DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, FOX does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "All It Takes For Your Dreams To Come True" by A Skylit Drive.
Warnings are: consensual sex between two minors, miiiiinor dirty talk, first-time (as in, first time doing it, not first time having sex) barebacking. Uh, that's about it. Enjoy!
"I think we should try something new today," Blaine says as slithers up Kurt's body from where he had been sitting with his back against the couch, attaching his mouth to the side of Kurt's neck.
"Famous last words," Kurt replies as he swats half-heartedly at Blaine's arm when he reaches for the book he's holding. He's tempted to buck Blaine off like a bronco while he hums "Get off My Back" but resists, even letting out a little moan to humor him—and okay, maybe it feels fantastic too; that little spot behind Kurt's ear has always been a trigger—as Blaine sucks a mark into the pale skin. His small, compact body is like a blanket and it's nice, a solid reminder that Blaine is actually real and here and looks so damn adorable with his glasses on that Kurt just may develop a fetish.
"You won't have any words when I'm done with you," Blaine growls, grinding into Kurt's backside with relish. It's cute, Kurt thinks as he pushes his hips up, pressing the curve of his ass into Blaine's awakening erection. Cute and sassy, but definitely not threatening. "Blaine, you're about as threatening as the neighbor's kitten."
"Kurt," Blaine whines. "Come on, you're such a spoilsport." He nuzzles into the crook of Kurt's neck, peppering the expanse of uncovered skin with tiny kisses. Kurt feels the metal frame of Blaine's glasses digging into the nape of his neck.
With a faked resigned sigh Kurt makes a big show of closing his book and dropping it to the floor before pushing Blaine off so that he can move and rest his back against the couch, arms and legs spread to accommodate Blaine's slight stature. Blaine returns and presses his body close to Kurt's like he's going to die if he's away for too long, nudging Kurt's legs further apart to allow him ample room.
"You'll love it," Blaine says between kisses, running his hand feather light down Kurt's torso, stopping to rub at the front of his shorts. Kurt gives a breathy little moan, surprised, before sliding his hand down the back of Blaine's jeans to cup his ass. Blaine jerks forward with a muffled groan and roughly tugs down the collar of Kurt's shirt to lick and bite at his collarbone.
"You said that about the ice cube thing, too," Kurt says, pulling Blaine up so that he can slide his glasses off of his nose and place them gently on the table beside the couch. Blaine blinks owlishly a few times, adjusting to the sudden sight change—Kurt tries really, really hard not to coo and pinch his cheeks because those cheeks are not the ones he wants to be pinching right now—before looking like Kurt just punched him in the face or told him that Katy Perry was quitting the music business to go live with aborigines in Brazil.
"And the candle wax thing."
"Okay, okay," Blaine huffs, sitting up and out of Kurt's grasp, carefully avoiding that infamous I've got you cornered like a rabbit trying to squeeze into a snake hole smirk. He juts out his lower lip. "Those were bad ideas."
"Bad," Kurt agrees with a nod.
Blaine rolls his eyes. "But this one isn't, I swear."
Kurt arches a brow delicately, looking at Blaine in obvious disbelief, flipping through his mental catalogue of Blaine's decidedly bad ideas that he had, Kurt can recall, said that very same sentence about. But Kurt can never resist him, especially when he's flustered and pink-cheeked, mouth parted slightly like it always is when he's aroused. "I don't know why I trust you," Kurt finally says with a sigh, opening his arms wide so that Blaine can settle back into his previous position between his legs. "I think it's those eyes."
"Maybe my lustrous hair," Blaine says as he bunches up the thin material of Kurt's baby blue v-neck. Kurt's reply is cut off by all the air abruptly leaving his lungs when Blaine dips his head down to lave his tongue over Kurt's nipple. Kurt's hand bunches in that lustrous hair, fingers tightening and tugging at silky strands that are gel-free until term starts in September as he pants and arches and wants moremoremore.
Blaine's fingers touching his skin, trailing along in teasing lines, feel like shooting stars, a fiery brand of sensation arching out and engulfing him and making it hard to breathe, hard to think. One minute Kurt's shirt is bunched up, the next it's discarded on the floor and when the hell did that happen?
