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[Fic] Given the Opportunity (1/4ish)
Mind the pairing, please.
Kurt/Blaine + Sam | MA/NC-17 | Erotica/Drama, PWP-ish | sex, language, threesome, mild kink, bisexual!Sam, Timeline? What timeline? blowjobs, rimming, 69'ing | canon inspired AU future fic | Two years after Will and Emma’s wedding that wasn’t, Kurt and Blaine return to Lima in February to celebrate another High School friend’s wedding. Sam catches up with them there and it becomes clear that Sam, after a string of heartbreaks and dashed hopes for a reunion with Mercedes, could use the help of his friends. Or Bros help bros hook up at weddings where there are too damn many ex girlfriends. | ~10,250 words total so far
1.
They have everything they need in the hotel room already—more than they'll need, really. Kurt leaves the toys in the luggage, just takes out the condoms and lubricant. A room in a Lima hotel is hardly the place Kurt would have chosen for this; home would be more comfortable, but there is something about a hotel room that shifts boundaries and reduces inhibition. With the addition of the heightened emotion of a wedding, perhaps this is the perfect setting.
Still, Kurt sighs at the dated decor of his and Blaine's suite: rose pink carpet with watermelon green accents—the waxy looking faux oak finishes on the furniture, the country style quilt on the too-firm bed, the uninspired watercolor landscapes hanging on the walls. Kurt starts with the quilt. He pulls it off the bed and folds it, sets it aside in the closet. Then he picks up what's left of their wedding prep disorder. Hangs what needs to be hung, folds what needs to be folded, goes into the bathroom to put away toiletries and wipe down the sink. Makes sure there's no lingering evidence of the handjob he'd given Blaine in front of the mirror after he'd got out of the shower. (And he smiles at the memory.)
Kurt's hands are not shaking as he takes his phone from his pocket and taps the volume back on, in case Blaine texts a change of plans. "Anything you want, honey," Kurt had told him. "Just let me know."
The room is as orderly and welcoming as he can make it, so he goes to get ice, and tries to concentrate on that simple task. The soft tread of his leather soles across the pile of the hotel carpet, the negligible weight of the ice bucket in his hand. But it's hard not to think about how they got here tonight.
#
"I don't know why I ever thought I had a chance with her today," Sam says, leaning toward Kurt, over Blaine, who sits between them. He speaks just loud enough to be audible to the three of them as they sit on the hard wooden pew. "Of course she has a boyfriend. Just look at her. And look at him." Sam continues. "Is he a model or something?"
Kurt glances up from where he's been tugging loose the fingers of his leather gloves. Mercedes is standing near the altar talking with the officiant, her arm looped through that of her latest LA beau, Martin. They moved in together a month ago, if Kurt recalls the timeline of their romance, and it's growing serious. And Martin is definitely model material. Adonis-like, really—tall, chiseled and broad shouldered, with that west coast glow about him, like he's brought the sun with him to chilly Ohio, carried in the highlights of his honey blond hair and the glint of the Pacific ocean in his green eyes. Mercedes, resplendent in her red bridesmaid dress, sparkles under his attention. They look good together.
"She said he models," Kurt says. "But only part time. He's studying civil engineering at UCLA."
"He's okay, I guess," Blaine says reassuringly. "Not really my type."
Kurt looks at Blaine, raises one eyebrow. Given the anxious state Blaine had been in this morning over seeing Sam again, it's not surprising that he's a little off his game. It's been months (Longer?) since they've seen each other, and while Kurt finds the earnestness and durability of Blaine's crush on Sam both lovely and a little heartbreaking, he's not above gentle teasing. "Oh, really, Blaine? I thought you liked well-built blonds?"
"So he's smart, too." Sam sighs.
Kurt gets the point of Blaine's elbow against his ribs as Blaine says, "You're smart, Sam. The art you make is genius." And that's true enough. Sam managed a scholarship to an art school, transitioned his macaroni art into mosaics with more traditional media. After a gallery show at his school, he got a commission to do an accent wall in the master-bathroom of a new home in Dublin. He's been texting Blaine photos.
"I guess," Sam says and sighs again, even more heavily. He twists in his seat and looks around. Kurt follows his gaze. Brittany and Santana sit together, lost in their own world, the same way they used to be in the choir room. Quinn is there with a man she's been introducing as her good friend. And though her body language indicates that's true, she's staying close to him. She looks happy, relaxed and smiling more easily than Kurt's ever seen. It suits her.
"This wedding is like a freakin' ex-girlfriend convention," Sam says.
~
Later at the reception, Kurt leans against the bar and sips his strawberry daiquiri while, beside him, Sam unenthusiastically nurses a warming beer. Sam's been watching Brittany dance with Santana with a flicker of sadness in his gaze. Kurt watches Sam watch them. Blaine's dancing with Tina, and Kurt does not fail to notice the way Sam's gaze occasionally drifts toward Blaine and lingers. How the sadness fades when it does, changes to something softer that Kurt isn't sure he recognizes, at least not on Sam.
"Do I have rebound guy tattooed on my forehead or something?" Sam asks, glancing at Kurt; a hint of a smile tugs the corner of his mouth.
"Hmm," Kurt says and tilts his head to make a show of looking. "Looks more like it says sweet and hot to me," he says, smiles at Sam.
Sam laughs, gives Kurt a curious look. "I don't know, man, I'm just tired of feeling used. I'm starting to think girls are too much trouble."
Kurt takes a long sweet pull of his drink, thick and cold through the straw. He swallows. "I don't know. I'm not sure it's girls," Kurt says. He lets the easy buzz of alcohol loosen his tongue. "Maybe you're too much of a giver." He's had some experience with the hot sweet rebound ready guy, who was only too happy to give, expect little in return, until everything got complicated and awkward and it ended in tears.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Kurt shrugs, lowers his glass and plays with his straw. "Depends what you do with it. But if you're always putting other people first and you're with the wrong person, you might not get enough back. If you don't know how to ask for the things you want or need." It's a lesson Kurt has learned the hard way. Twice, he's been the wrong person.
"What do you mean?" Sam asks.
"Well... It might be why you and Blaine get along so well. He's the same way. He'll give and give and sacrifice silently. So, you and Blaine, you give a lot to each other, and it somehow balances out okay."
"What about you? You're like, always doing stuff for people."
"I try," Kurt says, shakes his head ruefully. "But don't have the knack. Sometimes I have trouble working out the difference between what I think a person needs, and what they actually need." Fortunately, he's learned how to blend his tendency for control with his generosity in a way that works well for both Blaine and himself. But he's not without his flaws. "I'm also nearly as self-obsessed as Narcissus," he admits with wry self-deprecation. "So, there's that."
Sam laughs again, softly. Looks at Blaine again. There's a growing weight in Sam's gaze each time it finds Blaine. Appreciative, perhaps. Which prompts Kurt to consider Sam. It's easy to slip into seeing him as he was back in High School rather than how he is now. He's still easy on the eyes, although hot and sweet is only part of it. The pretty adolescent boy has changed into a handsome young man. The kindness and the cuteness have remained, and Kurt's often been grateful for both. Beneath his scrutiny, Kurt sees Sam grin at a particularly enthusiastic flourish Blaine makes as he dips Tina.
"You've really missed him, huh?" Kurt asks quietly, seeking hints of what Sam's attention may mean. He knows how much Blaine's missed Sam.
There's the smallest hesitation, and Sam nods before he says, just as quietly—intimately—like it's an admission, "Yeah, I really have, even more than I expected." Sam turns to regard Kurt, and Kurt meets his gaze evenly without challenge. "I... actually, miss you, too. Sometimes." Sam holds Kurt's gaze for several long heartbeats, long enough it makes Kurt's breath falter.
