wowbright (wowbright) wrote,
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Cover Me (fic)

Title: Cover Me
Characters: Kurt/Blaine, Sebastian
Rating: NC-17 for sex and language
Spoilers: Nothing specific, but assumes up to 3.8
Word Count: 6,360
Summary: Sebastian unwittingly improves Kurt's and Blaine's sex life. Porn with a bit of a plot.



Author's Notes: Written for this prompt from likeasouffle, which ended up being more inspiration than plot outline. Thanks to fictocriticism for betaing – I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Title from "Cover Me" by Bruce Springsteen, from whom I obviously did not seek permission. Also, I don't own Glee, and I don't make any money writing this stuff.


---Cover Me---

Kurt had always told himself that sex was just icing on the cake. He'd waited for a long time – a lot longer than he really wanted to, frankly – because it was important to have the entire emotional infrastructure in place, to lay the groundwork, to build the love that sex could be an expression for.

And, yes, those things were important. But what Kurt hadn't expected was that sex would show him that they'd come nowhere near completing that infrastructure – that it was still there to build, with their bodies as well as their words.

Nor had Kurt expected for sex to help him love Blaine even more fiercely than he already did – not so much because of the skin and the heat and orgasms and the smell of Blaine, sweaty and spent – but because they could say things with their bodies that they'd never been able to speak. I love you – these are monumental words, and true words every time they've been spoken between them, but they don't say everything. They don't say I trust you and they don't say I'll give you everything and they don't say You're a part of me the way that a body can say it, the way that Blaine's heavy-lidded, honey-glass eyes say it when he's open and loose and pulling Kurt inside him, the way his catching breath says it, the way the squeeze and pull of muscle cries it out.

It's not only their bodies that talk, of course. They say more with words than they ever did before. For the most part, Blaine has stopped holding back, stopped biting his lip when there's something he wants, stopped being afraid that he's going to push or pressure Kurt into something he's not ready for.

Kurt's made it pretty clear he's ready for just about anything.

So, for the most part, Blaine tells Kurt in exacting detail what he wants, physically – trusts Kurt to say no if it's too much or not his thing.

As luck has it, it's always Kurt's thing.

Blaine's gone from the shy and tentative requests of their first time ("I –" He blushed. "I – Could I suck you? Please?" And Kurt had to bite back a laugh at the notion that he could possibly not want the hottest, most pink-lipped and earnest, most beautiful and heart-rending boy on the planet to do that to him.) to detailed, straightforward explanations of his physiology ("I don't know why, but there's this spot on my back that if you put just the right pressure on it, it's kind of like an orgasm. It's right around – oh, god, yes, there. Oh, Kurt. Kurt.") to talk that would almost be dirty if it weren't so filled with awe and vulnerability ("Kurt, you can tell me if this is moving too fast, but it doesn't feel like it to me because I've had this thought somewhere in my mind ever since I first held your hand and felt how long and perfect your fingers were, how good they'd feel inside me – just one or two at first until I can take all of them. I want to take all four of them for you, I want you to watch my ass stretch for you. For you, Kurt.")

Still, Kurt knows that Blaine is holding something back. When they fuck – and wow, does Blaine ever like to fuck or, technically, to be fucked (although they never call it "fucking" out loud, it's just something that Kurt like to think about in his head, because there's something about its dirtiness that feels intimate, brings Blaine closer to his heart) – Blaine sometimes closes his eyes and turns his face away from Kurt’s, buries it into the pillows and begins muttering things that are hard for Kurt to make out. At first, Kurt thought it was the usual stream of I love yous and Godyesthats, that Blaine was just trying to muffle the noise out of habit even when no one else was home. But a few times now, Kurt has tried to nudge Blaine's face away from the pillow and he won't budge, just bites it harder and keeps muttering, grabs Kurt's hips to drive him in deeper.

Blaine's not like that when Kurt's going down on him or palming his cock or doing any of the other myriad things that make Blaine come. Yes, he'll bury his face in the pillow, but when Kurt tells him that he wants to hear the noises Blaine makes loud and clear, Blaine abandons the pillow and cries out into the air, into Kurt's mouth, into Kurt's skin.

