Title: You Got Me Up On This Sink
Disclaimer: I own naught.
Inspiration: kiltporn, kiltporn, kiltporn.
Notes: Written before 2.20 aired, but still vague spoilers for the lesser drama that occurred. Title a play on the lyrics from Grace Potter and the Nocturnals' "Paris (Ooh La La)."

So far, the night was not perfect. It had started off well enough, with the pictures and the pre-prom and even the first moments of prom. Everyone had looked stunning and was with their proper dates and Kurt and Blaine pinned the boutonnieres on each other and Burt had pretended he wasn't getting choked up. And there had been this electricity in the air and everyone was sort of nervous and excited and over-giggly and Kurt had a permanent blush over his cheeks and couldn't stop smiling because he was going to his prom with his boyfriend. He was going to prom with his boyfriend and they were going to kiss and hold-hands and slow dance together and not care who saw.

And maybe Kurt was going to wear a kilt for all that time.

Blaine had been a big supporter of the kilt. When he saw Kurt that first time, he got this funny little smirk on his face and he had just sort of swayed into his boyfriend's space. With a glance to be sure that Burt and Carole were occupied with Finn and Quinn, Blaine had leaned in closer, fingers trailing the hem of the kilt between one another. "You look amazing," he had murmured, lips just barely brushing the shell of Kurt's ear.

He had shivered and cast a flattered look to Blaine, cheeks already dusted with a blush. And he had ducked his head and Blaine was already leaning in close and so they had kissed, soft and brief and humming with energy.

And things had gone to not perfect.

Jesse showed up and Rachel was delighted which set Finn off which set Quinn off which made Sam all tense and twitchy which put Santana on high alert with Karofsky. Which made Brittany comprehend the situation and get worried and before long everyone was flitting back and forth, trading bits and pieces of drama. Santana was occupied with that which left Karofsky unattended and an unattended Dave Karofsky was apparently a dangerous one.

Okay, maybe "dangerous" was too strong of a word to use. It wasn't anything serious. Just…whispers. Just whispers and elbowing each other and discreet points and less than discreet muttering and side-eying. Because Finn was now kicked out. For fighting with Jesse. Over Rachel. (Good lord.) Which meant that Finn wasn't there to glare at anyone giving them a wrong look and Puck was caught up in Lauren and Sam was caught up in jittering over Quinn and Mike was caught up in making intense faces with Artie over whatever Brittany and Tina were upset over. So it just sort of went unnoticed and spread and Kurt was fidgeting from it.

There was disappointment and anger and sorrow and just general upset, all balling together and bunching at the center of his chest, making breathing painful. Because he just wanted to have a normal night out, prom even, with his boyfriend without it being an issue. And Blaine must catch onto all that because the next thing Kurt knew, he was being tugged by his boyfriend to the edge of the gym and then out the doors and into the halls of McKinley.

"Blaine," he said with no small amount of what the hell do you think you are doing. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"You're tense and upset," Blaine stated simply. "We're going to fix that."

Before Kurt can get the And just how are we going to be accomplishing that? started, he's being tugged into the boys' bathroom. "Blaine, what—" he managed to scoff out before Blaine continued on the apparent trend of interrupting his thoughts and locked him against the wall, kissing him heatedly.

Kurt responded immediately, hands fitting in the waist of his boyfriend's jacket. The set of his shoulders loosened and his spine shifted down gently. Blaine was right, this certainly was making him less agitated. He hummed into the kiss a little, one of his hands travelling up to fist at the back of Blaine's well-gelled curls. The other boy made an odd noise at the bottom of his throat before pulling away, tugging Kurt along with him.

The hard, cool press of the sink at his ass was unexpected. Even more so was the way Blaine maneuvered him up and sitting in the basin. Leaning over him, Blaine printed a short kiss to Kurt's lips. "You look spectacular in this," he started out, voice rough and hair mussed as his fingers trailed down the seam of the kilt. "And I love that. But that's not the only reason I like this."

And Kurt's mind consisted mainly of vowel-less syllables, not entirely familiar with the lust in Blaine's eyes and voice. So he could only really shake his head and grip tight at the sides of the sink. "Why else?" he shook out.

Blaine grinned and Kurt swore he was dreaming when the other boy lowered himself to his knees. "Easy access," Blaine declared, looking right up into Kurt's eyes. Before lifting the hem of the kilt and tucking his head underneath it.

