he says then, and Blaine watches Kurt stand and head out of the room. Hears the basement door open and close twice and then the sound of a drawer and cupboard opening and closing in the kitchen followed by the clink of glassware.
Kurt returns with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. "To help relax us," Kurt says.
Blaine stares at the bottle. "We're not supposed to..."
"Have a little wine? It's okay," Kurt says.
"Um," Blaine says. He doesn't exactly have a moral issue here, more of an obedience one.
"I'll send your family a crate from one of our local vineyards to make up for it, ça ira?"
And since there's not much Blaine wants to deny Kurt right now. "Yeah, sure," Blaine says and he watches Kurt expertly uncork the bottle and pour two generous glasses of a Napa Valley Zinfandel. He passes one to Blaine.
Blaine's not even sure he likes wine. He takes a tentative sniff. It smells good, of plums, but, when he takes a sip, it doesn't taste as good as it smells; it's not very sweet at all, and he thinks something made out of fruit should taste sweet. It's nice and smooth in his mouth after he swallows, though, a warmth and creaminess lingers on the back of his tongue.
"Not bad," Kurt says as if he's not only praising the wine, but also encouraging Blaine to enjoy it.
Blaine sets his wine glass down to get the HDMI cable plugged in to the computer. He grabs the remote and punches through to the right input. Kurt arranges the big square floor cushions for them, adds a few throw pillows from the sofa. He leans back on one elbow and gets the video they just downloaded ready to play.
Next to Kurt, Blaine sits on the cushion and picks up his glass. He takes a large mouthful of wine, swallows it without really tasting it. The computer rests between them, but it’s not much of a boundary. Blaine's so aware of his body and everything. He can't figure out how to arrange his legs or where to put his hands, or— He ends up sitting cross-legged with his hands folded together cradling the wineglass. He's grateful to have something to occupy his hands. He takes another mouthful. Can feel a buzzy sort of loosening in his head and body as the alcohol warms his throat. Maybe he’s drinking it too fast. Kurt sips his wine, stretches his long legs out in front of him, and clicks play.
The movie starts. Dark-haired boy is sprawled in a plush, vintage armchair in an airy sun-drenched room. He's wearing a tight white t-shirt and cut-off denim shorts, and he's reading a book. Blond boy comes in through a pair of french doors that open to the outside. The gauzy white curtains float in the breeze. He's shirtless, in swim trunks, toweling his hair dry. He says something in a language Blaine doesn't recognize, and there are no subtitles. But it's warm and affectionate, and dark-haired boy looks up with a smile and sets his book down on the floor.
Then Kurt’s voice comes, low and unexpectedly near: "He said, 'I worked up a large appetite while I was swimming. I was thinking about you.'"
"Oh!" Blaine startles and blinks. Kurt's leaning over toward him, well into his space, and his voice—a private murmur between them like this—it's not only that he's translating the porn that makes Blaine's heart fumble its next beat. "It's okay," Blaine says in a rush. "You don't need to translate. I’m sure I... get the general idea." He tries to smile at Kurt, but he can't tell if he succeeds.
With a nod, Kurt smiles back, and they both turn their attention back to the screen.
It's not long before blond boy is the one sitting in the chair, and dark-haired boy is straddling blond boy's lap, grinding against him—having lost his his t-shirt—and they're kissing. There's a lot of kissing, both tender and sweet, and deep and hungry; and, yeah, they both seem to be into it. The muffled whimpers and soft groans they're sharing don't sound forced at all.
Blaine sits up straighter as the boys lose the rest of their clothes and share more intimate touches. (Dark-haired boy is now kneeling on the floor, and blond boy’s legs are spread wide, draped over the arms of the chair. Dark-haired boy alternates between licking blond boy's dick and sucking his balls.) With a shudder, Blaine tightens his grip on the stem of the wineglass and determinedly does not look at Kurt. In his peripheral vision he's aware of Kurt looking at him every now and then, gauging his response or something. Blaine knows he's losing ground in the battle to maintain his composure.
With each heartbeat, his whole body throbs hotter, sweat prickles across his scalp, and the demanding corkscrew of his arousal twists low and tight. His hand shakes as he raises his glass to his lips and takes another long sip of wine. It doesn’t seem to be helping him relax. He's feeling a little muzzy-headed. Though he's not sure if it's the wine or how turned on he is, or that he's watching porn with someone—or that it's Kurt, on whom he's been nurturing a crush since he first said "Bonjour!" in the airport. Blaine has to open his mouth to keep breathing, and his breath comes too loud and ragged. His face is so hot—he's sweating across his chest and shoulders now—and behind the unyielding trap of denim, his cock pounds. The boys on the screen are gleaming and naked and have moved to a bed with rumpled white sheets. Blond boy's working his fingers into dark-haired boy's ass. He's smiling with delight at dark-haired boy's enjoyment.
Blaine stares as blond boy starts thrusting, fucking dark-haired boy with his hand; dark-haired boy squirms and cries out loudly, and the sound of it and the way his face is screwed up with pleasure, how lost he looks to it, shoots a visceral spear of arousal through Blaine so sharp it makes him gasp audibly and swear.
Blaine snaps his mouth closed and holds his breath, feeling like his chest will explode.
Then, "Blaine?" Kurt asks.
It’s irresistible, his name spoken so sweetly in Kurt’s voice. Blaine tears his gaze from the screen and makes himself blink for what feels like the first time since they started watching.
"Yes?" he replies. Kurt is turned toward him, his face half shadowed, half lit by the TV screen, looking at him with a tentative smile and a steady, evaluating gaze.
"Come here?" Kurt asks, but he may as well have commanded Blaine, for Blaine is pushing the laptop to the side and crawling toward Kurt before he's even processed the question and its implications. His heartbeat drums up in his throat like something alive is trapped beneath his skin.
"Yes," Blaine says, to whatever it is Kurt wants, and Kurt leans over to meet him with soft, parted lips and warm breath pressed right to Blaine's mouth. And, oh, they're kissing, and it's warm and a little bit damp and the taste of the wine on Kurt's mouth is completely delicious. It's so much better than that time when he was eleven and Blaine kissed his friend Janice just to see what kissing was like. It wasn't like this.
The tip of Kurt's tongue skims across his bottom lip and Kurt brings a hand up to cup Blaine's face, presses gently at Blaine's chin with his thumb, encouraging Blaine to open for him. Willingly, Blaine opens his mouth and closes his eyes, and Kurt's tongue slides between his lips, a deep, searching kiss.
Rhythmic sounds of sex still come from the TV: moans, increasing in volume and desperation, the slap of skin, wetter sounds, the raunchy thud of the soundtrack music. It's not how Blaine would ever have imagined his first kiss with a boy: background porn while he's desperately hard in his pants, feeling like if Kurt touches him anywhere else, he's going to unravel into the desperate sweating desire burning up his insides.
When Kurt withdraws from the kiss, Blaine opens his eyes and says, "Please?" What he's asking for exactly, he's got no particular idea, just something he's sure Kurt can give him.
"What do you want?" Kurt asks him. One eye flares in the flickering light, a bright blue halo around his widely dilated pupil.
Blaine swallows. "Anything. You. God, anything."
"You're trembling," Kurt says. His fingertips are cool upon the hot skin of Blaine's temple.
"You kissed me," Blaine says. Light-headed, dizzy with wine and the want for more of Kurt's kisses and touch, Blaine sits back on his heels.
"Oui," Kurt says, and he reaches over to snap the lid of the laptop down. The room instantly quiets and darkens to just the one dim floor lamp by the sofa. "I've wanted to kiss you for a long time."
"Me too," Blaine whispers.