Kurt wonders if he's hurting Blaine. "Am I too rough?" he asks one afternoon when they're fully clothed and not in the middle of having sex, but Blaine just shakes his head shyly and holds Kurt's hand and says, as his eyes flit bashfully between their hands and Kurt's eyes, "No, no, Kurt, you're never too rough. You're so … gentle, and good, and sweet, and I'm so lucky that you take such good care of me."

Which is a good answer, and a kind answer, but there's something wrong about it. Because usually, Blaine's not shy anymore when it comes to anything having to do with sex. He usually looks Kurt directly in the eye, even if his face is so flushed that it's almost as tawny pink as the rim of his asshole.

Kurt knows that Blaine is hiding something. He's just not sure what.

Kurt thinks that maybe they should stop fucking or, at least, maybe he should stop fucking Blaine. At least until Blaine is ready to say whatever he's murmuring into the pillow loud enough for Kurt to hear.

"Do you – " Kurt starts one day, when they've just pulled up in his driveway after school, seatbelts still fastened. "Do you like me inside you?"

Blaine blushes, looks right into Kurt's eyes. "I hope that's a proposition."

"Well, it could be," Kurt smiles. "But I – I was just wondering. I guess – we haven't checked in. And I wasn't sure if it's what you thought it would be, and if, if maybe it was too much? Because if it is – we don't have to keep doing it, just because we've done it before."

Blaine puts a hand on Kurt's forearm. "It's not too much, Kurt. It's – I don't think it could ever be too much."

So they go into the blessedly empty house and Kurt spreads Blaine out on the bed and licks him and fingers him and fucks him and when Blaine turns his face into the pillow again, Kurt says, "Look at me, please. I need you to look at me."

Blaine does, his eyes fire-fearless and bright, looking right into Kurt's soul, making him feel naked and rent and whole, but the whole time Blaine's biting on his lower lip, trying to keep quiet.

"It's okay." Kurt brushes the hair away from Blaine's forehead, moves a slow inch out and back in. "You can make noise. No one's home but us."

Blaine opens his mouth and gasps Kurt's name and something else, something that starts like a word but turns into a rattled moan, and Blaine is burying his face into the pillow again, letting it muffle whatever words he's afraid to say.

A week later, Kurt tries another tack.

"Would you like to … be on top?" Kurt asks. Again, they are fully clothed.

“You mean, like, ride your cock?”

Kurt crosses his legs. He didn’t mean the conversation to get that sexy quite yet. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I mean, I don’t want to make you do all the work.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Blaine flounces his eyebrows.

Their clothes don’t stay on for long.

So Kurt tries again, the next day, at a table in the back corner of the public library, in the “Historical Lima” section, where no one ever goes. “Do you want to make love to me?” he whispers.

“All the time.” Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand under the table. “But not right here.”

“I mean –” Kurt starts.

Oh.”  Blaine’s face goes still, like he’s forgotten how to breathe. “You mean like,” he lowers his voice to an even more fragile quietness, “inside you?”

Kurt bites his lip and nods his head. He was going to be mature and cool about this, but instead he feels himself turning as red as a spring radish.

Blaine's jaw drops. "Um … do you want that?"

"I guess I won't know until we try, right?" Kurt says. As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he realizes that it doesn't sound at all enthusiastic, or convincing.

"Well, I thought you've never … I thought it wasn't …” Blaine leans in conspiratorially. “Have you tried fingering yourself, since we talked about it?"

"Um … no. I just thought, maybe – Maybe if it was something you wanted, we could – I could try tonight and let you know how it goes?"

"It's not." Blaine puts a hand on Kurt's arm. "It's not something I've wanted – not particularly. I mean, if it's something you want – everything that turns you on turns me on, but – Well, this has to turn you on to turn me on. You know?"

Blaine's not shy, or bashful, and his eyes are looking straight into Kurt, reflecting and refracting light like pieces of amber, and Kurt knows that Blaine isn't hiding a thing.