"Maybe," Kurt pants as he claws at Blaine's back, trying to simultaneously get away from and push further into the pinching sensation of Blaine biting down on his shoulder, "maybe we should go to—to my room."
Blaine makes a muffled noise of agreement and then they're up, a mass of tangled limbs and bare skin. They tumble up the stairs like a whirlwind of pleased noises and stagger into Kurt's room, collapsing onto the bed.
"Let me blow you—"
"So that idea—"
They stop, looking bewildered for a few seconds that they spoke at the same time. Kurt laughs first, feeling the heat of blush seep downwards, says, "O-of course," and lets his question about Blaine's plans slide for now. He wonders if he'll ever get over the nerves of being naked, spread so impossibly open for scrutiny that Blaine never seems to possess in his eyes but he himself feels subject to.
Blaine kisses him, slowly and shallowly like he knows what's going through Kurt's head, and slides down the bed until he's hovering above the top button of Kurt's shorts. Their eyes lock for the briefest of seconds before Blaine is lowering his head and mouthing at the rise in the fabric.
Kurt groans, hands fisting into the comforter, and tries his best to keep his hips flat on the bed. Blaine's tongue is a hot, damp press on the clothed head of his cock and why does Blaine have to be such a cocktease? He lets his hips cant up, just enough to get Blaine's attention.
"Patience," Blaine says teasingly, sliding down two fingers to press the fabric of Kurt's shorts and briefs against the soft skin behind his balls, sliding in a slow up-down motion. Kurt's hips jerk into the pressure and he whines.
"I hate you," Kurt says with no heat in his voice, tone high and reedy as Blaine finally, finally begins undoing his button and zipper. He props himself up on his elbows, pulse beating fast in his ears as Blaine slides the zipper down, the distinct sound slowed down as he takes his time.
"Doesn't seem like it," Blaine cheekily replies, pulling briefs and shorts down over slender legs and tossing them gently to the floor. "Seems quite the opposite, if you ask me." He tongues at the head of Kurt's cock as an affirmation, breath hot yet cooling as he closes his mouth and slides down.
Kurt's snappy reply is reduced to a mess of inarticulate noises as Blaine slides ever-lower and brings the other hand back into play, cupping his balls and rubbing a thumb smoothly over the skin. His cheeks hollow as he slides back up and Kurt feels like he could snap in two with the severe arch his back has.
"Blaine," he gasps, finally releasing his death grip on the comforter and sliding his fingers into Blaine's hair. "Oh god, Blaine." Blaine's eyes flick up to meet his and he just can't be real, not with that intense, smoldering gaze and those perfectly hollowed cheeks and that appropriately rough hand that leaves his balls and curls around the length of Kurt's cock that Blaine can't quite get to.
And then suddenly Blaine is pulling back, sitting on his heels and not-so-discreetly palming himself through jeans that should not be on. Kurt gapes at him, feeling his cock hot and spit-slick against his stomach with Blaine's mouth not around it and wonders again why Blaine has to be such a cocktease.
Kurt avoids saying a very clichéd you suck and instead collapses onto the pillows, palms covering his eyes. "Is this about the plan? Please tell me it's about the plan. Because if it's not and you stopped for some dumb, inane reason I swear I will end you right here."
"Oh, it is," he hears Blaine say. There's the rustling of clothes and when Kurt opens his eyes and lowers his palms Blaine is gloriously naked, settling himself back between Kurt's legs. A bottle of lube is clutched in his right hand.
Kurt thinks he may have a deep-set problem because forgetting to breathe seems to be something he does a lot. Blaine is, without a doubt, one of the most glorious human beings Kurt's ever had the pleasure of seeing, naked or otherwise. Tanned and toned, Blaine is a veritable Grecian god, the ripples and lines of his muscles mouth-watering and just begging to be touched and licked and fucking worshipped.
Blaine's saying something, Kurt's sure, but it's really, really difficult to listen to anything when he can only focus on the fact that Blaine is naked and his cock is right there, close enough that Kurt would only have to lean a few inches forward to wrap his hand around it and reduce Blaine to a begging mess and then he'd be the winner here.
"—Stop staring at my dick, Kurt."