And then Kurt's moving close and kissing him again, and his hand is falling from Blaine's face to rest high upon Blaine's leg, stroking across the crease between Blaine's thigh and groin, and that touch tugs at the denim across Blaine's erection. The slightest pressure of touch without actually being touch, it's enough that Blaine's pressing up against Kurt's hand and little eager sounds are creeping, unbidden, up the back of his throat.
"Mmm," Kurt hums as he breaks the kiss again, he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and regards Blaine with intense curiosity. "Anything?"
"Uh huh."
"Then," Kurt says and he looks down at where his hand is, moves to drag one fingertip lightly along the prominent ridge of Blaine's cock (Blaine shivers and makes an incoherent noise). "I'll like to do a blowjob for you," Kurt says.
"Oh," Blaine says, and it takes his brain a nanosecond longer to fully parse Kurt's grammar. Then he flushes furnace hot, everywhere. "Yeah, yeah, that's... I'd like that too." He smiles through his nerves.
"Good," Kurt says. He kisses Blaine on the cheek. "Lie down," he says, and then he's scooting back and tugging Blaine's legs, to straighten Blaine's body out and pull him supine, and Blaine obediently sinks back against the large pillow he'd been sitting on. Uses one foot to push the laptop farther aside.
Without hesitation, Kurt hands are on his belt, unfastening the buckle with quick efficiency, and then he's slipping the button through its hole and pulling down the zipper.
And, "I've never—" Blaine blurts out.
Kurt's attention returns to Blaine's face. "Never...?"
"No one's ever touched me before," Blaine says. "Like this."
"Ah." Now Kurt hesitates, but he looks pleased. "I thought maybe so, but I wasn't sure."
That makes Blaine wonder if this was Kurt's plan for the night: to seduce him. He rather likes the idea, that they both had plans for each other. He thinks a blowjob probably trumps cheesecake though. "I'm glad it's you," he says.
"I'm glad too," Kurt says, and then his hands start moving again, and Blaine sucks in his belly and watches Kurt open his pants. "You're going to feel so good, Blaine," Kurt says. Blaine lifts his hips as Kurt tugs his jeans down his legs. "I want you to know," he continues, "you may come in my mouth. I want it, okay? So don't worry about that. Don't hold back."
"Oh," Blaine says, because—wow, yeah—this is what they're doing.
Kurt grins at Blaine as he works his jeans down his thighs, and then, he leaves them there and shifts up again, running his fingertips in symmetrical arcs along the leg bands of Blaine's navy and gray striped briefs. "You're so handsome," Kurt says. "So sexy."
"Thanks," Blaine says, and he feels surprisingly gratified by the praise and the weight of Kurt's scrutiny. Anticipation is a fine, high frequency buzz beneath his skin, and he's so turned on his balls ache.
Kurt pushes Blaine's shirt up, and Blaine pulls his arms free. With more of his body bared to Kurt, Blaine shivers as Kurt leans down and kisses his breastbone. Kurt strokes over Blaine's ribs, circles and rubs his nipples with his thumbs. It's ticklish and electric and threading right into the pleasure simmering between Blaine's legs. And Blaine still isn't sure what to do with his hands.
"Kurt..." he says, twisting beneath Kurt's hands and mouth.
"How are you? Are you fine?"
"Yeah... yeah, I'm just... I really want you." He puts a hand on Kurt's shoulder, makes a fist in the fabric and tugs. "Would you?" he asks, "Take this off for me, please?"
Kurt straightens, unwinds his scarf, unbuttons his shirt, and shrugs it from his shoulders. Kneeling above Blaine, bare chested in the low golden light, Kurt asks, "Better?"
Blaine reaches to touch his skin, traces over the smooth shadowed definition of his torso, and says, "God, you're gorgeous."
With a smile, Kurt tilts his chin up and straightens his shoulders, improving the line of his upper body and letting Blaine look as he touches. But soon enough, Kurt's done with being admired, and he's reaching for Blaine's underwear, pulling the waistband down, and exposing Blaine's blood heavy cock. The carpet is an unfriendly texture beneath Blaine's ass, but, with Kurt’s attention upon him, he doesn't care.
"Oh, Blaine," Kurt says, looking down, and he takes one hand back to himself, presses over his own crotch, and Blaine realizes that Kurt may be just as turned on as he is, and that's really hot, that Kurt's feeling this way too—at least in part because of Blaine. He guesses though, that Kurt has had more practice at being turned on with another person and still functioning. This is clearly not Kurt's first time doing this.
Kurt lowers himself down, curls one hand beneath Blaine's shaft and nuzzles at him: the bump of his nose and the soft, barely there brush of his lips. Kurt inhales deeply through his nose and then lets the breath out in a warm sigh over Blaine's flesh. Hums as his lips trail up to the head of Blaine's cock. Then his lips part and his tongue comes out, and Blaine nearly chokes on his moan. Kurt kisses and licks and mouths at the crown of Blaine's cock, seems to instinctively know all the places to rub his lips and flick and slide his tongue to get Blaine's pulse racing and every muscle straining.
"Kurt," Blaine says. "Oh, god."
"Mmm," Kurt replies, vibrating around him as he opens wider and sucks Blaine in.
"Oh! Oh... oh," Blaine says. The enveloping heat, the strong wet pull of Kurt's mouth, the clever stroke of his tongue... The sensation gathers up tight and bright and fast, in his balls, behind his eyes, along every nerve. Blaine digs the fingers of one hand into the side of his thigh, the others into the short pile of the carpet, and he tries not to come, because this is too incredible to let it be over so soon. But he is going to come if Kurt keeps going like this. "W-wait!" he says. "Stop for a sec."
Kurt stops immediately, eases his mouth off Blaine, and Blaine exhales and blinks, tries to catch his breath. Kurt lifts his head. "Did you change your mind?" Kurt asks.
"No, no, I just, um. Didn't want it to be over so fast?"
"Then relax," Kurt says, rubbing his thigh. "There's no rush."
"I know, you're really good at that though. Maybe too good."
Kurt smirks at him. It's a new expression. "Put your hands in my hair," Kurt says.
"Okay," Blaine breathes out. He reaches down with one hand, pushes his fingers into the thick, product stiffened sweep of Kurt's hair. It's softer than it looks as his fingers break the fragile hold of Kurt's hairspray.
"That's good," Kurt says; his eyelids flutter with pleasure.
"Yeah?" Blaine moves his other hand down, curiously presses his fingertips more firmly against Kurt's scalp.
"Mmm, oui." Kurt says, a little breathless; he leans his head into Blaine's hold. "I like it."
Blaine grins and tugs at Kurt's hair gently, experimentally, sees how it makes a tremor ripple across his shoulders. Then he does it again, because its amazing to be able to affect Kurt like this. Kurt's eyes slip shut and his satisfied hum rumbles deeper in his chest. Blaine half expects him to start purring.
Eventually Kurt blinks his eyes open and speaks again, "If you want slower or faster, use your hands to show me," he says. "Push or pull, okay?"
Blaine nods.
"Permit yourself to enjoy me, Blaine," Kurt says, and he lowers his head again.
He takes Blaine's back into his mouth slowly, suckles only softly around him, and Blaine tries to relax and just feel: the fine strands of Kurt's hair between his fingers, the slight shifting of Kurt's scalp beneath his massaging fingertips, the glorious warmth and slide of Kurt's mouth on his cock, the wonderful burr of Kurt's low moans around him.
Kurt finds an easy rhythm without much guidance from Blaine's hands. Not too fast, but fast enough that Blaine feels his pleasure gathering up again. "So good," Blaine murmurs, contents himself with carelessly petting through Kurt's hair. "Don't stop."