And Blaine keeps asking for it, every time they know they'll have at least an hour to be in bed together, asks with that same honest clarity in his eyes. His body keeps reacting in the same drunk, love-loose way. Afterward, he drowns Kurt in kisses and I love yous and You're so, so good to me, and it's overwhelming and beautiful and it makes Kurt feel like crying. He does, some of the time, and Blaine kisses him even more.

Two days after Christmas, when Blaine turns his head into the pillow and starts to mutter, Kurt leans down closer into Blaine's body, lowers his lips to Blaine's clavicle and leans his own ear against the pillow in which Blaine's face is buried. He tries to make out the words, but the words are so perfect, so much like the words he's been shamefully longing to hear, that he knows he's not hearing right. He's piecing what he wants to hear out of indecipherable moans, the way that religionists piece together divine meaning from weather patterns.

He's piecing together words that could never come out of his beautiful, gentle Blaine's mouth.

Still, just the fact that they sound vaguely like Use me and Harder and Fuck me makes Kurt's ears burn and his blood thrum, makes him forget himself a little until he's fucking Blaine just a little harder – still gentle and caring, the way Blaine likes it, but with the strokes a little longer, a little deeper, a little more direct on the spot that makes Blaine melt – until they both come in rapid succession, with so little warning that Kurt doesn't even have a chance to wrap his hand around Blaine's perfect cock before it's pulsing out its orgasm onto both of their stomachs, before Blaine's ass is clenching an even fiercer orgasm around Kurt.

It makes Kurt wonder if maybe he heard right, after all.

-----

On the eve of New Year's Eve, Kurt and Blaine sit next to each other at the Lima Bean, browsing through cooking websites and old copies of Cook's Illustrated to plan a quiet New Year's in. So far, they've settled on grapes, an Italian New Year's donut called chiacchiere and a Greek cake called vasilopita. The savory dishes are harder to agree on, although they're both intrigued by the idea of kale with ginger and cinnamon.

"So domestic." The words are accompanied by the drag of a chair across the floor as Sebastian seats himself across from them. "So predictably domestic."

Kurt smiles – or tries to smile, for Blaine's sake. He's sure it comes out more as a pained smirk. "Oh, it's you again."

Sebastian ignores him. "Haven't seen you in a while, Blaine."

Blaine's face flushes the same pink he gets when Kurt hooks a finger into his bowtie and unravels it. "You were here the day after Christmas," he says, the words barely squeaking out.

"Like I said, it's been much too long. I've missed your face." Sebastian sets his coffee cup down on the table. "And other things." He looks pointedly downward, as if he has x-ray vision and can make out the bulge in Blaine's pants through the table.

And it is a bulge, Kurt realizes, following Sebastian's gaze. Blaine is getting hard under there.

Kurt's pretty sure Blaine wasn't hard two minutes ago, when they were discussing whether black-eyed peas or lentils were a superior choice for New Year's legumes.

Kurt's first thought – it's not really a thought, though, more an image and a firing in his muscles – is to dive across the table and strangle Sebastian.

Fortunately in this case (though perhaps unfortunately in others), Kurt's never been one to give into violent impulses. Instead, his body cools, temperature steadily dropping until he sees the world with an icy clarity.

Reconnaissance, he decides. He's going to let Sebastian do a little reconnaissance for him.

So Kurt closes his magazine and scoots his chair back from the table. "Excuse me for a moment. I'm going to get another coffee."

Sebastian quirks an eyebrow. "Not to the little girls' room?"

Kurt tilts his head to the side and smiles widely. "Your heteronormative quips only serve to reveal your own deep-seated self-hatred."

Sebastian huffs out a weak laugh.

"W-wait." Blaine grabs Kurt's hand, looks at him with white-sheeted panic that almost melts Kurt's resolve. "You won't be able to sleep tonight. If you have another coffee, I mean."

"Then I'd better get you one, too," Kurt says, winking, and turns around before Sebastian can see the blush burn across his cheeks.

As Kurt stands at the back of the line – not in it, but close enough to it that if Blaine or Sebastian look up, he'll appear to at least be thinking about ordering – he has never been so grateful for his own prudence in always keeping his iPod set at a reasonable level and not, therefore, making himself half-deaf like most of his peers – including, apparently, Sebastian and Blaine. Because even ten feet away, he can pick out their conversation through the generalized hubbub of the café, thanks to his stellar hearing and their louder-than-strictly-necessary voices.