Unsure how to navigate this—whatever this is—Kurt ventures, "I never did thank you for taking care of him when I... wasn't."
"Yeah, well, rebound guy!" Sam says with a sardonic grin, jabbing one thumb against his chest. But then he glances down and sobers. "You two seem to be doing okay now."
Kurt nods. "We've found a rhythm, learned how to take care of each other better. He's better at talking. I'm better at listening."
"He looks really good," Sam says, and the way his gaze tracks over Blaine's body has Kurt wondering.
"The city suits him," Kurt says.
"It suits you too." Sam's gaze moves to Kurt, drags down Kurt's body briefly, then back up to his face. The way Sam smiles... That definitely feels flirtatious. Now it's Kurt's turn to look at Sam with curiosity.
The music changes to something slow, and Kurt wonders if he can prompt a little more clarity. He doesn't want to assume. "Maybe I should rescue Blaine, in case Tina decides to grab his ass," he says, pauses, and speaks the next more slowly and clearly to Sam, with—he hopes—sufficient deliberation and intention in his voice: "Unless you want to, Sam."
"Grab Blaine's ass?"
Kurt's laughter comes so suddenly, he nearly ends up with daiquiri up the back of his nose. "Dance with him," Kurt says, fishing in his pocket for his handkerchief. "Though if you wanted to cop a feel, I know for a fact he wouldn't mind."
It takes at least a minute before Sam looks at him and asks, very seriously, "Would you? Mind?"
So that is how it is. "That would depend entirely on your intentions," Kurt takes a breath and pushes forward, chooses alcohol lubricated bluntness, because it's not worth being oblique over something like this. If Kurt's wrong, they can laugh it off. Kurt smiles as he speaks, tries to make it half-joke, half-serious—but all potential proposition (and a mild warning, if one is needed). "Are you just looking for someone to suck your dick because you're lonely at a wedding, or are you up for something more?"
"Dude, I wou— Wait." Sam frowns in confused surprise. His voice drops to a whisper and he leans closer. "Kurt? Are you, um... like, offering?"
"And if I am?" Kurt asks, steady, but he can't quite keep the sudden breathlessness from his voice.
"Uh," Sam says, and looks down at his beer for a moment, before taking a long drink. His lips are wet when he lowers his glass. He presses them together and looks at Kurt. "It is..." Sam trails off with a heavy exhale. He closes his eyes for a moment. Opens them and continues. "It's definitely something I've thought about," he says softly.
"Have you?" Kurt asks, intrigued. Sam's never been defensive in saying he's straight, but Kurt remembers well when he thought Sam might not be so perfectly heterosexual. He's always wondered what if: what if Finn hadn't been such an utter ass? "Because you know Blaine likes you? And you like that he does?"
Sam is blushing and biting at his bottom lip. It's actually pretty adorable. "Well, yeah, but, I mean, it's not just that. You, um—"
"You and I both know how Blaine feels about you. I won't let you take advantage of that," Kurt speaks gently, but he keeps a hint of steel in his voice. It's something he knows Blaine is open to. Too open, Kurt worries. Kurt won't risk Blaine's heart, no matter how pleasurable or how often they've talked about it between themselves.
"I... really care about him, Kurt. And I know, you and me, we're not as close, but I care about you too. You've always been an amazing friend, and I get that you and Blaine have been through a lot. I wouldn't do anything to hurt him. Or you."
"Then," Kurt turns toward Sam, but maintains the comfortable distance between them. He's not pushing, not really. Just wants Sam to talk. "Would you tell me what you would like to do to him—or, rather, with us. If you were given the opportunity."
Sam's eyes widen. Kurt buys him another beer and gets Sam to tell him.
~
On the dance floor, Blaine swaps Tina for Brittany when the music changes. He sends the occasional glance back at Kurt and Sam as he dances. His smile is wide; his eyes bright; and his body moves with invitation. Difficult to resist, especially now that Kurt understands what may be possible for them tonight. A hum of anticipation has settled beneath his skin. He looks away from Blaine to Sam, whose cheeks are flush with color and whose lips part as Kurt leans well into his personal space this time, holds his gaze. "I'm going to talk to Blaine," Kurt says, he flicks his gaze down to Sam's lips with a smile and sees how Sam's pupils expand.
"Cool," Sam says, and though there's a note of nerves there, Kurt knows Sam means it. He's been surprisingly open.
Kurt sets his glass down and goes to Blaine.
~
"Hey, you," Kurt says, as he takes Blaine's hand and spins him into his arms. Brittany twirls away to find another partner.
"Hi," Blaine breathes through his grin. "Was hoping you'd join me."
And though the music is fast, Kurt pulls Blaine against him; his palm presses against the supple curve of Blaine's spine as Blaine yields himself so easily to Kurt's hold. Like he always does, and it sends Kurt's heart beating harder, his blood hotter, and Kurt has to close his eyes for a moment to center himself.
"You and Sam looked friendly," Blaine says, teasing, a little sarcastic, because he doesn't know yet.
"Mmhm," Kurt says, turns his head so their cheeks brush and his breath is in Blaine's ear. "How would you feel about helping out a bro tonight?"
Blaine laughs, "You want to go make out in the back of the car for old time's sake?"
"No," Kurt says. "Sam."
Blaine stiffens. "What?"
So Kurt explains. All those fantasies they've shared with each other, of another man in their bed, of that man being—maybe, even if impossibly—Sam, they're not impossible tonight.
Kurt remembers both hot summer afternoons and cold winter evenings, Blaine naked in his arms, talking to him, telling him in details both specific and explicit, the things he'd do, the things he'd want, given the opportunity. And Kurt would touch him, prompt him, embellish the fantasy with his own desire, until they'd both be drenched in sweat and Blaine would be begging for Kurt to let him come.
Tonight, Kurt, with Sam, can make this happen for Blaine, and Kurt wants to, badly. Ultimately, though, it's Blaine's decision, so Kurt gives him the space to make it. "I'll go to the room, and you can bring Sam, if you want to," Kurt says.
He lingers long enough to watch Blaine approach Sam, who waits at the bar. Sam smiles tentatively, Blaine smooths one hand over his hair, and then Kurt goes to the room.
#
Back in the suite, Kurt sets the ice bucket on the dresser by the TV. He's not going to overthink this. Doesn't want to talk himself out of it. Keeps wondering if he's meant to be jealous; he's not. It's different, like he's giving Blaine a gift, and maybe Sam, too. He hopes Sam too, because this should be good for them all. Blaine may be his priority, as he told Sam when they spoke, but Kurt promised they'd take good care of Sam too.
Kurt reduces the light to just the mellow pinkish glow of the table lamps by the bed. Makes sure there are three water glasses within reach. He rummages in his suitcase for a spare pair of pajamas, in case Sam stays.
In case Sam stays, his brain sticks on. He holds the neatly folded stack of top and bottoms. Light blue and burgundy striped white cotton with burgundy piping. Blaine got them for him this past Christmas. The pocket is monogrammed. Kurt imagines Sam wearing them. He's shared clothes with Sam before, of course. Not only when Sam was in need, but also when he lived with them Kurt's senior year.
His phone chimes: a text from Blaine, "Sam's coming. Do we need anything?"
"Okay," Kurt says to the phone, nods to himself, and sends back to Blaine, "Everything ready here. See you soon."
Blindly, Kurt steps backward to the edge of the bed, sits as his fingers release his phone and go to his collar, loosening his tie enough to open the top button. Then he bends to unlace his shoes.