Without stopping, Kurt shakes his head and flicks an indignant look up at Blaine that makes Blaine laugh through his next whimper.
He floats, warm and weightless in a fog of bliss.
It gets quieter for a while. Not silent, but Blaine's pleasure muffled cries give way to deep rasping breaths, and Kurt's hums come softer and shorter, interspersed with little wet slurps that escape the seal of his lips on each push down and the rush of Kurt's breath through his nose on each pull up. It doesn't sound like porn. It's more intimate—both more familiar and more specific. It's Kurt's voice and it's his voice.
And it feels—god it feels better than he's ever imagined. (And Blaine likes to think his imagination functions pretty well.) But Kurt doing this for him, beautiful, funny, odd, sweet Kurt, with his lips wrapped so hungrily and tenderly around Blaine's cock. Blaine clutches a tight fistful of Kurt's hair; Kurt moans abruptly more loudly, and sucks harder, and Blaine's spine arches; he thrusts up—deeper—and he swears to shame Kurt's grandmother.
Kurt pulls up and off with a pop and wraps his fist snug around Blaine's cock, thumb and forefinger looped firm below the head, "Use my mouth," Kurt says.
"Wha—?"
“You’re close?”
“Yes.”
"Fuck my mouth," he says. "Okay?" And then he's sinking back down, slick and snug and perfect around Blaine's cockhead until his lips meet the hold of his hand. Blaine grips Kurt's hair and pushes, sliding up through Kurt's closed fist and between his lips, and then he draws back, only to push back in again, and Kurt takes him gorgeously.
"Oh, Kurt, I—" Faster, a little harder—he takes more—and Kurt groans. Blaine sees his eyes roll back just as his eyelids droop shut.
A single-minded focus moves Blaine, has him reaching for and catching hold of the edge of his orgasm. Obscene sounds from Kurt's mouth, Kurt's voice, ragged and needy, engulfing him, so much heat in his belly and his balls, bursting behind his eyes, squeezing at his throat. Blaine pushes deep, holds on tight, and comes.
Kurt lets go with his hand and slides down even farther with his mouth, seems to open wider somehow, takes all of Blaine with a pleased hum, swallows everything.
"Holy..." Blaine says, and releases Kurt's hair gingerly. Pets soothingly.
Kurt withdraws from Blaine's cock in turn, clears his throat, and presses a soft, parting kiss to Blaine's shaft. Then Kurt crawls up to nuzzle at Blaine's cheek. "Beautiful," Kurt murmurs near his ear, breathing hard. "You are so good. So good."
"Kurt," Blaine says, savors the consonants of Kurt's name on his tongue and teeth as much as he savors the sweat slick-sticky between their naked skins. He runs his hands down the heated slope of Kurt's spine. "That was—oh my god—fantastic."
Kurt pushes up on his arms and looks down at Blaine; there's urgency seething in his gaze, and his chest heaves. Blaine realizes, of course, Kurt hasn't come yet. "Will you do something for me now?" Kurt asks, airless and low. There's nothing but sweet entreaty in his shaking voice; it's not a demand. "S'il te plait?"
"Yeah, yeah, oh, of course," Blaine says, slides a hand up to the base of Kurt's skull, buries his fingers there and pulls Kurt down for a kiss. Tastes himself. Which brings an inquisitive rush of heat straight back to his groin.
The only trouble is, he's not sure what exactly to do for Kurt. Using his hand, after what Kurt did for him, seems less than what he wants to give Kurt, but he's also certain he cannot replicate anything like Kurt's skill with the blowjob, and he doesn't want to be disappointing—gag or accidentally bite or something equally inept.
Blaine presses up into the kiss more deeply, tugs at Kurt to come down into his arms. The soft twill of Kurt's pants is rough against his sensitive cock, and he can feel vividly the thick shape of Kurt's unsatisfied desire against him. Twice, Kurt jerks his hips against Blaine, restless and sudden, and then stills with a small needful sound. Blaine thinks about the boy in the video then, the dark-haired one, his face in the preview clip, about how much Blaine feels the way that boy had looked: adoring and a little awestruck. Wonders if Kurt is thinking about it too, about maybe fucking Blaine like the blond boy had fucked the dark-haired boy. Blaine wants to know if Kurt wants him like that. If Kurt wants to use Blaine's body to indulge his own pleasure.
It's a profound thrill to think about it, Kurt desiring him in that way, his body. Blaine wants it, wants to be the origin and the focus of Kurt's desire, wants even more to be the satisfaction of it. So Blaine withdraws from the kiss, licks his lips, and says softly, "You can fuck me."
He doesn't add a querying if you want. Kurt's eyes widen, surprised. But as Blaine holds Kurt's gaze, Kurt's expression softens into understanding.
Kurt brings a hand to Blaine's cheek. His palm is warm, folded at the angle of Blaine's jaw, and his thumb rubs across Blaine's bottom lip. Blaine flicks his tongue out to meet it, and tastes salt and sex— some mixture of Kurt's skin and his own intimate flavor from where Kurt's been touching him. "You want me? For doing that first with you?" Kurt asks.
"I can't imagine ever wanting anyone more than I want you right now," Blaine says, and he means it with every piece of himself.
Kurt leans down, until his lips are close enough to Blaine's that Blaine feels his breath and Kurt's face is blurry. He murmurs, "You'll be so good for me, won't you, Blaine?"
"Yes," Blaine says, tipping his head back to invite a kiss. But the kiss never comes.
"But... " Kurt says, glancing away with a grimace. "I don't want to do it on your living room floor."
"Oh, no," Blaine says. "No, not here. I have everything we need in my room."
"Then," Kurt says, and there's an unexpected alluring shyness in his gaze. "I want to go to your room."
The cheesecake can wait.
.
Next »
Title: Coup de Foudre (2/3)
Wordcount: ~10,500 overall
Rating: MA
Pairing(s): Kurt/Blaine
Genre: Erotica, WAFF, PWPish, Romance
Warning(s): sex, language, probably too much sweetness, embarrassment, mild alcohol use, porn watching
Prompt(s): Written for Anonymous' AU ficlet prompt: Klaine and one of them is a foreign exchange student.
Notes: Thank you to gettinglostinneverland for cultural advice and beta reading! This story wouldn't exist without her encouragement and inspiration. An extra thank you to nuestroamoresunviaje for some help with a key French phrase, and to teiledesganzen for insightful and interesting responses to my questions about German swearing. :) And, an additional thank you to Soizic and cymeteria. Cymeteria has been so generous with her Alsatian language & cultural advice and very patient with all my questions. <3 Any remaining flaws are not due to their diligence!
Summary: (AU) Blaine knows falling in love with the exchange student from Alsace is unwise, but he finds he cannot resist Kurt's charm. (Or, the tale of how Blaine Anderson lost his virginity to the hot French exchange student.)
Bonus playlist & art from gettinglostinneverland! She put together a wonderul bunch of songs by Tokio Hotel for Kurt along with perfect CD cover art here.
Previously: 1. Prologue
2. Seduction
Despite the airport flirtation, nothing much happens between them at first—nothing romantic or sexy anyway. Which is fine, because there may be something unwise about trying to kindle a romance with someone who'll be living with his family on exchange, someone who's going to return home, across an ocean, in just a few months. Who wants to court a broken heart? Or worse, who wants to be the cause of one?
So, no matter how cute or sexy Kurt is, and no matter how often Blaine catches Kurt looking at him (or Kurt catches Blaine looking back), Blaine does his best to refrain from making any overtures of romance. They do a lot together regardless. Which is both a relief and a delight, since Blaine wasn't sure if they'd get along well at all, or if Kurt would simply find his own friends at Dalton, and he and Blaine would be little more than roommates to one another.