Clearly this was a dream.

But you weren't supposed to be able to feel things in dreams and Kurt could certainly feel Blaine's hands curling over his thighs, his mouth pressing warm and damp over the spandex shorts Kurt had underneath his kilt, the sharp, unforgiving metal of the faucet digging into his back as Kurt squirmed and writhed.

His first instinct had been to slam his hips forward because oh Blaine's mouth. He didn't believe in God, but he might be willing to set up a chapel to worship that mouth. He managed to restrain himself thought and Blaine was lifting his legs, settling them over his shoulders. This brought him closer, his mouth more fully over his quickly hardening cock. And his boyfriend had his mouth on Kurt's cock. In the bathroom, in the middle of their prom. He could hardly believe it. That was, until Blaine's mouth closed over him again and he hummed and Kurt felt nothing but pure pleasure ricocheting through his spine and making his head fall back just a bit too harshly against the mirror behind him.

Of course, that was just the beginning.

Blaine pulled back, making a displeased sound, and Kurt could almost hear him say, muffled, "Spandex," like the word tasted bad and oh. And then oh because Blaine was hooking a finger into the waistband of his shorts and yanking and Kurt strained up to help and then they were stretched taut over the tops of Kurt's thighs and the kilt was pooling in the sink with Kurt's bare ass on top and Blaine's mouth suddenly touched his erection without any barrier.

Kurt swore, loud and long and his arms shook with how tightly he gripped at the sink. Because that… Shit. And Blaine hummed a "Shh," around his cock like that was going to help him keep quiet or something. So Kurt lifted one unsteady hand and jammed it over his mouth, eyes closing and head sliding over the mirror. And he had spent so much time on his hair…

Blaine's mouth was tight and warm around Kurt's cock and all Kurt could see when he peered down through half-open eyes, was his head bobbing beneath the kilt like some odd, old-time photographer. And he was gasping and whimpered into his own sweaty palm. He was sure that if it wasn't for Blaine's one hand holding tight at his side he would have slipped and slid completely into the sink from the way sensations were shooting through his body and just generally rendering his muscles useless.

Eventually, Kurt just sort of gave up. Rather, his mind stopped being able to restrain his body and he started pitching his hips forward, into the wet heat of Blaine's mouth. And Blaine was making these sounds around Kurt's cock and there was a tight, solid burning at the base of his stomach and it's wound up so fiercely that he knows it's only a matter of time until… and he gasped, hand covering his mouth slamming down to the sink again and he panted out, "Blaine. Blaine, I'm…" Blaine just hushed him again, the sensation skittering through him and then he whined and their hands somehow tangled together.

Everything inside of him went tense, tense, tense and his face was screws up and overheated like the rest of his body and he didn't quite black-out but everything went sort of loose for a moment and he stopped registering the world around him.

When he finally got his thoughts and senses back, Kurt struggled out of his slumped position at the same time that Blaine appeared from under his kilt. He was smiling broad and his lips were red, red and a little swollen, Kurt thought. His breathing evened out and he met eyes with Blaine. They were both blushing high, from exertion and satiated lust and heat and a bit of oh my god did we really just do that? Then Blaine laughed, soft and airy, and Kurt did too. He pushed up to his feet, immediately leaning into Kurt's space and pressing a kiss to Kurt's lips. And it was odd because that was different but it was also sort of intimate and nice, too. So Kurt kissed back and allowed Blaine to help him off the sink, sheepishly adjusting the spandex shorts.

Blaine pressed his forehead to Kurt's, wearing the smile the Kurt fell in love with. "So. Suitably relaxed?" he asked. And Kurt almost wanted to smack him because of course he was suitably relaxed, he can barely walk right now, thank you. Instead he just nodded and smiled back, wide and open, and they link hands and head back into prom.

There's still drama, there's still pointed looks and whispers and sneers. But Kurt is slow-dancing at prom with his boyfriend. They kiss, they hold-hands, they hug, they giggle, they blush. They dance with the New Directions (put back together, despite all drama and fights and problems) in a big group and they leave in that same big group, headed for Sam's house for the after-party, laughing and happy to be with their friends. And Kurt wears a kilt through the whole thing.

And maybe, maybe, they slip into Sam's bathroom at the party. Because kilts were easy access and tuxedo pants weren't all that harder to manipulate.

AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think, please. ^^