Instead of staring at the door, waiting for it to open, Kurt places his hands on his thighs and looks straight ahead, into the mirror opposite the bed. Two years ago, he was in a similar enough place: a hook up with a friend at a wedding. But it was never that simple. Kurt knew it then (even if he was loath to acknowledge it); he knows it well now—now that he and Blaine have come back to one another, stronger and easier. He wonders what it is he knows today that may not be simple or easy to acknowledge.
There's history among them at least: honesty, affection, and respect. They can do this, and it will be good.
Kurt startles at the slide-click of the door unlocking. He exhales slowly and composes himself enough to stand smoothly as Blaine and Sam come in.
They're smiling—teeth flashing grins—and holding hands, Blaine leading Sam. Blaine catches Kurt's gaze first. Their eyes lock. Blaine nods; his grin widens. Kurt lifts his chin and smiles back. His shoulders relax. He looks at Sam, keeps smiling easily, and says, "I'm glad you decided to join us."
"Yeah, me too," Sam says, and the way Sam is looking at him—contemplative and something else, something eager—Kurt's seen it before. He remembers Sam looking at him that way after he'd performed "Le Jazz Hot".
Ah. Now Kurt knows what that meant and how he wasn't wrong about Sam. Not entirely.
Kurt's pleased to see Sam's expression grow even more fond as he turns back to Blaine, and the way Blaine is looking back at Sam, wide-eyed and delighted.
"So, um, how do y—?" Blaine starts, but he's cut off when Sam puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder, leans in and kisses him full on the mouth.
The rush of air as Blaine inhales sharply through his nose is audible, even over the softer hitch of Kurt's own breath. Kurt sits back down before his knees give out.
Blaine grapples for a hold on Sam, grabbing a handful of tie, shirt, and lapel. Pulls Sam in closer as Blaine pushes up against his lips, and then there's the visible slide of Blaine's tongue and Sam's lips parting, and Kurt cannot look away, cannot move—can barely breathe.
For all that he and Blaine have talked about doing this—wanting it in the hypothetical instance of it being possible—moving it from the realm of shared imagination into that of reality sets a anxious flutter in Kurt's chest. As good as Blaine and Sam look together, it doesn't erase the time (long past now, but still a vivid enough memory) when Kurt's mind had been poisoned by the thought—by the carefully constructed logic of betrayal and obsession—of another man touching Blaine. His nightmares were stalked by the images of Blaine with nameless strangers, touching him, kissing him, using him. So Kurt had worried that seeing this, someone else touching Blaine, might bring back some of that acrid emotion.
It doesn't, for it's not simply someone touching Blaine; it's Sam. And Kurt doesn't doubt the depth of Sam's respect and affection for Blaine—for them both; and Kurt knows it is amply returned. So Kurt lets himself admire the spectacle of Sam and Blaine kissing with nothing more fraught than the heated thrum of anticipation rising beneath his skin.
Sam breaks the kiss with a wide, breathless smile. His cheeks are stained a ruddy pink, and it's like his lips were holding Blaine upright, for Blaine slumps back against the wall like his strings have been cut; his eyelids slip closed, and his chest heaves. His hold on Sam's clothing loosens, and Kurt can see how his hands tremble as he smooths down what he's rumpled.
"Okay," Blaine whispers. "Okay."
A tendril of doubt clears Kurt's head, to see Blaine falling so fast, and while that's undoubtedly hot, Kurt realizes he won't be able to sit back quietly and simply watch them for long. He's not sure how well prepared Sam may be for the intensity of Blaine's desire. Kurt stands.
But perhaps he's underestimated Sam, for he's now touching Blaine's face and asking, "Are you good? Is this too weird?"
Blaine's jaw works soundlessly, and a little tremor ripples across his shoulders.
Kurt says softly, "Blaine?"
Blaine opens his eyes—too bright. He looks at Kurt, smiles, and then turns back to Sam and says clearly if hoarsely, "I'm fine." He adjusts his grip upon Sam's lapel; his eyelashes flutter down and then up again, he tilts his head; the angle of his jaw beckons. "Very fine, in fact."
"Yeah?" Sam grins.
"Yeah."
"Then, can I...?" Sam's hand drifts from Blaine's cheek to the buttons of his suit jacket.
"Yes," Blaine says and pulls Sam's mouth back against his, hard.
Sam hums into the kiss as he undoes Blaine's jacket, and then gets to work on his shirt, fumbling just a little bit with the mirror image of what he's accustomed to. Watching Blaine's clothes come undone under Sam's hands is like viewing some kind of custom made porn tailored for Kurt's brain: two boys he's desired—does desire—desiring each other. Blaine, slim and dark and slick; and Sam muscular and fair and tousled. The visual contrast is delicious. They look amazing together. Even better as Sam pushes Blaine's undershirt up and Kurt sees skin.
With fingers he barely feels, Kurt undoes his tie, strips it from around his collar, and slips his jacket off. He lays them over the back of the desk chair. He thinks to recall some of the specifics of Blaine's fantasies, to find a cue for himself in this.
"And then... then he's..."
"What's he doing, Blaine?"
"His hand's on my belt, undoing it. And you're... uh, you're..."
"What am I doing?"
"You're like, behind him, undressing him—taking his shirt off—and then pushing him down, to his knees, and telling him to look at me, and..."
"Do you want him to suck your dick?"
"Yes, god yes."
"Okay, I tell him to do that."
Nice fantasy, but it may be too ambitious. From their earlier conversation, Kurt's certain Sam's not going to want to move that fast, even if he said he wants to try giving a blowjob. It's up to Kurt to enable Sam's curiosity without pushing him into discomfort.
But Kurt goes to them anyway, puts one hand on Sam—his upper arm, and feels the solid size of Sam's bicep (thrilling) and the other hand, he slips behind Blaine's neck, curving his palm to fit his hand to its slope, finding with his thumb the short curl of hair behind Blaine's ear, tracing the arc of the lock that never will quite lie straight.
The familiarity of Blaine, the specific texture of his skin near his hairline, slightly tacky with product, the scent of him this close—bittersweet product and spicy-smooth cologne—helps settle Kurt's nerves. The close-up view of Blaine's mouth working hungrily with Sam's does not. This close, Kurt also catches Sam's scent—clean and open, like late summer afternoons cooled by the first breath of autumn.
They break the kiss, and Blaine looks at him, dark-eyed and dazed. Then Sam turns his attention to Kurt, takes Kurt by the chin, leans in, and presses his mouth to Kurt's. Startled, Kurt tries to return the kiss with lips that feel clumsy beneath the curious softness of Sam's. Sam's kiss is patient, the glance of his tongue shy, and Kurt unclenches his fist from the sleeve of Sam's jacket, takes a steadying breath in through his nose, and relaxes his lips.
Around the wrist of his hand upon Blaine's neck, Kurt feels Blaine's fingers close gently. Then Blaine is nuzzling at his hand, coaxing Kurt to open his fingers, and pressing ticklish kisses to Kurt's palm and the tender inside of his wrist. The sensation jangles the nerves all the way up Kurt's arm, forces a whimper up his throat.
Sam's other hand alights warm, with unfamiliar calluses, upon Kurt's jaw, and Sam draws him into a better angle, slips his tongue between Kurt's lips to skate across his bottom teeth. It feels strangely possessive. And yet, it's so different from Blaine's kisses; no matter how hungry or demanding, there's always something in Blaine that yields to Kurt. Sam is giving, but not giving in. But, despite the insistence of Sam's hand and mouth, there's a tentativeness in his kiss too. His tongue moves like an uncertain trespasser with an unfamiliar rhythm. His lips are flower petal soft—of course they are. When Kurt parts his lips further to invite Sam to deepen the kiss, he tastes the creamy sweetness of the wintergreen breath mints Sam favors beneath which is the bitter trace of beer. The beckoning heat of desire blooms in Kurt's belly, and Blaine bites at the fleshy heel of his hand.