But it turns out they have a lot in common. Kurt auditions for The Warblers, and they're ready to beg him to join before he's sung more than a few bars of "Defying Gravity". He loves American musicals—is obsessed with both Broadway theater and Disney films, reads Vogue religiously, and (unexpectedly) enjoys the spectacle of American politics.
He also has an unfathomable fondness for terrible American reality TV shows. And John Cougar Mellencamp.
"My father loves his music," Kurt explains, and he listens to it whenever he's feeling homesick. There's something extra-specially surreal about listening to Kurt, wearing his earbuds, singing along to "Little Pink Houses" and lowering his crystal clear voice to a growly, over-enunciated drawl.
(Actually, it's pretty adorable, and Blaine is trying very hard not become utterly besotted. Because what can he do about it reasonably? Not much.)
The focus of Blaine's efforts, therefore, is to make Kurt's time in Ohio memorable: The first weekend Kurt's there, Blaine gets two tickets to a local production of Rent for the Friday night. They sing together in the car all the way home. On Saturday, they tour the sights of Columbus. Sunday, Kurt is pretty wiped, still battling jetlag, so they line up a Hoarders marathon, order pizza, and wash it down with Coke Zero (which Kurt insists on calling it by its "proper" name, Coca-Cola Zero, and it’s weirdly sexy, the way Kurt’s mouth shapes the sounds). Kurt deems the evening Very American. The next weekend, they catch the annual sing-along Sound of Music on Friday and Six Flags on Saturday. Sunday they do their homework.
.
Blaine plans a picnic and horseback riding for Kurt's third weekend in Ohio. They visit every deli in Columbus to find the items Kurt wants to include in their lunchtime spread. Their basket ends up packed full of fresh bread and fruit and imported French cheeses, artichoke tapenade, little stuffed peppers and olives, a roasted vegetable salad, two kinds of hummus, a box of crumbly oat crackers, and bottles of sparkling mineral water. Then they drive out to the stables west of the city where the Andersons board their horses. Because Kurt's not spent much time around large animals, he's wary of Cooper's old mare, Diamond. But after Blaine cuts an apple for Kurt to feed her, she soon charms away his nerves. (It helps that Diamond, having been Cooper's horse, is, by necessity and years of conditioning, calm and easy-going.)
Through farmland and sparse forest, they leisurely follow trails. The spring sun is warm, but the breeze comes cool from the north. On a sheltered slope beneath a pink-budding maple, they spread their wool picnic blanket and have a late, lazy lunch while the horses graze nearby. Kurt tries to teach Blaine the correct French pronunciation of the few phrases Blaine's been learning, and they talk about the village where Kurt grew up.
Kurt has photos on his phone. The medieval buildings look like something out of a storybook. Blaine says something about Kurt living in a fairy tale land. To which Kurt rolls his eyes and makes some disparaging sounding comment in French. He explains that one of the reasons he wanted to come to the US for a semester was to escape a group of bullies at his school. The program with Dalton sounded like a good opportunity, and by the time Kurt returns home, the bullies will have finished school.
Blaine's surprised, but maybe there are some things common to small towns no matter where they are. He takes a deep breath, weighs it, and then tells Kurt about the Sadie Hawkin's dance and why he transferred to Dalton. When Blaine falls silent, Kurt takes his hand and squeezes his fingers. Blaine squeezes back and finds, in Kurt's smile, an intimacy and understanding he didn't expect.
The afternoon chills quickly as the sun descends westward. They repack the picnic basket as gray clouds creep along the horizon. There are no mishaps on the ride back, but Blaine notices Kurt moving stiffly once they're back at the barn brushing the saddle marks from the horses' sweaty backs. He teases Kurt, "You'll be eating off the mantle for a week."
There's another moment between them, when they're standing by the gate, watching the horses trot off to rejoin their little herd. Blaine looks at Kurt, and Kurt looks back with such an unguarded expression of warmth, that Blaine is tempted to kiss him—they're alone. He starts to lean in, close enough to catch the scent of sweat and leather that clings; but when Blaine sees the way Kurt's breath catches, he loses his nerve and pretends he’s just reaching to double check the gate latch. The moment passes.
Most of the following day Kurt spends in a hot bath, listening to Tokio Hotel on his iPod headphones and reading a racy European teen magazine with both naked girls and guys in it. (It’s not pornographic, but Blaine wonders how Kurt got it through customs.) While Kurt soaks away the soreness in his muscles, Blaine does his homework. He leaves his bedroom door open so he can listen to Kurt's endearingly off-key singing as it drifts down the hall.
.
For Easter break, though it's still weeks away, they make plans for a road trip to Graceland with Blaine’s parents, because Kurt also, apparently, likes Elvis Presley. (It's like Kurt's doing an accidental impression of Jean Reno in Godzilla every time he gives Blaine a swaggery Southern sounding attempt at, "Thank you. Thank you very much." Blaine laughs every damn time.)
.
Once Kurt has settled into the Anderson family's routines, he surprises Blaine by asking Blaine's mother's permission to cook a meal for them all. Then she surprises Blaine by saying yes. She's rarely let Blaine do much more in the kitchen than help her with the holiday baking, but Blaine gets the impression her expectations of Kurt's efforts are not high, and she's only granting her permission in the interest of hospitality.
It turns out Kurt's an amazing cook. He treats them all to one of his family's favorites. ("My grandmother's specialty," Kurt says proudly.) Kurt roasts a whole chicken in white wine and olive oil with all the vegetables in the same dish, and it's the best thing Blaine's ever eaten. At least it is until the next week, when Kurt makes a thin pizza-like bread topped with fresh white cheese, onions, and bacon for a late Sunday supper while they watch a Meg Ryan double-feature on the TV.
After that, Blaine's mother is happy to let Kurt cook a couple times each week. And Kurt lets Blaine help him in the kitchen, which is fun, because he's getting to spend more quality time with Kurt, and he's learning how to make some pretty tasty things himself. Kurt teaches him how to use the big chef's knife to dice onions and mince garlic, how fats and oils best carry the flavor of the dish, and which herbs can take the heat of cooking and which should go into a dish last to preserve their flavor.
On the night’s Kurt has cooked, there’s always a moment between them at the dinner table. It’s when Blaine has just taken his first bite, that he catches Kurt looking at him, soft and expectant. After Blaine swallows, he tells Kurt how wonderful the dish is, and the smile that blooms upon Kurt's lips feels like it's nourishing Blaine even more than the food.
But Kurt's not always the best teacher. Sometimes he's distracted, starts muttering to himself in French, and Blaine has to repeat a question a few times before Kurt hears him and responds. One night, Blaine burns the garlic he's sauteing in butter because Kurt won't tell him how hot the stove should be or how long Blaine needs to cook it before he adds the tomatoes. At the acrid stench of it, Kurt swears bitterly—something unfamiliar and emphatically not French—and says they need to start over. He's so curt about it, Blaine finds himself apologizing reflexively. He's never seen Kurt so perturbed.
"It's nothing, Blaine," Kurt says irritably, and he sighs as he wipes the burned butter from the pan.
Blaine's pretty sure it's not nothing, but it's not until after dinner (and a trip up to Kurt's room with a cup of tea) that he finds out what it actually is. Kurt's stepmother emailed earlier in the day to say she'd taken his father to the doctor with chest pains. His dad has a history of heart problems, and Kurt feels responsible, because he hasn't been home looking after him.
"Do you want to call home?" Blaine asks Kurt. "You're welcome to."
"Your parents won't mind?" Kurt asks.