"So," says Sebastian, "am I right in thinking that when Kurt's talking about keeping you up all night, he's talking about a Jane-Austen-read-aloud-fest?"

"I like Jane Austen," Blaine stammers.

"Because you don't know anything better."

"No. She's sharp and funny and a little blistering, but also sweet and –"

"Oh my god. Is this when you're going to say, 'Just like Kurt?'"

"Maybe."

"Kurt can't fuck you like I can."

"You – You don't know –"

"He can't. He loves you too much."

Blaine doesn't say anything. Kurt fights the urge to turn around, slap the pretty smirk off of Sebastian's face, cover Blaine with kisses and tell him it's okay.

Wait, pretty?

Sebastian starts up again. "Look, I know you don't like me. But I can tell you like what I do to you. The tops of your ears burn when I talk to you this way. And your mouth falls open just so, and your lips get flushed and pink and they would be so perfect around my –"

"That's not – I don't want your – That doesn't mean –"

"Then whose do you want, Blaine? Because Kurt will never give you what you need. He'll always be gentle, and reverent, and make you feel so, so cared for, and he'll never, ever fuck your face until you think you might choke or fuck your ass so hard you feel it for days. Feel him for days. Make you remember how well you were fucked every time you sit down."

Blaine says nothing again, and Kurt can't keep himself from turning around on the off chance that Blaine has just lunged across the table and is now strangling Sebastian quietly.

He's not. He's just shifting in his chair, his hands tugging at the tight material around his hips, studiously avoiding his cock while trying to give it some freedom of movement.

Kurt turns away, stares at the menu board as if he hasn't read it a thousand times before.

"I can do that for you, Blaine Anderson. I can fuck you until you think you can't take it anymore – except that you'll be back the next day for more, when your ass is still throbbing with the memory of it."

"I love Kurt."

And that's how Kurt knows. That's how he knows for certain that Sebastian has read Blaine exactly right. That Blaine wants to be fucked, and not just the sweet way that Kurt's been doing it, but in a way that makes Kurt's pants tighten in the middle of the goddamn Lima Bean.

Because the only reason that Blaine can come up with for not letting Sebastian fuck him that way isn't that Sebastian is wrong or cheesy or predictable in his pseudo-rebelliousness. It's not even that he's probably infested with a Craigslist strain of scabies.

It's that Blaine loves Kurt, and would give up what he wants if he thought that Kurt didn't want it, too.

That is the only thing that's stopping him.

For the first time, Kurt is kind of glad for Sebastian's existence.

"I think both of us know that you loving Kurt is kind of irrelevant to the point I'm making," Sebastian says. "I'm not asking you to stop loving Kurt. I'm just offering to give you what you need. It's a tired saying, but you can't have your cake and eat it, too. You can't have a boyfriend who loves you and treats you like the slut you want to be, either. See the quandary you're in?"

The conversation, and Sebastian, have served their usefulness. Kurt walks back to the table empty-handed and, without sitting down, begins sweeping the magazines into his satchel. "They're all out of skim milk – guess I'll have to get my coffee elsewhere." He smiles gently at Blaine. "You ready?"

Blaine looks at him, wide-eyed and startled. "Yeah."

"But Blaine was just telling me how much he loves you." Sebastian grimaces. "I was looking forward to hearing more details. You know what romance does to me."

"I guess it'll have to wait for another day." Kurt grabs Blaine hand and pulls him up from his chair with a decisive tug.

----

"Why did you leave me alone with him?" Blaine mutters through clenched teeth as they pull up to his house. He's been quiet most of the ride, brooding and angry. Kurt hasn't said anything, hasn't pushed, knows it's best to let Blaine blow his own top when he's well and ready. "He's so –"

"Sexy," Kurt deadpans, cutting off the engine.

"What?"