(And somewhere in Kurt's consciousness, a giddy remnant of his sixteen-year-old self is pumping his fist in vindication, because—god fucking damn it—he's kissing Sam Evans and he's pretty sure Sam Evans is liking it.)
Then Blaine's mouth is on the side of Kurt's neck, and Blaine's hand is at Kurt's belt buckle. "Let's go to the bed," he murmurs, hot breath near Kurt's ear. Kurt shivers and Sam eases back. Kurt breathes and opens his eyes. Sam looks at him, wide-eyed. Blaine sucks at the side of Kurt's neck as he pops the prong of Kurt's buckle free of the leather.
"Yeah, we should do that," Kurt says, and he lets Blaine's hand, low on his waist, push him backward toward the bed. Sam doesn't move to follow, just presses his lips together as he undoes his suit jacket.
"Coming?" Kurt asks Sam; the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Blaine whips his belt from its loops, tosses it aside, starts untucking Kurt's shirt, pauses only to jerk his arms from his own suit jacket and toe off his shoes, and then his hands are back on Kurt, slipping the buttons of his shirt free, one by one.
Sam nods absently and ducks his shoulders out of his jacket. It falls to the floor. He still doesn't move closer. "Nervous?" Kurt asks Sam. Blaine slows down, and turns to look over his shoulder.
Sam nods. "A little."
"Are you having second thoughts, Sam?" Blaine asks. "It's okay if you are."
"No, but..." Sam gestures vaguely toward them. His hair falls forward into his face. "I'm not sure what to do exactly? Could I maybe, just... like... watch you two for a little while?"
If Kurt weren't already perfectly hard, hearing Sam's proposal would totally get him there. A fresh flush of blood prickles across his chest at the thought of Sam watching— No, not just watching: Sam enjoying watching them. He glances at Blaine, sees him nod. "Yeah," Kurt says, breathless. "No pressure. You can join in whenever you're comfortable, if you want, or... whatever works best for you."
"That wouldn't be creepy?" Sam asks.
Blaine laughs softly as his hand drifts down Kurt's torso to rest lightly over the hard line of Kurt's cock, as if he's not only verifying Kurt's interest for himself, but also showing it to Sam, and then he says emphatically, "No."
Kurt swallows a gasp when Blaine squeezes, and then he manages a wobbly smile of encouragement even as Sam's gaze drops from Kurt's face to Blaine's hand.
"Okay, cool," Sam says. He unbuttons his dress shirt and heads toward the mauve armchair by the window.
With a grin, Blaine turns back to Kurt, and pushes him backward. Kurt falls to the mattress with a soft 'oof', and Blaine is quick to follow him. He straddles Kurt and grinds his ass down against Kurt's cock as he finishes unbuttoning Kurt's shirt. Kurt bites his lip and pushes his hips up against Blaine, looks at him from beneath heavy eyelids and wonders what Blaine's got planned (because he seems to have something in mind) in terms of putting on a show for Sam.
But Blaine doesn't give Kurt a lot of time for wondering. He's pushing Kurt's shirt open and leaning down to lick broadly across Kurt's nipple while he finds the other with his fingers and pinches. Hard.
Kurt's mouth comes open as his lungs heave out a breathless, "Fuck," and then he rolls his head to the side to check on Sam, who is pulling his arms free of his shirt and revealing a torso that would make Taylor Lautner jealous. Sam looks like the lovechild of Captain America and Thor, which is a comparison Kurt is sure Sam would appreciate, so he'll try to remember it for later. But right now, he's losing the ability to bring actual words up to his tongue for the way Blaine is sucking and tugging at his nipples. The only sound that escapes his lips is a piteous sounding whimper when Blaine bites down, gently enough, but sharp and bright and irresistible.
At the sound, Sam's gaze finds Kurt's and Kurt tries to smile. Sam's flush is moving down his neck and he's breathing heavily through parted lips. Kurt watches the way his gaze roves, down to Blaine's mouth and hands upon Kurt's bared skin. Sam stares, and Kurt wonders how they look.
It's a longstanding turn-on and fantasy, being watched. Kurt loves sex with the lights on. He loves to see Blaine's body and to be seen himself. Loves to perform for Blaine, loves to be on display for Blaine, loves the heated weight of Blaine's attention on his physical self. Has always loved the idea of someone watching him—or them—with desire and appreciation (and he knows Blaine shares that fantasy), but the reality is different from the daydream. Kurt finds he is freshly self-conscious of his body in a way he hasn't been since he was in high school. It's not the self-consciousness of performance, but that of approval and the fear of judgment.
He's aware, from working on the stage, how he looks from every angle, in every mood, with every expression and posture and movement. But this? He's thought about how they look having sex, but he doesn't actually know beyond what he sees reflected in the mirror by their bed, which is less about a third party's taste than it is about their own. He doesn't know Sam's taste. Has never even thought to ask Sam such personal questions as his porn preferences—or ask Blaine if he knows.
So Kurt is aware of everything, like the way Blaine is kissing his way back up Kurt's neck and finding his mouth, and, as Blaine's tongue slips warm alongside his own, he wonders if they look good kissing, because—for himself—kissing is the make it or break it for porn. It can look weird and unsexy and crude—or it can be hot and tender and compelling. Kurt tries to kiss back as prettily as he can, and he hopes he succeeds, because usually he's more concerned about how it feels than how it looks. Which, in this moment, feels awkward. And he regrets now that they never have made a sex tape of themselves. (Another thing talked about, but not actually done, even though it would be so easy to pull out one of their phones...)
Blaine's mouth slides to his cheek with a soft gust of quiet laughter, like he knows exactly what's going through Kurt's mind—and he may well. "You're too tense," he murmurs into Kurt's ear. "Stop thinking so hard."
And then Blaine is moving away, shuffling down Kurt's body and reaching for Kurt's fly. Kurt wasn't expecting to have his pants come undone first, but he can't resist Blaine pulling his fly open and drawing his cock out. Nor can he resist watching Blaine, lowering himself and opening his mouth to take Kurt in, one long sweet slide down. No hesitation or teasing or easy warm up, just the immediate enveloping suction and heat of Blaine's mouth around his cock. Each glide up and back down, drives Kurt's desire into a deeper, hungrier ache.
Kurt makes a noise that Sam could probably translate from Klingon, and he has to close his eyes for a minute. His heart races and his breath comes shallow and too quick, for Sam's gaze and Blaine's mouth are both burning upon him.
Randomly, Kurt imagines Sam getting his phone out and filming them, filming Blaine going down on Kurt and then zooming in on Kurt's face, his searing hot cheeks and sore bitten lips, and then dragging down to capture the tension in the arch of his neck, the speeding flutter of his pulse at his throat; the way one hand fists into to the sheets and the other finds Blaine's head, to mold his palm to the shape of Blaine's skull while Kurt murmurs a crackling, faint, "So good, baby." And then the camera stays on Blaine, a steady close up on the diligent work of his mouth. Kurt would love to see that. But he's not going to ask Sam. But he wants to revisit this idea of filming themselves with Blaine sometime. But, oh... not now. Now he wants to wallow in this.