"Of course not," Blaine says, but Kurt won't make the call until Blaine has double-checked with his mom and dad. Predictably, they say yes, so Kurt spends an hour on the phone with his father and stepmother in his bedroom. After he hangs up and emerges from his bedroom, he's all smiles, though his eyes are red-rimmed. "Can you believe? It was indigestion," Kurt says with a laugh. "I woke them. He's fine."
"I'm so glad he's okay," Blaine says and he hugs Kurt there in the hallway. He's relieved, too, that Kurt won't need to go home early. In his arms, Kurt is warm, adorably sniffly, and relaxed. His hair smells faintly of lavender from his evening shower. Blaine turns his face toward Kurt's neck and inhales, and that's when Blaine realizes, he really doesn't want Kurt to leave at all.
.
The following Saturday, Blaine's father takes them to the country club for a day of golf. Kurt is spectacularly, comically bad, but not too proud to laugh at himself. So the next week, when they go the the club, they swim instead, which Kurt does enjoy.
It's exhilarating to see so much of Kurt's body (he's pale and slim, but there's more muscle than Blaine expected to find under all the fancy clothes Kurt wears), and to be seen himself. Blaine catches Kurt looking at him with a slow smile and an interest that settles hot beneath Blaine's skin, and Blaine knows Kurt notices Blaine's appreciative looks back. But nothing happens.
They sit in the sauna and make small talk about the musical selections The Warblers’ council is mooting for Regionals. In the pauses of their conversation, Blaine entertains a porn worthy fantasy of Kurt taking off his towel and then taking off Blaine's towel and kissing him and sliding his hand down Blaine's belly and—
This isn't something Blaine should be daydreaming about in semi-public. He excuses himself and goes back to the pool to swim laps in the cool water until he's calmed himself.
.
(Blaine hears Kurt swear again—memorably—on another night, when he drops a jar of mustard that shatters all over the tile floor and splatters the cuffs of his trousers: "Himmel, Arsch, und Zwirn!" Kurt cries. It's delivered with such uncharacteristic venom, Blaine has to stifle a laugh. When Blaine inquires, Kurt runs a hand over his artlessly artful upswept hair, smiles sheepishly, and explains, "It's something my grandmother says.")
.
Most nights, they help each other with their homework, Blaine with Kurt's English assignments and American History essays; and Kurt, since he's a year ahead, helps Blaine with his Analytical Geometry and Chemistry. They watch a lot of movies together on the weekday evenings after they've finished their study. A lot of romantic comedies and musicals.
.
It's an ordinary Wednesday morning, over mugs of coffee, glasses of orange juice, and bowls of cereal, that his parents tell him that they'll be out overnight this upcoming Friday. Since Blaine's never given them a reason not to trust him on his own—and neither has Kurt—they'll be left only with a list of phone numbers in case of an emergency and a request to stay in for the evening (accompanied by two crisp twenty dollar bills with which to buy a delivery dinner of their choice).
Blaine wants it to be a good evening for them both, even though they've pledged to stay home. So Blaine makes plans: baking plans. He'll dazzle Kurt with homemade cheesecake and cookies and a marathon of golden age Disney animation in high definition. He emails his Aunt Jillian to ask for her lemon chocolate cheesecake recipe.
Because Blaine wants it to be a surprise, Friday afternoon, he banishes Kurt from the kitchen. His parents leave them with a cursory reminder not to do anything stupid.
.
Later that evening, the cheesecake remains an unrevealed surprise chilling in the fridge. They've had dinner (Chinese delivery), and are in the den with a plate of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies and tall glasses of iced Acaí Mango Zinger tea. Blaine pops open the case for Snow White and lifts up onto his knees to poke the open button on the Blu-ray player.
"Blaine?" Kurt interrupts. His querying tone is full of something unfamiliar that prickles the back of Blaine's neck.
"Hmm?" Blaine casually turns with the disc balanced on the tip of his index finger.
Kurt cocks his head to the side, and his smile turns sly. "I wonder..." Kurt says. He raises one eyebrow and curls his bottom lip between his teeth as his smile widens.
"Yes?" Blaine prompts. The look on Kurt's face has Blaine rapidly going the wrong temperature, but he can't tell if that's too hot or too cold.
"Eh, if you have something... more adult? Because we are alone tonight."
"Adult?" Blaine echoes.
"Yeah. Maybe you have a good porno?"
Blaine's eyes widen. "You, uh, you want to watch porn?"
"You don’t watch porn?" Kurt frowns at him.
"No. I mean, yes, I do, sometimes, just not, you know, with someone."
"Oh, okay," Kurt says, and he leans back, farther away from Blaine. "We don't have to anything that discomforts you." But he looks so disappointed as he glances down and fusses with the ends of his scarf. "Let's watch Snow White."
With a sinking feeling, Blaine realizes this might actually be A Moment—a chance for some undefinable more with Kurt—and he's missing it, messing it up, being stupid and unsophisticated, and Kurt will think him a little boy, and oh, god. He's got to pull it together.
"No, no," he says, "We can watch something together. I just... I've never done that before—most of the guys I know are straight—and it's, um, I guess, you know, it's cool. We can do that. Together. I'll uh, go get my computer." Blaine smiles as brightly as he can manage and stands up so fast he goes woozy for a second.
But Kurt's smile makes all his discomfort worthwhile. Blaine takes the stairs up to his room two at a time. He has no idea what the etiquette is for watching porn with someone. Are they meant to, like, jerk off together? (Or, god, jerk each other off?) Or just sit quietly, squirming and waiting to excuse themselves to separate bathrooms. He doesn't know. He hates that he doesn't know.
Blaine hesitates before grabbing the tissues from beside his bed, just in case. There's an unopened box of condoms in his night stand drawer that Cooper gave him last time he visited (and that had redefined mortifying for Blaine), and tonight, Blaine is glad they're there. But he doesn't take them with him. Leaves them, and the lube (which has been opened) tucked discreetly under the current issue of Rolling Stone.
.
Back downstairs, Blaine sets his laptop down with a quick smile at Kurt and then goes to root about in the drawer of the TV console, seeking the HDMI cable. Behind him, Kurt's scrolls through Blaine’s porn directory (labeled “8th Grade Civil War Report”) for something suitable. What Blaine has is largely free, amateur stuff. What he can get away with without rousing too much suspicion with his parents—or the sort of thing that, if they did find it on his computer, he wouldn't immediately want to die. It's pretty tame really. Mostly just guys sucking dicks.
"Is this everything you have?" Kurt asks just as Blaine finds the right cable. It's tangled up with a couple other cords, so he sets to untangling them.
"Um, pretty much?" Blaine says over his shoulder.
"Will it be okay if I look for something else?"
"Sure, go ahead."
He hears Kurt typing. "Tell me what you like? Other than, eh, what word do you use for it—fellation—when you go down, use your mouth?
"Blowjob," Blaine says quickly. "We call it a blowjob."
"Blowjob? All right. Well, you seem to like that. Anything else?"
"Uh, kissing?" Blaine says; it's the first thing that comes to mind.
Kurt doesn't say anything for a moment, and there's no keyboard noise, so Blaine turns to look back. Kurt's looking straight at him with his eyebrows raised and a flush dotting his cheeks. "Kissing? You mean—?"
"I mean," Blaine runs a hand over the back of his neck. "It doesn't have to be kissing, but I like it when I can see the guys' faces, when they seem to actually be into each other? Not just close up shots of..." Blaine makes an illustrative hand gesture toward his own crotch. (And regrets it instantly when Kurt's gaze drops and the corners of his lips quirk.)
"Ah. You don't like to watch fucking?" Kurt asks, slow to bring his gaze back up.
"Oh, I like it. I just don't save those ones. In case my parents—"
"I understand," Kurt says. "I'll find some fucking with kissing for you." He winks.