"Sexy." Kurt turns to Blaine. He feels surprisingly calm – surprising because he supposes he should be jealous that another guy gave his boyfriend a hard-on in the middle of the Lima Bean, but he's not at all. (And, truth be told, Sebastian kind of gave Kurt a hard-on in the middle of the Lima Bean, so he really couldn't hold it against Blaine, even if he wanted to.) He's just relieved to finally understand what's going on with Blaine. The relief comes across in his voice. "You think he's sexy."

"No." Blaine grimaces. "He's mean. He makes me uncomfortable."

Kurt wraps his hand around Blaine's. "The fact that he's mean is only part of what makes you uncomfortable. The other thing that makes you uncomfortable is that he turns you on. It's okay, you know."

Blaine turns his head, jaw slack. "I – I don't want him to. He's not like you at all."

"Oh," Kurt tilts his head, "I hate to say it, but Sebastian and I might have more in common than you think."

Blaine scrunches his eyebrows at Kurt.

"Blaine." Kurt feels himself tearing up, like he always does at inopportune moments. Because he's supposed to be being sexy and seductive and menacing right now, but instead he's falling, falling down a dry well and hoping that Blaine is at the bottom, willing to catch him. "I can give you what you want. Let me. Please."

Blaine's eyes are wide and rippling like the surface of a pond in summer. "You heard, didn't you?"

Kurt squeezes Blaine's hand. "Yeah. I mean, I could blame it on the fact that you both probably need to have your hearing checked, but I was eavesdropping. I've known there's something you haven't been telling me, about what you want – sexually. And when he sat down and you were all, well, flustered and turned-on, I thought maybe listening in could help me figure it out."

"He's right, you know. I mean, about what I want. From you."

"I wish you'd told me."

"It feels fucked up. To ask you to treat me that way. I mean, sex is supposed to be about connection, and love, and –"

Kurt dives off the end of a pier. "I can love you with all my heart and still fuck you until it hurts. I can fuck you until it hurts because I love you."

----

After those words, everything becomes a blur for a few minutes. A blur of tongues and skin and heat, of legs tangling on the staircase in their eagerness to make it to Blaine's room, of clothes being removed in awkward order – pants yanked down before shoes have been kicked off, shirts unbuttoned while ties still remain snug around their necks.

“I just want you to know,” Blaine breathes between kisses, "there are two reasons he turns me on.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, and he really doesn’t understand why those words make him harder but, fuck, he’s just going to go with it. And rub his dick against Blaine’s hip while he talks.

“One is that – oh, Kurt – not a lot of people look at me that way, like, like I’m – Kurt – sex.”

“You are, Blaine,” Kurt speaks into Blaine’s hair. “Sex on a stick.” Blaine told him about that one, after Kurt had fingered him the first time. He presses his cock more assertively against Blaine’s skin. “Sex on my stick.”

Blaine groans. “I guess they think gay guys just hold hands and shop all day.”

Kurt pushes Blaine against the wall. “Sorry I haven’t done much to subvert the stereotype.”

Blaine slips his finger in the knot of Kurt’s tie and loosens it with a practiced twist. “No, shopping’s good. It would only be bad if it was the only thing we did.” He cuffs his hand around the nape of Kurt’s neck and pulls him in for a sloppy, tongueful kiss.

“And number two?” Kurt reaches down for Blaine’s hardening cock, shifts so that he can squeeze it between his thighs.

Blaine rolls his eyes and his head back simultaneously, resting his crown against the wall. It exposes Blaine’s neck deliciously, and Kurt has to suck it, even if it makes it a little more difficult for Blaine to answer.

“Because when he – god yes – talks about all the dirty things he wants to – oh that feels so good – want to do to me, I picture, I picture – Kurt – you doing them to me. It’s like, it’s like, I know you don’t like porn but it’s like porn starring you.”

Kurt clenches his thighs a little more strongly around Blaine’s cock, licks up Blaine’s neck to his earlobe, sucks on it until Blaine quivers. “I think I could come around to porn starring you and me, Blaine,” Kurt whispers.

They manage to get all their clothes off eventually, though a button or two pop off in the process, and for once in his life Kurt absolutely does not care about those kinds of details.