Opening his eyes, Kurt pulls his attention from Blaine to Sam again, who is now distinctly hard in his pants and shifting in his seat. Sam looks back and his gaze locks with Kurt's, and Kurt's cock is in Blaine's mouth and Sam is looking directly, unabashedly at him with such naked desire. Kurt swallows and moistens his lips. He reaches out a hand to Sam and gathers enough air to speak: "Come here?"
to the next part »
Given the Opportunity (1/4ish)
Kurt/Blaine + Sam | MA/NC-17 | Erotica/Drama, PWP-ish | sex, language, threesome, mild kink, bisexual!Sam, Timeline? What timeline? blowjobs, rimming, 69'ing | canon inspired AU future fic | Two years after Will and Emma’s wedding that wasn’t, Kurt and Blaine return to Lima in February to celebrate another High School friend’s wedding. Sam catches up with them there and it becomes clear that Sam, after a string of heartbreaks and dashed hopes for a reunion with Mercedes, could use the help of his friends. Or Bros help bros hook up at weddings where there are too damn many ex girlfriends. | ~10,250 words total so far
1.
They have everything they need in the hotel room already—more than they'll need, really. Kurt leaves the toys in the luggage, just takes out the condoms and lubricant. A room in a Lima hotel is hardly the place Kurt would have chosen for this; home would be more comfortable, but there is something about a hotel room that shifts boundaries and reduces inhibition. With the addition of the heightened emotion of a wedding, perhaps this is the perfect setting.
Still, Kurt sighs at the dated decor of his and Blaine's suite: rose pink carpet with watermelon green accents—the waxy looking faux oak finishes on the furniture, the country style quilt on the too-firm bed, the uninspired watercolor landscapes hanging on the walls. Kurt starts with the quilt. He pulls it off the bed and folds it, sets it aside in the closet. Then he picks up what's left of their wedding prep disorder. Hangs what needs to be hung, folds what needs to be folded, goes into the bathroom to put away toiletries and wipe down the sink. Makes sure there's no lingering evidence of the handjob he'd given Blaine in front of the mirror after he'd got out of the shower. (And he smiles at the memory.)
Kurt's hands are not shaking as he takes his phone from his pocket and taps the volume back on, in case Blaine texts a change of plans. "Anything you want, honey," Kurt had told him. "Just let me know."
The room is as orderly and welcoming as he can make it, so he goes to get ice, and tries to concentrate on that simple task. The soft tread of his leather soles across the pile of the hotel carpet, the negligible weight of the ice bucket in his hand. But it's hard not to think about how they got here tonight.
#
"I don't know why I ever thought I had a chance with her today," Sam says, leaning toward Kurt, over Blaine, who sits between them. He speaks just loud enough to be audible to the three of them as they sit on the hard wooden pew. "Of course she has a boyfriend. Just look at her. And look at him." Sam continues. "Is he a model or something?"
Kurt glances up from where he's been tugging loose the fingers of his leather gloves. Mercedes is standing near the altar talking with the officiant, her arm looped through that of her latest LA beau, Martin. They moved in together a month ago, if Kurt recalls the timeline of their romance, and it's growing serious. And Martin is definitely model material. Adonis-like, really—tall, chiseled and broad shouldered, with that west coast glow about him, like he's brought the sun with him to chilly Ohio, carried in the highlights of his honey blond hair and the glint of the Pacific ocean in his green eyes. Mercedes, resplendent in her red bridesmaid dress, sparkles under his attention. They look good together.
"She said he models," Kurt says. "But only part time. He's studying civil engineering at UCLA."
"He's okay, I guess," Blaine says reassuringly. "Not really my type."
Kurt looks at Blaine, raises one eyebrow. Given the anxious state Blaine had been in this morning over seeing Sam again, it's not surprising that he's a little off his game. It's been months (Longer?) since they've seen each other, and while Kurt finds the earnestness and durability of Blaine's crush on Sam both lovely and a little heartbreaking, he's not above gentle teasing. "Oh, really, Blaine? I thought you liked well-built blonds?"
"So he's smart, too." Sam sighs.
Kurt gets the point of Blaine's elbow against his ribs as Blaine says, "You're smart, Sam. The art you make is genius." And that's true enough. Sam managed a scholarship to an art school, transitioned his macaroni art into mosaics with more traditional media. After a gallery show at his school, he got a commission to do an accent wall in the master-bathroom of a new home in Dublin. He's been texting Blaine photos.
"I guess," Sam says and sighs again, even more heavily. He twists in his seat and looks around. Kurt follows his gaze. Brittany and Santana sit together, lost in their own world, the same way they used to be in the choir room. Quinn is there with a man she's been introducing as her good friend. And though her body language indicates that's true, she's staying close to him. She looks happy, relaxed and smiling more easily than Kurt's ever seen. It suits her.
"This wedding is like a freakin' ex-girlfriend convention," Sam says.
~
Later at the reception, Kurt leans against the bar and sips his strawberry daiquiri while, beside him, Sam unenthusiastically nurses a warming beer. Sam's been watching Brittany dance with Santana with a flicker of sadness in his gaze. Kurt watches Sam watch them. Blaine's dancing with Tina, and Kurt does not fail to notice the way Sam's gaze occasionally drifts toward Blaine and lingers. How the sadness fades when it does, changes to something softer that Kurt isn't sure he recognizes, at least not on Sam.
"Do I have rebound guy tattooed on my forehead or something?" Sam asks, glancing at Kurt; a hint of a smile tugs the corner of his mouth.
"Hmm," Kurt says and tilts his head to make a show of looking. "Looks more like it says sweet and hot to me," he says, smiles at Sam.
Sam laughs, gives Kurt a curious look. "I don't know, man, I'm just tired of feeling used. I'm starting to think girls are too much trouble."
Kurt takes a long sweet pull of his drink, thick and cold through the straw. He swallows. "I don't know. I'm not sure it's girls," Kurt says. He lets the easy buzz of alcohol loosen his tongue. "Maybe you're too much of a giver." He's had some experience with the hot sweet rebound ready guy, who was only too happy to give, expect little in return, until everything got complicated and awkward and it ended in tears.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Kurt shrugs, lowers his glass and plays with his straw. "Depends what you do with it. But if you're always putting other people first and you're with the wrong person, you might not get enough back. If you don't know how to ask for the things you want or need." It's a lesson Kurt has learned the hard way. Twice, he's been the wrong person.
"What do you mean?" Sam asks.
"Well... It might be why you and Blaine get along so well. He's the same way. He'll give and give and sacrifice silently. So, you and Blaine, you give a lot to each other, and it somehow balances out okay."
"What about you? You're like, always doing stuff for people."
"I try," Kurt says, shakes his head ruefully. "But don't have the knack. Sometimes I have trouble working out the difference between what I think a person needs, and what they actually need." Fortunately, he's learned how to blend his tendency for control with his generosity in a way that works well for both Blaine and himself. But he's not without his flaws. "I'm also nearly as self-obsessed as Narcissus," he admits with wry self-deprecation. "So, there's that."
Sam laughs again, softly. Looks at Blaine again. There's a growing weight in Sam's gaze each time it finds Blaine. Appreciative, perhaps. Which prompts Kurt to consider Sam. It's easy to slip into seeing him as he was back in High School rather than how he is now. He's still easy on the eyes, although hot and sweet is only part of it. The pretty adolescent boy has changed into a handsome young man. The kindness and the cuteness have remained, and Kurt's often been grateful for both. Beneath his scrutiny, Kurt sees Sam grin at a particularly enthusiastic flourish Blaine makes as he dips Tina.
"You've really missed him, huh?" Kurt asks quietly, seeking hints of what Sam's attention may mean. He knows how much Blaine's missed Sam.
There's the smallest hesitation, and Sam nods before he says, just as quietly—intimately—like it's an admission, "Yeah, I really have, even more than I expected." Sam turns to regard Kurt, and Kurt meets his gaze evenly without challenge. "I... actually, miss you, too. Sometimes." Sam holds Kurt's gaze for several long heartbeats, long enough it makes Kurt's breath falter.