"Um, thanks?" Blaine says, and he carefully winds up the cables he doesn't need, puts them back in the drawer and slides it closed softly. He turns the TV so he can get one end of the HDMI cable plugged in. Takes the other end and knee-walks back to Kurt and his laptop.
"Do you like big men? Or, ah, hairy men? Like, eh... bears?"
Blaine shakes his head. "No, I like pretty... um, pretty guys. Like, slim and fair is kind of my... type?"
Kurt nods and types some more, clicks a few things, and then stops and stares at the screen. The volume is muted, so Blaine's not sure what he's looking at. Previewing something for Blaine, like he's some kind of personal porn shopper.
"May I see?" Blaine asks.
"Bien sûr," Kurt says and scoots sideways, angling the screen and waving for Blaine to come sit next to him.
Blaine kneels beside Kurt and looks. "Oh," Blaine says, because Kurt appears to be signed in to the VIP members section of a fairly swank looking European pay site. And the boys are definitely to Blaine's taste. Pretty and sleek, what body hair they have is neatly groomed. Best of all, they look like they're genuinely enjoying each other. The preview clip Kurt watches features a pale, dark-haired boy on his back while he gets fucked by a tanned blond boy, and the way he's looking up at his partner is kind of awestruck and adoring. Blaine really likes that. It sends rush of heat to his face. "That's, um. Yeah, that's definitely hot," Blaine says.
Blond boy leans down and sucks at dark-haired boy's jaw and throat, starts to fuck him deeper and harder, but slow, like he's making sure they can both feel everything. And dark-haired boy's brow is furrowed in some kind of ecstasy that makes Blaine ache to know the feeling himself. The way the guys mouth works, Blaine can tell he’s making noise. And with that, Blaine's pulse sinks even hotter and heavier, and his cock jolts hard behind the zipper of his jeans.
"You like this one?" Kurt asks.
"Yes," Blaine breathes.
"Okay," Kurt says, and he clicks the download button. "I'll return soon," he says then, and Blaine watches Kurt stand and head out of the room. Hears the basement door open and close twice and then the sound of a drawer and cupboard opening and closing in the kitchen followed by the clink of glassware.
Kurt returns with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. "To help relax us," Kurt says.
Blaine stares at the bottle. "We're not supposed to..."
"Have a little wine? It's okay," Kurt says.
"Um," Blaine says. He doesn't exactly have a moral issue here, more of an obedience one.
"I'll send your family a crate from one of our local vineyards to make up for it, ça ira?"
And since there's not much Blaine wants to deny Kurt right now. "Yeah, sure," Blaine says and he watches Kurt expertly uncork the bottle and pour two generous glasses of a Napa Valley Zinfandel. He passes one to Blaine.
Blaine's not even sure he likes wine. He takes a tentative sniff. It smells good, of plums, but, when he takes a sip, it doesn't taste as good as it smells; it's not very sweet at all, and he thinks something made out of fruit should taste sweet. It's nice and smooth in his mouth after he swallows, though, a warmth and creaminess lingers on the back of his tongue.
"Not bad," Kurt says as if he's not only praising the wine, but also encouraging Blaine to enjoy it.
Blaine sets his wine glass down to get the HDMI cable plugged in to the computer. He grabs the remote and punches through to the right input. Kurt arranges the big square floor cushions for them, adds a few throw pillows from the sofa. He leans back on one elbow and gets the video they just downloaded ready to play.
Next to Kurt, Blaine sits on the cushion and picks up his glass. He takes a large mouthful of wine, swallows it without really tasting it. The computer rests between them, but it’s not much of a boundary. Blaine's so aware of his body and everything. He can't figure out how to arrange his legs or where to put his hands, or— He ends up sitting cross-legged with his hands folded together cradling the wineglass. He's grateful to have something to occupy his hands. He takes another mouthful. Can feel a buzzy sort of loosening in his head and body as the alcohol warms his throat. Maybe he’s drinking it too fast. Kurt sips his wine, stretches his long legs out in front of him, and clicks play.
The movie starts. Dark-haired boy is sprawled in a plush, vintage armchair in an airy sun-drenched room. He's wearing a tight white t-shirt and cut-off denim shorts, and he's reading a book. Blond boy comes in through a pair of french doors that open to the outside. The gauzy white curtains float in the breeze. He's shirtless, in swim trunks, toweling his hair dry. He says something in a language Blaine doesn't recognize, and there are no subtitles. But it's warm and affectionate, and dark-haired boy looks up with a smile and sets his book down on the floor.
Then Kurt’s voice comes, low and unexpectedly near: "He said, 'I worked up a large appetite while I was swimming. I was thinking about you.'"
"Oh!" Blaine startles and blinks. Kurt's leaning over toward him, well into his space, and his voice—a private murmur between them like this—it's not only that he's translating the porn that makes Blaine's heart fumble its next beat. "It's okay," Blaine says in a rush. "You don't need to translate. I’m sure I... get the general idea." He tries to smile at Kurt, but he can't tell if he succeeds.
With a nod, Kurt smiles back, and they both turn their attention back to the screen.
It's not long before blond boy is the one sitting in the chair, and dark-haired boy is straddling blond boy's lap, grinding against him—having lost his his t-shirt—and they're kissing. There's a lot of kissing, both tender and sweet, and deep and hungry; and, yeah, they both seem to be into it. The muffled whimpers and soft groans they're sharing don't sound forced at all.
Blaine sits up straighter as the boys lose the rest of their clothes and share more intimate touches. (Dark-haired boy is now kneeling on the floor, and blond boy’s legs are spread wide, draped over the arms of the chair. Dark-haired boy alternates between licking blond boy's dick and sucking his balls.) With a shudder, Blaine tightens his grip on the stem of the wineglass and determinedly does not look at Kurt. In his peripheral vision he's aware of Kurt looking at him every now and then, gauging his response or something. Blaine knows he's losing ground in the battle to maintain his composure.
With each heartbeat, his whole body throbs hotter, sweat prickles across his scalp, and the demanding corkscrew of his arousal twists low and tight. His hand shakes as he raises his glass to his lips and takes another long sip of wine. It doesn’t seem to be helping him relax. He's feeling a little muzzy-headed. Though he's not sure if it's the wine or how turned on he is, or that he's watching porn with someone—or that it's Kurt, on whom he's been nurturing a crush since he first said "Bonjour!" in the airport. Blaine has to open his mouth to keep breathing, and his breath comes too loud and ragged. His face is so hot—he's sweating across his chest and shoulders now—and behind the unyielding trap of denim, his cock pounds. The boys on the screen are gleaming and naked and have moved to a bed with rumpled white sheets. Blond boy's working his fingers into dark-haired boy's ass. He's smiling with delight at dark-haired boy's enjoyment.
Blaine stares as blond boy starts thrusting, fucking dark-haired boy with his hand; dark-haired boy squirms and cries out loudly, and the sound of it and the way his face is screwed up with pleasure, how lost he looks to it, shoots a visceral spear of arousal through Blaine so sharp it makes him gasp audibly and swear.
Blaine snaps his mouth closed and holds his breath, feeling like his chest will explode.
Then, "Blaine?" Kurt asks.
It’s irresistible, his name spoken so sweetly in Kurt’s voice. Blaine tears his gaze from the screen and makes himself blink for what feels like the first time since they started watching.
"Yes?" he replies. Kurt is turned toward him, his face half shadowed, half lit by the TV screen, looking at him with a tentative smile and a steady, evaluating gaze.
"Come here?" Kurt asks, but he may as well have commanded Blaine, for Blaine is pushing the laptop to the side and crawling toward Kurt before he's even processed the question and its implications. His heartbeat drums up in his throat like something alive is trapped beneath his skin.