"Wait," says Kurt when Blaine sinks down onto the bed, back against the comforter and legs falling open in come-hither joy. "Let's –"

"What?" Blaine's looks up at him, lips parted softly, plump and peach-ripe. Kurt wants to bite them. He thinks, for the first time, that Blaine might let him.

Kurt catches his breath. "Do you want to try it face down? I heard – I heard you can go deeper that way, and we’ve never –"

Blaine's cock twitches against his stomach; his eyes flutter beneath heavy lids. "God, Kurt." He rolls over onto all fours, which wasn't exactly what Kurt meant, but it's … hot. Definitely hot, the way that Blaine starts inching his knees apart, swaying his ass slowly back toward Kurt until his cheeks spread on their own and everything drops away from Kurt's field of vision but Blaine's blushing asterisk.

"Fuck, Blaine." Kurt leans forward, one foot on the bed, the other planted on the floor, lifts his hands up to Blaine's ass and spreads it a little wider.

"Oh god, Kurt, take me, please."

Something like a growl, uninvited and wholly unexpected, rumbles from Kurt's chest at those never-before-spoken words – new and raw and promise-glistening, like a butterfly breaking out of its chrysalis. He lets his tongue take the plunge, touches the tip to Blaine's soft, pink star, feels it pucker and tremble at his touch. Kurt loves the skin here, smoother and more silken than the inside of Blaine's mouth, loves the way he can't have it all at once, but has to tease and flex and work at it until it unfurls, coquettish and inviting. He loves the taste of soap and musk, loves the dirty intimacy of it, loves how no one but he has ever basked in Blaine this way.

He loves the noises that Blaine makes, the stream of half-formed words, the way that Blaine can't form a coherent phrase because his nerves are overloaded with pleasure.

Blaine is so quick to open today, so delightful in his smooth invitingness. Kurt is grateful for the eight months of vigorous tongue-kissing that they did before Kurt ever got to do this, because it prepared him, made his muscle strong and daring, made him ready to pry and dip and twist in endless combinations in and out of Blaine's sweet, satin hole.

"More. More. I need more," Blaine groans, thrusting up on Kurt's tongue, taking it and stroking it as much as it is stroking him. Kurt reaches his hand up toward Blaine's mouth and Blaine understands, taking it and sucking sloppily, his moan humming through Kurt's fine finger bones.

Kurt licks up Blaine's crack, plants a kiss to Blaine's sacrum, the base of his spine.

"Blaine, would you like me to try fingering you without lube?"

Blaine turns his head to the side and moans loudly.

"Was that a yes, Blaine?"

"Fuck, yes."

"I'm going to fuck you hard, Blaine, but if it feels like too much, you have to tell me. Do you promise?"

Blaine nods his head rapidly. "I promise. Just, please –"

"Please what?"

"I need your fingers fucking me. Now."

Kurt's cock twitches at Blaine's foul mouth. He's heard Blaine say "fuck" a few times before, but only "oh fuck" and "fuck yes" – never as a verb that involved their two bodies.

Kurt circles two spit-slicked fingers around Blaine's entrance, teasing, teasing, pressing one lightly into it until Blaine thrusts back, swallowing the finger whole. Kurt's surprised by how easily it slips in, how thoroughly wet Blaine feels inside, all from Kurt's tonguing earlier and Blaine's own saliva on Kurt's finger.

"Greedy boy," Kurt mutters unthinkingly, and before he can wonder if he's gone too far, Blaine lets him know with his answer.

"Yes, yes, I am." Blaine rocks steadily back and forth on Kurt's finger until Kurt slips another one in and Blaine groans. "Greedy for you, Kurt. For your fingers and your cock and to feel you inside me always." He sinks back until Kurt's two fingers are knuckle-deep inside him, clenches around them, warm and tight. "You feel so good, Kurt. You make me greedy. You make me your – your –"

"My what?" Kurt whispers into the inward curve of Blaine's back. He reaches his free hand around Blaine's waist, slides it up his belly to the fuzz-strewn skin of his chest, teases a nipple into a tiny, hard peak. "You can tell me, Blaine. It's safe."