Unsure how to navigate this—whatever this is—Kurt ventures, "I never did thank you for taking care of him when I... wasn't."
"Yeah, well, rebound guy!" Sam says with a sardonic grin, jabbing one thumb against his chest. But then he glances down and sobers. "You two seem to be doing okay now."
Kurt nods. "We've found a rhythm, learned how to take care of each other better. He's better at talking. I'm better at listening."
"He looks really good," Sam says, and the way his gaze tracks over Blaine's body has Kurt wondering.
"The city suits him," Kurt says.
"It suits you too." Sam's gaze moves to Kurt, drags down Kurt's body briefly, then back up to his face. The way Sam smiles... That definitely feels flirtatious. Now it's Kurt's turn to look at Sam with curiosity.
The music changes to something slow, and Kurt wonders if he can prompt a little more clarity. He doesn't want to assume. "Maybe I should rescue Blaine, in case Tina decides to grab his ass," he says, pauses, and speaks the next more slowly and clearly to Sam, with—he hopes—sufficient deliberation and intention in his voice: "Unless you want to, Sam."
"Grab Blaine's ass?"
Kurt's laughter comes so suddenly, he nearly ends up with daiquiri up the back of his nose. "Dance with him," Kurt says, fishing in his pocket for his handkerchief. "Though if you wanted to cop a feel, I know for a fact he wouldn't mind."
It takes at least a minute before Sam looks at him and asks, very seriously, "Would you? Mind?"
So that is how it is. "That would depend entirely on your intentions," Kurt takes a breath and pushes forward, chooses alcohol lubricated bluntness, because it's not worth being oblique over something like this. If Kurt's wrong, they can laugh it off. Kurt smiles as he speaks, tries to make it half-joke, half-serious—but all potential proposition (and a mild warning, if one is needed). "Are you just looking for someone to suck your dick because you're lonely at a wedding, or are you up for something more?"
"Dude, I wou— Wait." Sam frowns in confused surprise. His voice drops to a whisper and he leans closer. "Kurt? Are you, um... like, offering?"
"And if I am?" Kurt asks, steady, but he can't quite keep the sudden breathlessness from his voice.
"Uh," Sam says, and looks down at his beer for a moment, before taking a long drink. His lips are wet when he lowers his glass. He presses them together and looks at Kurt. "It is..." Sam trails off with a heavy exhale. He closes his eyes for a moment. Opens them and continues. "It's definitely something I've thought about," he says softly.
"Have you?" Kurt asks, intrigued. Sam's never been defensive in saying he's straight, but Kurt remembers well when he thought Sam might not be so perfectly heterosexual. He's always wondered what if: what if Finn hadn't been such an utter ass? "Because you know Blaine likes you? And you like that he does?"
Sam is blushing and biting at his bottom lip. It's actually pretty adorable. "Well, yeah, but, I mean, it's not just that. You, um—"
"You and I both know how Blaine feels about you. I won't let you take advantage of that," Kurt speaks gently, but he keeps a hint of steel in his voice. It's something he knows Blaine is open to. Too open, Kurt worries. Kurt won't risk Blaine's heart, no matter how pleasurable or how often they've talked about it between themselves.
"I... really care about him, Kurt. And I know, you and me, we're not as close, but I care about you too. You've always been an amazing friend, and I get that you and Blaine have been through a lot. I wouldn't do anything to hurt him. Or you."
"Then," Kurt turns toward Sam, but maintains the comfortable distance between them. He's not pushing, not really. Just wants Sam to talk. "Would you tell me what you would like to do to him—or, rather, with us. If you were given the opportunity."
Sam's eyes widen. Kurt buys him another beer and gets Sam to tell him.
~
On the dance floor, Blaine swaps Tina for Brittany when the music changes. He sends the occasional glance back at Kurt and Sam as he dances. His smile is wide; his eyes bright; and his body moves with invitation. Difficult to resist, especially now that Kurt understands what may be possible for them tonight. A hum of anticipation has settled beneath his skin. He looks away from Blaine to Sam, whose cheeks are flush with color and whose lips part as Kurt leans well into his personal space this time, holds his gaze. "I'm going to talk to Blaine," Kurt says, he flicks his gaze down to Sam's lips with a smile and sees how Sam's pupils expand.
"Cool," Sam says, and though there's a note of nerves there, Kurt knows Sam means it. He's been surprisingly open.
Kurt sets his glass down and goes to Blaine.
~
"Hey, you," Kurt says, as he takes Blaine's hand and spins him into his arms. Brittany twirls away to find another partner.
"Hi," Blaine breathes through his grin. "Was hoping you'd join me."
And though the music is fast, Kurt pulls Blaine against him; his palm presses against the supple curve of Blaine's spine as Blaine yields himself so easily to Kurt's hold. Like he always does, and it sends Kurt's heart beating harder, his blood hotter, and Kurt has to close his eyes for a moment to center himself.
"You and Sam looked friendly," Blaine says, teasing, a little sarcastic, because he doesn't know yet.
"Mmhm," Kurt says, turns his head so their cheeks brush and his breath is in Blaine's ear. "How would you feel about helping out a bro tonight?"
Blaine laughs, "You want to go make out in the back of the car for old time's sake?"
"No," Kurt says. "Sam."
Blaine stiffens. "What?"
So Kurt explains. All those fantasies they've shared with each other, of another man in their bed, of that man being—maybe, even if impossibly—Sam, they're not impossible tonight.
Kurt remembers both hot summer afternoons and cold winter evenings, Blaine naked in his arms, talking to him, telling him in details both specific and explicit, the things he'd do, the things he'd want, given the opportunity. And Kurt would touch him, prompt him, embellish the fantasy with his own desire, until they'd both be drenched in sweat and Blaine would be begging for Kurt to let him come.
Tonight, Kurt, with Sam, can make this happen for Blaine, and Kurt wants to, badly. Ultimately, though, it's Blaine's decision, so Kurt gives him the space to make it. "I'll go to the room, and you can bring Sam, if you want to," Kurt says.
He lingers long enough to watch Blaine approach Sam, who waits at the bar. Sam smiles tentatively, Blaine smooths one hand over his hair, and then Kurt goes to the room.
#
Back in the suite, Kurt sets the ice bucket on the dresser by the TV. He's not going to overthink this. Doesn't want to talk himself out of it. Keeps wondering if he's meant to be jealous; he's not. It's different, like he's giving Blaine a gift, and maybe Sam, too. He hopes Sam too, because this should be good for them all. Blaine may be his priority, as he told Sam when they spoke, but Kurt promised they'd take good care of Sam too.
Kurt reduces the light to just the mellow pinkish glow of the table lamps by the bed. Makes sure there are three water glasses within reach. He rummages in his suitcase for a spare pair of pajamas, in case Sam stays.
In case Sam stays, his brain sticks on. He holds the neatly folded stack of top and bottoms. Light blue and burgundy striped white cotton with burgundy piping. Blaine got them for him this past Christmas. The pocket is monogrammed. Kurt imagines Sam wearing them. He's shared clothes with Sam before, of course. Not only when Sam was in need, but also when he lived with them Kurt's senior year.
His phone chimes: a text from Blaine, "Sam's coming. Do we need anything?"
"Okay," Kurt says to the phone, nods to himself, and sends back to Blaine, "Everything ready here. See you soon."
Blindly, Kurt steps backward to the edge of the bed, sits as his fingers release his phone and go to his collar, loosening his tie enough to open the top button. Then he bends to unlace his shoes.