"Yes," Blaine says, to whatever it is Kurt wants, and Kurt leans over to meet him with soft, parted lips and warm breath pressed right to Blaine's mouth. And, oh, they're kissing, and it's warm and a little bit damp and the taste of the wine on Kurt's mouth is completely delicious. It's so much better than that time when he was eleven and Blaine kissed his friend Janice just to see what kissing was like. It wasn't like this.
The tip of Kurt's tongue skims across his bottom lip and Kurt brings a hand up to cup Blaine's face, presses gently at Blaine's chin with his thumb, encouraging Blaine to open for him. Willingly, Blaine opens his mouth and closes his eyes, and Kurt's tongue slides between his lips, a deep, searching kiss.
Rhythmic sounds of sex still come from the TV: moans, increasing in volume and desperation, the slap of skin, wetter sounds, the raunchy thud of the soundtrack music. It's not how Blaine would ever have imagined his first kiss with a boy: background porn while he's desperately hard in his pants, feeling like if Kurt touches him anywhere else, he's going to unravel into the desperate sweating desire burning up his insides.
When Kurt withdraws from the kiss, Blaine opens his eyes and says, "Please?" What he's asking for exactly, he's got no particular idea, just something he's sure Kurt can give him.
"What do you want?" Kurt asks him. One eye flares in the flickering light, a bright blue halo around his widely dilated pupil.
Blaine swallows. "Anything. You. God, anything."
"You're trembling," Kurt says. His fingertips are cool upon the hot skin of Blaine's temple.
"You kissed me," Blaine says. Light-headed, dizzy with wine and the want for more of Kurt's kisses and touch, Blaine sits back on his heels.
"Oui," Kurt says, and he reaches over to snap the lid of the laptop down. The room instantly quiets and darkens to just the one dim floor lamp by the sofa. "I've wanted to kiss you for a long time."
"Me too," Blaine whispers.
And then Kurt's moving close and kissing him again, and his hand is falling from Blaine's face to rest high upon Blaine's leg, stroking across the crease between Blaine's thigh and groin, and that touch tugs at the denim across Blaine's erection. The slightest pressure of touch without actually being touch, it's enough that Blaine's pressing up against Kurt's hand and little eager sounds are creeping, unbidden, up the back of his throat.
"Mmm," Kurt hums as he breaks the kiss again, he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and regards Blaine with intense curiosity. "Anything?"
"Uh huh."
"Then," Kurt says and he looks down at where his hand is, moves to drag one fingertip lightly along the prominent ridge of Blaine's cock (Blaine shivers and makes an incoherent noise). "I'll like to do a blowjob for you," Kurt says.
"Oh," Blaine says, and it takes his brain a nanosecond longer to fully parse Kurt's grammar. Then he flushes furnace hot, everywhere. "Yeah, yeah, that's... I'd like that too." He smiles through his nerves.
"Good," Kurt says. He kisses Blaine on the cheek. "Lie down," he says, and then he's scooting back and tugging Blaine's legs, to straighten Blaine's body out and pull him supine, and Blaine obediently sinks back against the large pillow he'd been sitting on. Uses one foot to push the laptop farther aside.
Without hesitation, Kurt hands are on his belt, unfastening the buckle with quick efficiency, and then he's slipping the button through its hole and pulling down the zipper.
And, "I've never—" Blaine blurts out.
Kurt's attention returns to Blaine's face. "Never...?"
"No one's ever touched me before," Blaine says. "Like this."
"Ah." Now Kurt hesitates, but he looks pleased. "I thought maybe so, but I wasn't sure."
That makes Blaine wonder if this was Kurt's plan for the night: to seduce him. He rather likes the idea, that they both had plans for each other. He thinks a blowjob probably trumps cheesecake though. "I'm glad it's you," he says.
"I'm glad too," Kurt says, and then his hands start moving again, and Blaine sucks in his belly and watches Kurt open his pants. "You're going to feel so good, Blaine," Kurt says. Blaine lifts his hips as Kurt tugs his jeans down his legs. "I want you to know," he continues, "you may come in my mouth. I want it, okay? So don't worry about that. Don't hold back."
"Oh," Blaine says, because—wow, yeah—this is what they're doing.
Kurt grins at Blaine as he works his jeans down his thighs, and then, he leaves them there and shifts up again, running his fingertips in symmetrical arcs along the leg bands of Blaine's navy and gray striped briefs. "You're so handsome," Kurt says. "So sexy."
"Thanks," Blaine says, and he feels surprisingly gratified by the praise and the weight of Kurt's scrutiny. Anticipation is a fine, high frequency buzz beneath his skin, and he's so turned on his balls ache.
Kurt pushes Blaine's shirt up, and Blaine pulls his arms free. With more of his body bared to Kurt, Blaine shivers as Kurt leans down and kisses his breastbone. Kurt strokes over Blaine's ribs, circles and rubs his nipples with his thumbs. It's ticklish and electric and threading right into the pleasure simmering between Blaine's legs. And Blaine still isn't sure what to do with his hands.
"Kurt..." he says, twisting beneath Kurt's hands and mouth.
"How are you? Are you fine?"
"Yeah... yeah, I'm just... I really want you." He puts a hand on Kurt's shoulder, makes a fist in the fabric and tugs. "Would you?" he asks, "Take this off for me, please?"
Kurt straightens, unwinds his scarf, unbuttons his shirt, and shrugs it from his shoulders. Kneeling above Blaine, bare chested in the low golden light, Kurt asks, "Better?"
Blaine reaches to touch his skin, traces over the smooth shadowed definition of his torso, and says, "God, you're gorgeous."
With a smile, Kurt tilts his chin up and straightens his shoulders, improving the line of his upper body and letting Blaine look as he touches. But soon enough, Kurt's done with being admired, and he's reaching for Blaine's underwear, pulling the waistband down, and exposing Blaine's blood heavy cock. The carpet is an unfriendly texture beneath Blaine's ass, but, with Kurt’s attention upon him, he doesn't care.
"Oh, Blaine," Kurt says, looking down, and he takes one hand back to himself, presses over his own crotch, and Blaine realizes that Kurt may be just as turned on as he is, and that's really hot, that Kurt's feeling this way too—at least in part because of Blaine. He guesses though, that Kurt has had more practice at being turned on with another person and still functioning. This is clearly not Kurt's first time doing this.
Kurt lowers himself down, curls one hand beneath Blaine's shaft and nuzzles at him: the bump of his nose and the soft, barely there brush of his lips. Kurt inhales deeply through his nose and then lets the breath out in a warm sigh over Blaine's flesh. Hums as his lips trail up to the head of Blaine's cock. Then his lips part and his tongue comes out, and Blaine nearly chokes on his moan. Kurt kisses and licks and mouths at the crown of Blaine's cock, seems to instinctively know all the places to rub his lips and flick and slide his tongue to get Blaine's pulse racing and every muscle straining.
"Kurt," Blaine says. "Oh, god."
"Mmm," Kurt replies, vibrating around him as he opens wider and sucks Blaine in.
"Oh! Oh... oh," Blaine says. The enveloping heat, the strong wet pull of Kurt's mouth, the clever stroke of his tongue... The sensation gathers up tight and bright and fast, in his balls, behind his eyes, along every nerve. Blaine digs the fingers of one hand into the side of his thigh, the others into the short pile of the carpet, and he tries not to come, because this is too incredible to let it be over so soon. But he is going to come if Kurt keeps going like this. "W-wait!" he says. "Stop for a sec."
Kurt stops immediately, eases his mouth off Blaine, and Blaine exhales and blinks, tries to catch his breath. Kurt lifts his head. "Did you change your mind?" Kurt asks.