Blaine bites his lip hard, shaking his head frantically. "I can't. It's so –"

Kurt kisses up Blaine's back, up the nape of his neck and down around to his temple, his cheek – all the while thrusting his fingers in and out of Blaine in sharp plunges, making Blaine shudder and thrust and twitch. "I'll give you another finger if you tell me."

It's almost a shout, the sound that Blaine makes as he turns to kiss into Kurt's mouth, tongue-fuck his mouth frantically before pulling away to breathe heavily against Kurt's ear. "Oh, fuck, fuck, please, make me your – make me your. Your slut, Kurt. Make me your slut."

Kurt, good on his word, slides his third finger in and Blaine jolts back violently, pushing his hands off the bed and rearing up, shuddering and sweaty and out of control until Kurt wraps his free arm around Blaine’s chest and whispers into his shoulder blade, “I’m here, right here.”

Blaine relaxes, sinking back back back onto Kurt's fingers and then riding them, hard and fast. He's so stretched, so warm and needy and delicious, and Kurt slips in his last, fourth finger, bites softly on Blaine's shoulder and whispers, "Always, always my slut, Blaine. So good for me," and that's the final straw.

With a shout, Blaine shoots white stripes of spunk across the plaid comforter, the color almost matching the bands of cream among the gray and red, as his ass clenches around Kurt's fingers with bone-crushing exquisiteness. Kurt holds his fingers there, lets Blaine keep rocking on them as he rides out wave after wave of aftershock. He kisses Blaine's neck with an open, wet mouth, whispers, "Beautiful, beautiful" into his ear, shifts around to Blaine’s side (he feels like the moon rotating around the earth, the spot where his fingers are still inside Blaine like the earth’s axis, his arm like the gravitational force that binds them together in the vacuum of space) so he can kiss down Blaine’s chest before bending forward to lick slivers of bitter-salt come off of the blanket.

It's only then that Kurt notices how hard and heavy his own cock is, as it flops down against the soft fur of Blaine's thigh.

Blaine's flow continues after the initial burst, dripping down his cock in slow, sporadic spurts, and Kurt licks at it even though Blaine is probably too sensitive, because he loves the way that Blaine tastes and he trusts Blaine to tell him when it's gotten to be too much.

"More." Blaine runs his hand through Kurt's hair as Kurt sucks the last flow – sweeter and saltier than the first spurts that drenched the sheets – from the tip of Blaine's cock.

"More what?" Kurt says, looking up at Blaine's heavy, blissful eyes, as the clench of Blaine's ass pushes Kurt's fingers back out into the cool, dry air.

"I'm ready for you to fuck me." Blaine's face squinches up in a bashful smile, but he doesn't look away from Kurt's eyes. He means every word.

Still, Kurt has to check. "You sure?"

Blaine sinks down to the bed, pulls Kurt so that they're lying next to each other, face-to-face. "So sure. I want to feel you tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. I want to know I'm yours."

Another blur of skin and tongues and heat. Kurt's cock aches with longing, wants to be wet and surrounded by Blaine, wants to be bruised by his sweet ring of muscle so that he can't forget it, either.

Kurt drapes himself over Blaine's back, slides his lubed cock up and down between Blaine's cheeks, a cruel tease. He wants to hear Blaine say those words again, the ones that make Kurt's blood thrum and his brain buzz. If he has to make Blaine and his own purpling cock a little desperate in order to hear them, that's the price he's willing to pay.

"Oh, god, I need you Kurt. Fuck me, please."

So Kurt does. The head of his cock sinks in easily before meeting resistance. It's here where he usually starts rocking slowly to loosen Blaine further, but today he rocks rapidly instead, giving Blaine inch by rapid inch, urged on my Blaine's moans of "Fuck me, harder, fuck me," until he's balls deep and flush with Blaine's ass.

He licks the rim of Blaine's ear, whispers through pleasure-gritted teeth, "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you're gonna feel it next year," groans as Blaine groans, loud and hard, pulls away and pushes back in, the smooth skin and muscle inside Blaine clinging fiercely, wetly to his cock.

