WHOOOO! Smut time. Hello there, reader, thank you for entering the world of awkward, funny, and hopefully hot sexy tiems (I spelled that wrong on purpose). Allow me to explain:
I have always had a bit of a hard time enjoying Klaine smut (unless it was written by skintightsocks on livejournals, because, I mean, Goddamn!), mostly because I am a big believer in keeping characters in character when you're writing, and as has been established in the episode Sexy, Kurt has some issues with teh sexy tiems. Adorable, awkward issues, that I decided to use in a fic, in which Kurt, who was at first, very determinedly /not/ ready for sex, starts having dirty dreams, and dirty thoughts, and realizes that, uh-oh, he has a sex drive and has no idea what to do with it. There will be hilarity. He is going to ask advice from his Nude Erections friends and family, and the advice with be entertaining. Awkward questions are going to be asked (what exactly /is/ the protocol for post-oral sex kissing?). Freudian slips are going to happen. Cosmo is going to be read. And sex, I assure you now, will occur.
And so, without futher adeu (is that how you spell that?), I shall leave you to go and begin this very blatantly sexual story, and hopefully you will leave me reviews in return, because whenever you review me, you make Kurt's orgasm a little better.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, it would probably just be a musical porno.
Let's Talk About IT
"I am sexually frustrated!" Kurt blurted out, cheeks turning crimson before the final syllable even left his lips, because, holy mother of God, did he really just say that out loud? Trying to avoid the stares of his bewildered family members, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "And could you please pass the salt?"
How did he let it get this bad? Moving his eyes about the table, he saw Finn with a forkful of pasta poised midair, inches from his mouth, completely frozen. His Dad was clearing his throat over and over again, staring determinedly at his plate. Carole was almost smirking, and Kurt could have sworn she was trying not to laugh as she passed the salt his way, which he took quickly, and busied himself with it, avoiding everyone's eyes.
It hadn't been like this before. He thought back to that day in his room with Blaine where he had all but stuffed his fingers in his ears, saying, "Fingertips. That's as sexy as I get." And then, not soon after (and he was still a little suspicious of the "coincidental" timing), when his Dad threw down pamphlets on the counter, and he really had stuffed his fingers in his ears, because seriously? The 'S word' was embarrassing.
He was a romantic. He liked things like candlelit dinners and sweet, gentle kisses under the moon, and in the rain, and during sunset – and the whole concept of tonsil hockey, touchy-feely, completely exposed, sticking what where? – eluded him. He knew the basics – boy likes girl, or girl likes girl, or, in this case, boy likes boy, and together they get naked and stick various things in various orifices. But the technicalities? He had no clue.
Sure, his Dad had given him "The Talk" (after he had – reluctantly – removed his fingers), and had told him to look through his pamphlets and let him know if he had any questions, of which Kurt agreed to full-heartedly, and then had gone upstairs to his room where he had promptly shoved his pamphlets into his bedside desk drawer, not wanting to know any specifics any time soon.
It wasn't as though he was without a sex drive – not exactly. Despite the fact that his voice sometimes made dogs go crazy, he had gone through puberty, and just like any other boy his age, he had gotten those awkward, "Oh, hey there, Imma just do this right in the middle of class/at the dinner table/when there are a lot of people around" hard-ons. He had tried experimenting a little, taking a few hints from Finn's browsing history, which he had stumbled upon one day when his own computer had gone screwy, right in the middle of bidding for a McQueen shirt on eBay. Once he had figured out just what the sites Finn had been looking at were (apparently "redtube" wasn't a knockoff of YouTube after all), he had scoffed, and held it over his stepbrother's head to occasionally get things he wanted. But it was also a learning experience, as he found himself typing the same into Google.
Like he had told Blaine, he just didn't get porn. He stared, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as he tried to understand what was so hot about watching strangers act poorly in scripted scenes written so badly they made Kurt cringe, and then to watch them bone each other with various camera angles, while making noises Kurt himself could never fathom making. He wondered what was so different about him, compared to other people, who seemed to be perfectly content to get their self-pleasure on, while Kurt got more erections in French class than in front of his laptop screen.
Masturbation was another adventure entirely. He had tried it all of two times. Two. Twice. That was it. The first time he had had been in the morning one day in the summer, when he had woken up with a bit of morning wood, and he was still groggy enough to not talk himself out of it. After seven solid minutes of amateur touching and moving and just in general fapping, Kurt's mind was filled with nothing but, "This is awkward."
The second time had actually been prompted by something. He had been up late one night, way past everyone else, and had been browsing through an online men's clothing catalogue, scoffing and ooh-ing appropriately, when he found himself thinking about how attractive some of the male models were, and all of a sudden, WHOOP! Hey there.
He had actually gotten into it a little bit, or at least by "get into it" it meant that he was able to think "this feels pretty alright". But right before he really let himself get lost in the act, he was suddenly overcome with an intense feeling of reality. Sexy male models be damned, because all he could see in his head now was himself, with his dick in his hand, jerking himself off, in the middle of his bedroom, with the ceiling fan light on, which is how Kurt learned his only real sex-related knowledge – nothing is a bigger boner kill than realizing you're literally fucking yourself.
And that was why he had come to the conclusion that, even if he had a minor sex drive (and let's be honest, comparatively, it was very minor), he had no interest in the mechanics of sex.
That was, of course, until he started dating Blaine Anderson.
How had a new boy toy suddenly led to the most awkward dinner discussion of his life? It was nothing Kurt could have predicted. When he had first gotten with Blaine, it seemed like smooth sailing. They were both content with where they were in their relationship – Blaine already knew of Kurt's discomfort with the whole sex things (again, fingertips), and honestly, neither of them wanted anything to go too far and mess up the good thing they had going. Not yet, anyway. So sex was so far off of Kurt's mind, that even when they kissed (and truth be told, they kissed a lot), he never worried about it going much further.
No, it wasn't anything Blaine had done specifically, or really, anything Kurt had done either. Now, as he picked at his over-salted vegetable medley, praying to a God he didn't believe in that no one at the table asked him to elaborate, Kurt could only pinpoint the beginning of all this on one thing.
It had all started with a dream.