That damn flush is back and Kurt wonders if people can spontaneously combust. He guiltily looks at Blaine and sees he's smiling good-naturedly, the lid of the lube already popped open. "As I was saying," Blaine emphasizes, "I want to try a new position."
"Blaine, you said—" Kurt begins, a note of warning in his voice.
Blaine waves it away and leans down, propping himself up on his left arm and pressing a short, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of Kurt's lips. "I promise, this'll be amazing. I read about it in Cosmo."
Kurt looks at him in mild surprise. "I am impressed," he says. "I may actually trust you this time."
"Good." Blaine pushes Kurt's legs further apart, slicking up his fingers with a few squeezes of lube—all over the comforter, Kurt thinks with a little strangled noise that Blaine must mistake as one of anticipation.
Blaine is a pro at warming up the lube now after their first time. He'd been sloppy and inexperienced and horny—not that Kurt could blame him—and had only slathered up his fingers before pushing the first one in. Kurt had very nearly kicked him in the face at the shockingly cold sensation and, like a puppy, Blaine had learned no. Now when Blaine's finger circles his hole it's close enough to body temperature and Kurt doesn't tense, just breathes and waits for that first tight slide in.
Blaine is meticulous and slow and careful, gaze shifting from watching his fingers slide in and out and scissor and shift over each other and watching Kurt's expressions; the closing and clenching of the eyes in pain or discomfort, the lips parted and ragged breaths filling the air when he's adjusted to the sensation, the perfect O when Blaine brushes his prostate.
Fingering Kurt is sort of like watching Picasso paint, Blaine thinks absentmindedly as he ruts down onto the comforter, hissing out his own pleasure as the leaking head of his untouched cock drags against the semi-rough material.
Three fingers deep and Kurt's mewling and writhing and Blaine knows he's ready. Carefully he slides his fingers out and wipes them on the bed where Kurt can't see, trailing his lips up the smooth milky skin of Kurt's inner thigh to get his attention.
With an out-of-focus gaze Kurt looks at him, slightly confused at his sudden empty feeling, and Blaine chuckles warmly, says, "You're ready." He leans over Kurt, their cocks brushing for a second or two and sending brushfires of pleasure coursing through their systems, and kisses him soundly, maneuvering them so that they're both sitting upright.
"Lie down, lie down," Blaine instructs, gently urging Kurt onto his stomach. "That's it, baby. Now spread your legs." His fingers are gentle, urging, on the backs of Kurt's thighs as Blaine positions him to his liking. Once he's satisfied Blaine situates himself between Kurt's legs, lifting them up so that his legs are underneath and pressed tight to Kurt's torso. After this he stills, body bowstring-taut.
He's honestly not sure how to continue after this part. Kurt senses his hesitation and strokes his leg in encouragement, shuddering at the sensation of Blaine's slick cock rubbing along his crease. "Blaine," he gasps, rocking backward in desperation, "just fuck me already."
"Condom—" Blaine manages to articulate.
"Forget it," Kurt says, voice getting higher and breathier each time Blaine shifts. "We're both clean. This can be our one-time allowance."
Blaine wants to say that that's a stupid, foolhardy decision but his body betrays him and he nods instead before realizing that Kurt can't see him, saying, "Yes," as he reaches for the discarded lube lying next to him on the bed. He slicks his cock with a few sharp pulls and guides the head to Kurt's still-loose hole, pushing forward gently, rocking until he's in to the hilt and Kurt is tightening around him and keening high in the back of his throat like he can't get enough.
"God, Blaine," Kurt moans as his hips dig in toward the mattress. The tendons in Blaine's thighs tighten and loosen as he attempts to thrust back into Kurt, but the angle and leg placement leave him frustrated until Kurt finally huffs in annoyance, untangles himself and slips free of Blaine's cock to both their chagrins.
"For the love of Versace, do you ever research sex acts before you attempt them," Kurt mutters as he straddles Blaine reverse cowgirl-style, hand snaking down to grip Blaine's cock to hold it steady. A snarky, agitated remark about of course he researched, how else would he have known dies on Blaine's tongue as Kurt begins to slide down, and he can't be mad, not with all rational, coherent though leaving him instantly.