"No, no, I just, um. Didn't want it to be over so fast?"
"Then relax," Kurt says, rubbing his thigh. "There's no rush."
"I know, you're really good at that though. Maybe too good."
Kurt smirks at him. It's a new expression. "Put your hands in my hair," Kurt says.
"Okay," Blaine breathes out. He reaches down with one hand, pushes his fingers into the thick, product stiffened sweep of Kurt's hair. It's softer than it looks as his fingers break the fragile hold of Kurt's hairspray.
"That's good," Kurt says; his eyelids flutter with pleasure.
"Yeah?" Blaine moves his other hand down, curiously presses his fingertips more firmly against Kurt's scalp.
"Mmm, oui." Kurt says, a little breathless; he leans his head into Blaine's hold. "I like it."
Blaine grins and tugs at Kurt's hair gently, experimentally, sees how it makes a tremor ripple across his shoulders. Then he does it again, because its amazing to be able to affect Kurt like this. Kurt's eyes slip shut and his satisfied hum rumbles deeper in his chest. Blaine half expects him to start purring.
Eventually Kurt blinks his eyes open and speaks again, "If you want slower or faster, use your hands to show me," he says. "Push or pull, okay?"
Blaine nods.
"Permit yourself to enjoy me, Blaine," Kurt says, and he lowers his head again.
He takes Blaine's back into his mouth slowly, suckles only softly around him, and Blaine tries to relax and just feel: the fine strands of Kurt's hair between his fingers, the slight shifting of Kurt's scalp beneath his massaging fingertips, the glorious warmth and slide of Kurt's mouth on his cock, the wonderful burr of Kurt's low moans around him.
Kurt finds an easy rhythm without much guidance from Blaine's hands. Not too fast, but fast enough that Blaine feels his pleasure gathering up again. "So good," Blaine murmurs, contents himself with carelessly petting through Kurt's hair. "Don't stop."
Without stopping, Kurt shakes his head and flicks an indignant look up at Blaine that makes Blaine laugh through his next whimper.
He floats, warm and weightless in a fog of bliss.
It gets quieter for a while. Not silent, but Blaine's pleasure muffled cries give way to deep rasping breaths, and Kurt's hums come softer and shorter, interspersed with little wet slurps that escape the seal of his lips on each push down and the rush of Kurt's breath through his nose on each pull up. It doesn't sound like porn. It's more intimate—both more familiar and more specific. It's Kurt's voice and it's his voice.
And it feels—god it feels better than he's ever imagined. (And Blaine likes to think his imagination functions pretty well.) But Kurt doing this for him, beautiful, funny, odd, sweet Kurt, with his lips wrapped so hungrily and tenderly around Blaine's cock. Blaine clutches a tight fistful of Kurt's hair; Kurt moans abruptly more loudly, and sucks harder, and Blaine's spine arches; he thrusts up—deeper—and he swears to shame Kurt's grandmother.
Kurt pulls up and off with a pop and wraps his fist snug around Blaine's cock, thumb and forefinger looped firm below the head, "Use my mouth," Kurt says.
"Wha—?"
“You’re close?”
“Yes.”
"Fuck my mouth," he says. "Okay?" And then he's sinking back down, slick and snug and perfect around Blaine's cockhead until his lips meet the hold of his hand. Blaine grips Kurt's hair and pushes, sliding up through Kurt's closed fist and between his lips, and then he draws back, only to push back in again, and Kurt takes him gorgeously.
"Oh, Kurt, I—" Faster, a little harder—he takes more—and Kurt groans. Blaine sees his eyes roll back just as his eyelids droop shut.
A single-minded focus moves Blaine, has him reaching for and catching hold of the edge of his orgasm. Obscene sounds from Kurt's mouth, Kurt's voice, ragged and needy, engulfing him, so much heat in his belly and his balls, bursting behind his eyes, squeezing at his throat. Blaine pushes deep, holds on tight, and comes.
Kurt lets go with his hand and slides down even farther with his mouth, seems to open wider somehow, takes all of Blaine with a pleased hum, swallows everything.
"Holy..." Blaine says, and releases Kurt's hair gingerly. Pets soothingly.
Kurt withdraws from Blaine's cock in turn, clears his throat, and presses a soft, parting kiss to Blaine's shaft. Then Kurt crawls up to nuzzle at Blaine's cheek. "Beautiful," Kurt murmurs near his ear, breathing hard. "You are so good. So good."
"Kurt," Blaine says, savors the consonants of Kurt's name on his tongue and teeth as much as he savors the sweat slick-sticky between their naked skins. He runs his hands down the heated slope of Kurt's spine. "That was—oh my god—fantastic."
Kurt pushes up on his arms and looks down at Blaine; there's urgency seething in his gaze, and his chest heaves. Blaine realizes, of course, Kurt hasn't come yet. "Will you do something for me now?" Kurt asks, airless and low. There's nothing but sweet entreaty in his shaking voice; it's not a demand. "S'il te plait?"
"Yeah, yeah, oh, of course," Blaine says, slides a hand up to the base of Kurt's skull, buries his fingers there and pulls Kurt down for a kiss. Tastes himself. Which brings an inquisitive rush of heat straight back to his groin.
The only trouble is, he's not sure what exactly to do for Kurt. Using his hand, after what Kurt did for him, seems less than what he wants to give Kurt, but he's also certain he cannot replicate anything like Kurt's skill with the blowjob, and he doesn't want to be disappointing—gag or accidentally bite or something equally inept.
Blaine presses up into the kiss more deeply, tugs at Kurt to come down into his arms. The soft twill of Kurt's pants is rough against his sensitive cock, and he can feel vividly the thick shape of Kurt's unsatisfied desire against him. Twice, Kurt jerks his hips against Blaine, restless and sudden, and then stills with a small needful sound. Blaine thinks about the boy in the video then, the dark-haired one, his face in the preview clip, about how much Blaine feels the way that boy had looked: adoring and a little awestruck. Wonders if Kurt is thinking about it too, about maybe fucking Blaine like the blond boy had fucked the dark-haired boy. Blaine wants to know if Kurt wants him like that. If Kurt wants to use Blaine's body to indulge his own pleasure.
It's a profound thrill to think about it, Kurt desiring him in that way, his body. Blaine wants it, wants to be the origin and the focus of Kurt's desire, wants even more to be the satisfaction of it. So Blaine withdraws from the kiss, licks his lips, and says softly, "You can fuck me."
He doesn't add a querying if you want. Kurt's eyes widen, surprised. But as Blaine holds Kurt's gaze, Kurt's expression softens into understanding.
Kurt brings a hand to Blaine's cheek. His palm is warm, folded at the angle of Blaine's jaw, and his thumb rubs across Blaine's bottom lip. Blaine flicks his tongue out to meet it, and tastes salt and sex— some mixture of Kurt's skin and his own intimate flavor from where Kurt's been touching him. "You want me? For doing that first with you?" Kurt asks.
"I can't imagine ever wanting anyone more than I want you right now," Blaine says, and he means it with every piece of himself.
Kurt leans down, until his lips are close enough to Blaine's that Blaine feels his breath and Kurt's face is blurry. He murmurs, "You'll be so good for me, won't you, Blaine?"
"Yes," Blaine says, tipping his head back to invite a kiss. But the kiss never comes.
"But... " Kurt says, glancing away with a grimace. "I don't want to do it on your living room floor."
"Oh, no," Blaine says. "No, not here. I have everything we need in my room."
"Then," Kurt says, and there's an unexpected alluring shyness in his gaze. "I want to go to your room."
The cheesecake can wait.
.
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