Instead of staring at the door, waiting for it to open, Kurt places his hands on his thighs and looks straight ahead, into the mirror opposite the bed. Two years ago, he was in a similar enough place: a hook up with a friend at a wedding. But it was never that simple. Kurt knew it then (even if he was loath to acknowledge it); he knows it well now—now that he and Blaine have come back to one another, stronger and easier. He wonders what it is he knows today that may not be simple or easy to acknowledge.
There's history among them at least: honesty, affection, and respect. They can do this, and it will be good.
Kurt startles at the slide-click of the door unlocking. He exhales slowly and composes himself enough to stand smoothly as Blaine and Sam come in.
They're smiling—teeth flashing grins—and holding hands, Blaine leading Sam. Blaine catches Kurt's gaze first. Their eyes lock. Blaine nods; his grin widens. Kurt lifts his chin and smiles back. His shoulders relax. He looks at Sam, keeps smiling easily, and says, "I'm glad you decided to join us."
"Yeah, me too," Sam says, and the way Sam is looking at him—contemplative and something else, something eager—Kurt's seen it before. He remembers Sam looking at him that way after he'd performed "Le Jazz Hot".
Ah. Now Kurt knows what that meant and how he wasn't wrong about Sam. Not entirely.
Kurt's pleased to see Sam's expression grow even more fond as he turns back to Blaine, and the way Blaine is looking back at Sam, wide-eyed and delighted.
"So, um, how do y—?" Blaine starts, but he's cut off when Sam puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder, leans in and kisses him full on the mouth.
The rush of air as Blaine inhales sharply through his nose is audible, even over the softer hitch of Kurt's own breath. Kurt sits back down before his knees give out.
Blaine grapples for a hold on Sam, grabbing a handful of tie, shirt, and lapel. Pulls Sam in closer as Blaine pushes up against his lips, and then there's the visible slide of Blaine's tongue and Sam's lips parting, and Kurt cannot look away, cannot move—can barely breathe.
For all that he and Blaine have talked about doing this—wanting it in the hypothetical instance of it being possible—moving it from the realm of shared imagination into that of reality sets a anxious flutter in Kurt's chest. As good as Blaine and Sam look together, it doesn't erase the time (long past now, but still a vivid enough memory) when Kurt's mind had been poisoned by the thought—by the carefully constructed logic of betrayal and obsession—of another man touching Blaine. His nightmares were stalked by the images of Blaine with nameless strangers, touching him, kissing him, using him. So Kurt had worried that seeing this, someone else touching Blaine, might bring back some of that acrid emotion.
It doesn't, for it's not simply someone touching Blaine; it's Sam. And Kurt doesn't doubt the depth of Sam's respect and affection for Blaine—for them both; and Kurt knows it is amply returned. So Kurt lets himself admire the spectacle of Sam and Blaine kissing with nothing more fraught than the heated thrum of anticipation rising beneath his skin.
Sam breaks the kiss with a wide, breathless smile. His cheeks are stained a ruddy pink, and it's like his lips were holding Blaine upright, for Blaine slumps back against the wall like his strings have been cut; his eyelids slip closed, and his chest heaves. His hold on Sam's clothing loosens, and Kurt can see how his hands tremble as he smooths down what he's rumpled.
"Okay," Blaine whispers. "Okay."
A tendril of doubt clears Kurt's head, to see Blaine falling so fast, and while that's undoubtedly hot, Kurt realizes he won't be able to sit back quietly and simply watch them for long. He's not sure how well prepared Sam may be for the intensity of Blaine's desire. Kurt stands.
But perhaps he's underestimated Sam, for he's now touching Blaine's face and asking, "Are you good? Is this too weird?"
Blaine's jaw works soundlessly, and a little tremor ripples across his shoulders.
Kurt says softly, "Blaine?"
Blaine opens his eyes—too bright. He looks at Kurt, smiles, and then turns back to Sam and says clearly if hoarsely, "I'm fine." He adjusts his grip upon Sam's lapel; his eyelashes flutter down and then up again, he tilts his head; the angle of his jaw beckons. "Very fine, in fact."
"Yeah?" Sam grins.
"Yeah."
"Then, can I...?" Sam's hand drifts from Blaine's cheek to the buttons of his suit jacket.
"Yes," Blaine says and pulls Sam's mouth back against his, hard.
Sam hums into the kiss as he undoes Blaine's jacket, and then gets to work on his shirt, fumbling just a little bit with the mirror image of what he's accustomed to. Watching Blaine's clothes come undone under Sam's hands is like viewing some kind of custom made porn tailored for Kurt's brain: two boys he's desired—does desire—desiring each other. Blaine, slim and dark and slick; and Sam muscular and fair and tousled. The visual contrast is delicious. They look amazing together. Even better as Sam pushes Blaine's undershirt up and Kurt sees skin.
With fingers he barely feels, Kurt undoes his tie, strips it from around his collar, and slips his jacket off. He lays them over the back of the desk chair. He thinks to recall some of the specifics of Blaine's fantasies, to find a cue for himself in this.
"And then... then he's..."
"What's he doing, Blaine?"
"His hand's on my belt, undoing it. And you're... uh, you're..."
"What am I doing?"
"You're like, behind him, undressing him—taking his shirt off—and then pushing him down, to his knees, and telling him to look at me, and..."
"Do you want him to suck your dick?"
"Yes, god yes."
"Okay, I tell him to do that."
Nice fantasy, but it may be too ambitious. From their earlier conversation, Kurt's certain Sam's not going to want to move that fast, even if he said he wants to try giving a blowjob. It's up to Kurt to enable Sam's curiosity without pushing him into discomfort.
But Kurt goes to them anyway, puts one hand on Sam—his upper arm, and feels the solid size of Sam's bicep (thrilling) and the other hand, he slips behind Blaine's neck, curving his palm to fit his hand to its slope, finding with his thumb the short curl of hair behind Blaine's ear, tracing the arc of the lock that never will quite lie straight.
The familiarity of Blaine, the specific texture of his skin near his hairline, slightly tacky with product, the scent of him this close—bittersweet product and spicy-smooth cologne—helps settle Kurt's nerves. The close-up view of Blaine's mouth working hungrily with Sam's does not. This close, Kurt also catches Sam's scent—clean and open, like late summer afternoons cooled by the first breath of autumn.
They break the kiss, and Blaine looks at him, dark-eyed and dazed. Then Sam turns his attention to Kurt, takes Kurt by the chin, leans in, and presses his mouth to Kurt's. Startled, Kurt tries to return the kiss with lips that feel clumsy beneath the curious softness of Sam's. Sam's kiss is patient, the glance of his tongue shy, and Kurt unclenches his fist from the sleeve of Sam's jacket, takes a steadying breath in through his nose, and relaxes his lips.
Around the wrist of his hand upon Blaine's neck, Kurt feels Blaine's fingers close gently. Then Blaine is nuzzling at his hand, coaxing Kurt to open his fingers, and pressing ticklish kisses to Kurt's palm and the tender inside of his wrist. The sensation jangles the nerves all the way up Kurt's arm, forces a whimper up his throat.
Sam's other hand alights warm, with unfamiliar calluses, upon Kurt's jaw, and Sam draws him into a better angle, slips his tongue between Kurt's lips to skate across his bottom teeth. It feels strangely possessive. And yet, it's so different from Blaine's kisses; no matter how hungry or demanding, there's always something in Blaine that yields to Kurt. Sam is giving, but not giving in. But, despite the insistence of Sam's hand and mouth, there's a tentativeness in his kiss too. His tongue moves like an uncertain trespasser with an unfamiliar rhythm. His lips are flower petal soft—of course they are. When Kurt parts his lips further to invite Sam to deepen the kiss, he tastes the creamy sweetness of the wintergreen breath mints Sam favors beneath which is the bitter trace of beer. The beckoning heat of desire blooms in Kurt's belly, and Blaine bites at the fleshy heel of his hand.