"So good, Blaine, so good, your ass is so perfect, so fuckable, I love the way you take it, take me, take –" Kurt gasps for breath. He's never fucked Blaine anywhere near this hard before, never been so breathless and dizzy with the power of it, with the sure knowledge that Blaine wants his cock like he wants love and he wants air.

It’s not something he dared to dream about – to have someone so wanton and open for him, someone who wanted to be owned by him and to own him back, saw him as sex and hot masculine force, wanted to feel his power in the marrow of their bones, in the smooth muscle of their heart.

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Blaine says it over and over again, sometimes crystal clear and sometimes garbled with moans and guttural cries. It's the underlying rhythm of their sex, interspersed with the melody of harder and make me feel it and more, I can take more, give me more of you, all of you, yes yes yes.

So Kurt does. He gives Blaine his cock and his heart and his sweat, dripping down from his forehead and chest and the fine hairs of his armpits onto Blaine's back. They slide against each other, slick with salt and lust, and Kurt sucks on Blaine's shoulder, softly at first and then harder with each pounding stroke, pulling up another sweet, bruising love-reminder for Blaine to feel over the coming days.

Kurt curls his fingers tight into Blaine's hips, pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing, feels himself melting a little more, just like Blaine, with each stroke over Blaine's sweet spot.

There are so many things Kurt wants to say. Things like I love you and This is what you do to me and I thought the world was gray, but then you made it beautiful, but all that comes out is, "Blaine. Blaine. Blaine."

And then Blaine is disassembling, words streaming out, filthy and gorgeous and full of love, "Oh, you make me so, you make me so, so full and so greedy for your cock, you make me, Kurt, you make me, fuck me, Kurt, you make me want to come again, make me, let me come again, let me be your cockslut, fuck me and let me come."

Kurt reaches his hand around Blaine's waist and wraps his hand around Blaine's shaft, kneads it lightly as he bites the back of Blaine neck, fucks deeper and harder than he thought possible, as his orgasm creeps closer to the surface, his whole body clenching with anticipation, Blaine's whole body clenching, Blaine's sweet ass clenching, holding onto Kurt's cock, holding onto Kurt, wringing out both of their pleasure as they come together – shuddering, shocked, elated.

They collapse like that, Kurt on top of Blaine, lazy and needless and trying to catch their breath, trying to remember where earth is and why they need to return to it.

"Blaine," Kurt mutters when enough oxygen has returned to his bloodstream, but before the ability to form sentences has returned to his brain. His chin is draped over Blaine's shoulder, his cheek pressed awkwardly into the pillow so he can watch Blaine's lips purse and pucker as his breath slows.

"Kurt," Blaine whispers, tilting his head to kiss Kurt on the cheek. "You're so good to me. So, so good to me."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Oh my god, if I were good to you, I would roll off of you so you could breathe."

"Don't need to breathe. Need you to stay here with your cock inside me."

"Um, sweetie, I'm pretty sure it's going to slip out of its own accord."

"Mmm." Blaine lowers his eyelids lazily, seductively. "Then you better have fucked me hard enough for me to feel it there when it's gone."

"If I haven't, I promise to try again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's not soon enough. Tonight?"

Kurt kisses Blaine's ear. "I love you, my little cockslut."

"I love you, too, Kurt." Blaine hums softly as Kurt’s cock begins its inevitable slide out. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you.”

Kurt waits, but Blaine says nothing. He looks like he might have already fallen asleep against the pillow. Kurt kisses his forehead. “Forgot to tell me what?”

“There are two things about Sebastian that turn me on, but there are eight-hundred-forty-three-thousand, two-hundred and sixty-one things that turn me on about you. And those are only the ones I’ve counted. I discover at least another two-thousand-sixty-three every day.”

“I’ll give you a bonus three-hundred when I fuck you tonight.”

“It’s so hard to keep count.”

“That’s okay. I’ll remind you of them again tomorrow. Maybe we’ll skip making one of the New Year’s desserts in favor of fucking.”

“Mmm. I like that plan. This is going to be the best New Year’s ever.”


--- The End ---

More notes: I love comments, but not spoilers, so please don't refer to anything about future episodes in your comments. Thanks!



Tags: fic, kurt pov, kurt/blaine, sebastian
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