Once Kurt's flush with Blaine's hips he leans forward and snakes his arms under Blaine's calves, holding tight as he makes an experimental push backward. The position pushes Blaine's cock closer to his prostate and Kurt can't hold back his needy moan.
Kurt starts the pace, slow and regular, and Blaine can only watch in rapt fascination as his cock slides in and out of Kurt's ass filthily, the telltale sounds of sex, of skin meeting skin gradually increasing in volume and tempo. He grips onto Kurt's hips as his way of anchoring himself to reality.
Blaine's hands are a vice grip on Kurt's hips as he works them backward. Kurt lets his head drop between his shoulders, nails digging into Blaine's calves and he can't resist dropping a few kisses to the skin above his ankle, groaning against it when Blaine's cock brushes his prostate again.
Sweat beads at his hairline, pools in the little dip above his ass. He feels so disgusting, so filthy with his ass thrust up in the air as he moans wantonly, but he can't bring himself to care even a little bit, not when Blaine is dragging his tongue along the ridges of Kurt's spine, gathering at the collected moisture and lapping it up like a cat with cream.
"You're so beautiful, Kurt," Blaine breathes, knowing that Kurt hates it when Blaine calls him that, but the words keep tumbling out like his brain-to-mouth filter is broken. It's all things he's wanted to say but have been holding back. "Especially like this, fucking yourself on my cock. Oh god, next time I want you inside me, Kurt." He hears Kurt let out an answering moan and push his hips back with more vigor.
Blaine's hand slides under Kurt to grip his cock, holding tight but not moving, just feeling the weight and girth and heat of it. "I want you to fuck me," he whispers, "but I want your tongue inside me first. I want that to work me open and I want to not be able to sit down without thinking of you when we're done."
"Jesus, Blaine," Kurt says, voice sounding wrecked and completely broken. "I-I'm close."
It's his unspoken plea for Blaine to grip tight, slide his hand quick and fast along the length of Kurt's cock. He's physically aching for it, thighs burning and arms quaking, the hair on Blaine's legs chafing his smooth inner arms as he pushes back faster, quicker.
Blaine complies, hand leaving Kurt's cock for the few seconds that it takes to wet his palm with his tongue, reveling in the musky, salty taste on the skin, and rewrap it around him, moving slick and tight and unrelenting. "Come on, Kurt," Blaine cajoles, thumbing the leaking head of Kurt's cock. "Come for me."
Kurt breathes, once, twice; pushes back, two, three times. His orgasm hits him after building up like a shaken bottle ready to burst, completely engulfing him as he moans and writhes on Blaine's cock, coming sticky and hot over Blaine's fist and his comforter as his hips stutter.
When Kurt collapses slightly it's easier for Blaine to move, holding him up by his hips and getting in a couple more shallow thrusts before he's coming with a bass groan of Kurt's name, pulling out and gently untangling their sweat-slicked limbs, too sated and tired to do anything but let his cock twitch uselessly at the sight of the thin white trail of his come as it seeps from Kurt's stretched hole.
"How can you breathe?" Blaine asks on an exhaled laugh, noticing Kurt's face mashed to the bed.
His response is a muffled groan, and Blaine has to repeat what? a few times before Kurt finally lifts his head up and says, "I can't."
Blaine laughs, brushes a lock of hair off of Kurt's forehead. "So?" he prompts. "Did I do good?"
"Yes, Kathy Bates," Kurt replies, a hint of a smile on his lips, blue eyes bright and Caribbean-clear when he looks at Blaine with as much love as he can muster in his blissed-out state. "You did wonderful."
Blaine kisses him on the forehead and snuggles close, closing his eyes. They don't sleep, not with the bright mid-summer afternoon sunlight streaming in through the open windows, but Blaine does blindly fumble for Kurt's hand to twine their fingers together with a contented sigh. Kurt's heart soars a thousand feet above them and he loosely links one of his legs with Blaine's.
The clock steadily ticks away but both boys are content to spend the rest of their afternoon in an empty house, forgetting that a world exists outside this bedroom. Really, Kurt is Blaine's world and Blaine is Kurt's.
They'd have it no other way.