(And somewhere in Kurt's consciousness, a giddy remnant of his sixteen-year-old self is pumping his fist in vindication, because—god fucking damn it—he's kissing Sam Evans and he's pretty sure Sam Evans is liking it.)
Then Blaine's mouth is on the side of Kurt's neck, and Blaine's hand is at Kurt's belt buckle. "Let's go to the bed," he murmurs, hot breath near Kurt's ear. Kurt shivers and Sam eases back. Kurt breathes and opens his eyes. Sam looks at him, wide-eyed. Blaine sucks at the side of Kurt's neck as he pops the prong of Kurt's buckle free of the leather.
"Yeah, we should do that," Kurt says, and he lets Blaine's hand, low on his waist, push him backward toward the bed. Sam doesn't move to follow, just presses his lips together as he undoes his suit jacket.
"Coming?" Kurt asks Sam; the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Blaine whips his belt from its loops, tosses it aside, starts untucking Kurt's shirt, pauses only to jerk his arms from his own suit jacket and toe off his shoes, and then his hands are back on Kurt, slipping the buttons of his shirt free, one by one.
Sam nods absently and ducks his shoulders out of his jacket. It falls to the floor. He still doesn't move closer. "Nervous?" Kurt asks Sam. Blaine slows down, and turns to look over his shoulder.
Sam nods. "A little."
"Are you having second thoughts, Sam?" Blaine asks. "It's okay if you are."
"No, but..." Sam gestures vaguely toward them. His hair falls forward into his face. "I'm not sure what to do exactly? Could I maybe, just... like... watch you two for a little while?"
If Kurt weren't already perfectly hard, hearing Sam's proposal would totally get him there. A fresh flush of blood prickles across his chest at the thought of Sam watching— No, not just watching: Sam enjoying watching them. He glances at Blaine, sees him nod. "Yeah," Kurt says, breathless. "No pressure. You can join in whenever you're comfortable, if you want, or... whatever works best for you."
"That wouldn't be creepy?" Sam asks.
Blaine laughs softly as his hand drifts down Kurt's torso to rest lightly over the hard line of Kurt's cock, as if he's not only verifying Kurt's interest for himself, but also showing it to Sam, and then he says emphatically, "No."
Kurt swallows a gasp when Blaine squeezes, and then he manages a wobbly smile of encouragement even as Sam's gaze drops from Kurt's face to Blaine's hand.
"Okay, cool," Sam says. He unbuttons his dress shirt and heads toward the mauve armchair by the window.
With a grin, Blaine turns back to Kurt, and pushes him backward. Kurt falls to the mattress with a soft 'oof', and Blaine is quick to follow him. He straddles Kurt and grinds his ass down against Kurt's cock as he finishes unbuttoning Kurt's shirt. Kurt bites his lip and pushes his hips up against Blaine, looks at him from beneath heavy eyelids and wonders what Blaine's got planned (because he seems to have something in mind) in terms of putting on a show for Sam.
But Blaine doesn't give Kurt a lot of time for wondering. He's pushing Kurt's shirt open and leaning down to lick broadly across Kurt's nipple while he finds the other with his fingers and pinches. Hard.
Kurt's mouth comes open as his lungs heave out a breathless, "Fuck," and then he rolls his head to the side to check on Sam, who is pulling his arms free of his shirt and revealing a torso that would make Taylor Lautner jealous. Sam looks like the lovechild of Captain America and Thor, which is a comparison Kurt is sure Sam would appreciate, so he'll try to remember it for later. But right now, he's losing the ability to bring actual words up to his tongue for the way Blaine is sucking and tugging at his nipples. The only sound that escapes his lips is a piteous sounding whimper when Blaine bites down, gently enough, but sharp and bright and irresistible.
At the sound, Sam's gaze finds Kurt's and Kurt tries to smile. Sam's flush is moving down his neck and he's breathing heavily through parted lips. Kurt watches the way his gaze roves, down to Blaine's mouth and hands upon Kurt's bared skin. Sam stares, and Kurt wonders how they look.
It's a longstanding turn-on and fantasy, being watched. Kurt loves sex with the lights on. He loves to see Blaine's body and to be seen himself. Loves to perform for Blaine, loves to be on display for Blaine, loves the heated weight of Blaine's attention on his physical self. Has always loved the idea of someone watching him—or them—with desire and appreciation (and he knows Blaine shares that fantasy), but the reality is different from the daydream. Kurt finds he is freshly self-conscious of his body in a way he hasn't been since he was in high school. It's not the self-consciousness of performance, but that of approval and the fear of judgment.
He's aware, from working on the stage, how he looks from every angle, in every mood, with every expression and posture and movement. But this? He's thought about how they look having sex, but he doesn't actually know beyond what he sees reflected in the mirror by their bed, which is less about a third party's taste than it is about their own. He doesn't know Sam's taste. Has never even thought to ask Sam such personal questions as his porn preferences—or ask Blaine if he knows.
So Kurt is aware of everything, like the way Blaine is kissing his way back up Kurt's neck and finding his mouth, and, as Blaine's tongue slips warm alongside his own, he wonders if they look good kissing, because—for himself—kissing is the make it or break it for porn. It can look weird and unsexy and crude—or it can be hot and tender and compelling. Kurt tries to kiss back as prettily as he can, and he hopes he succeeds, because usually he's more concerned about how it feels than how it looks. Which, in this moment, feels awkward. And he regrets now that they never have made a sex tape of themselves. (Another thing talked about, but not actually done, even though it would be so easy to pull out one of their phones...)
Blaine's mouth slides to his cheek with a soft gust of quiet laughter, like he knows exactly what's going through Kurt's mind—and he may well. "You're too tense," he murmurs into Kurt's ear. "Stop thinking so hard."
And then Blaine is moving away, shuffling down Kurt's body and reaching for Kurt's fly. Kurt wasn't expecting to have his pants come undone first, but he can't resist Blaine pulling his fly open and drawing his cock out. Nor can he resist watching Blaine, lowering himself and opening his mouth to take Kurt in, one long sweet slide down. No hesitation or teasing or easy warm up, just the immediate enveloping suction and heat of Blaine's mouth around his cock. Each glide up and back down, drives Kurt's desire into a deeper, hungrier ache.
Kurt makes a noise that Sam could probably translate from Klingon, and he has to close his eyes for a minute. His heart races and his breath comes shallow and too quick, for Sam's gaze and Blaine's mouth are both burning upon him.
Randomly, Kurt imagines Sam getting his phone out and filming them, filming Blaine going down on Kurt and then zooming in on Kurt's face, his searing hot cheeks and sore bitten lips, and then dragging down to capture the tension in the arch of his neck, the speeding flutter of his pulse at his throat; the way one hand fists into to the sheets and the other finds Blaine's head, to mold his palm to the shape of Blaine's skull while Kurt murmurs a crackling, faint, "So good, baby." And then the camera stays on Blaine, a steady close up on the diligent work of his mouth. Kurt would love to see that. But he's not going to ask Sam. But he wants to revisit this idea of filming themselves with Blaine sometime. But, oh... not now. Now he wants to wallow in this.
Opening his eyes, Kurt pulls his attention from Blaine to Sam again, who is now distinctly hard in his pants and shifting in his seat. Sam looks back and his gaze locks with Kurt's, and Kurt's cock is in Blaine's mouth and Sam is looking directly, unabashedly at him with such naked desire. Kurt swallows and moistens his lips. He reaches out a hand to Sam and gathers enough air to speak: "Come here?"
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