Title: Navigating Is Easier With A Good First Mate

Author: Aristide

Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexifications

Summary: It's a good thing they're them, otherwise this might be awkward.

Author's Notes: I am deeply indebted to underneaththesestairs on Tumblr for her feedback, guidance and generosity. This is pure sexy fluff and sugar with a schmoopy syrup topping, so, no warnings.

Dedication: This is entirely inspired by and dedicated to the lovely Migasm, who is talented and fantastic and smart and broad-brained and wonderful. She asked for first-timey awkwardness and sweetness and intimacy and feelings, and Aristide put her hand up Horschach-style and said oo oo oo…

Navigating Is Easier With A Good First Mate

By Aristide

That first kiss rolled like silk, a light-smooth-sweet touch that was perfect, that went right to the center of him—like he was kissing with his heart and not his mouth. The second kiss was something different: it was a bridge, a gateway, a tongue-tangled wet deep path to… a whole bunch of other things, all of which almost happened because before that second kiss was over he had Blaine on his lap and Blaine's hands on his chest and his own hands low at the back of Blaine's waist—really low, really, really low, like maybe-kind-of-mostly-actually-more-or-less-pretty-much on his ass.

Then they were staring at each other with identical expressions of wide-eyed shock, and three seconds after that they were back in their respective chairs. Kurt very carefully and deliberately did not mention Blaine's pink cheeks, and Blaine (displaying a newfound tact that was very becoming) didn't mention his either. They had a few charming minutes of only looking at each other when the other person was looking away, and then it was over. Blaine left to do… whatever it was that he'd said he had to go do (Kurt had tried so hard to remember what it was, but despite his zeal to memorize each second of the entire experience his stunned and stupid brain kept coming up with things like 'I have to go stand under a waterfall in a thin cotton shirt' which, he was pretty sure, was less what Blaine had actually said he had to go do and more what Kurt's brain was picturing him doing), and Kurt put in some quality time staring at a bottle of glue and licking the tingling, tender skin of his lips.

The third kiss technically, probably, should have happened at the end of their first 'official' date: he'd been thinking about when the next kiss would come ever since the first two happened, and that seemed like the right time, a preordained time, the best possible time—since it hadn't happened at any other time.

Only the whole schedule got thrown out of whack because being on a date-date with Blaine (rather than a friend-date with Blaine) turned out to be kind of a nerve-wracking experience. The moment Blaine pulled up to his house to drop him off Kurt thought okay now we kiss, followed by oh my God Blaine's going to kiss me, but after a brief moment of basking in how wonderful that was something like a tiny supernova went off low in his belly, after which he got dizzy and broke out in a light sweat. Of course, none of that would have been a problem, really, or interfered with kissing in any way, except the other thing that happened was that he suddenly, overwhelmingly, needed to pee. Desperately. Immediately. Or else.

"I have to go," he said in a high, wavery voice. "Sorry. I mean—thank you; thank you, I had a lovely time—"

"Uh. Me too?" Blaine said, looking so dismayed and confused that Kurt almost reconsidered his reluctance to discuss his bodily functions with his brand-new boyfriend.

But he didn't. Not then (due to embarrassment), and not later (due to embarrassment over not having done it before), and so now Blaine never even tried to kiss him, because he obviously (and perhaps understandably) had some sort of crazy idea that Kurt didn't want that to happen.

Which was hideously, grievously, tragically wrong. Wrong and untrue and inaccurate. An inaccuracy which absolutely had to be addressed, and corrected. By him. Just as soon as he could figure out a way to do it without sounding like an idiot. An idiot with poor bladder control.

It was a problem.


Sadly, it wasn't the only one.

They had held hands before, certainly. But that was holding hands while walking, or just standing, and that had always been wonderful and effortless and sweet and comforting and… yes, okay, exciting. But now the Revival theater was showing Thoroughly Modern Millie, and it was their first movie date, and here they were, hand very much in hand, and Kurt was terribly, terribly worried that he was doing it wrong.

Were you supposed to keep your hand still, or not? Constant movement might be distracting and weird, but total lack of movement might be… creepy and weird. Were you supposed to pet? Rub? Squeeze? Stroke? Or was that some kind of lewd come-on? And if you did figure out what kinds of touching constituted non-lewd-come-on touching, how often and how much was right? How tight should you hold to make sure that you weren't either too clingy or too much like a dead fish? And… what about palm sweat? Were you supposed to ignore it? Was it rude to ignore it? Were you supposed to take your hand back and wipe it off and then link hands again? Or was that rude? Or was it rude not to? Were you supposed to pull your hand back, wipe it on a handkerchief, and then kind of casually leave the handkerchief in your hand when you linked up again, to serve as a sweat-absorber? Or was that rude? Maybe you were supposed to somehow assume total command over your autonomic responses and forbid your palm to sweat…

He hoped it wasn't that last one, because his autonomic responses were kind of all over the place right now.

Kurt was a little bit too preoccupied with all these thoughts to pay much attention to the actual movie, or even the fact that they were at an actual movie in a public theater, which was why, when the pressure just got to finally be too, too much, he lifted their linked hands and turned to Blaine and said "So am I doing this right, or not?"

"Shh!" Came from in front of them—three rows down and two seats over, a tidy and prim old lady with her hair tucked into a neat, silver bun—the only other patron in the theater besides the two of them.

"Sorry," Kurt whispered, then turned to Blaine, who looked… surprised and faintly amused, and Kurt kind of wanted to slide through the floor and disappear.

"What are you talking about?" Blaine whispered, shaking his head and still smiling. "Holding hands? I don't think there's really a wrong way…" Blaine trailed off suddenly, his brows knitting together, then looked back at him. "Wait… is there a wrong way?"

"Shh!"

"Sorry," they both whispered at once.

Kurt forced himself to look back at the screen, but it was impossible to ignore that the quality of their hand-holding had now changed. It was now… fraught. Awkward, tentative, and very, very fraught. It was an unacceptable situation. "I don't know if there's a wrong way," he breathed as softly as possible into Blaine's ear. "That's why I asked you."

Blaine turned and went for his ear, and Kurt very carefully did not clamp down on Blaine's fingers when he did, because—wow. "How would I know?"

He had to control his breathing a little bit, because he was pretty sure that panting into Blaine's ear wasn't really a great idea at this stage of things. "You have more… experience than me."

Kurt's eyes rolled up in his head when Blaine's nose grazed his hair on the way to his ear. "In my head, maybe. But I don't think that counts—"

"Will you please be quiet?" said Lady Down-In-Front in a terse, angry-librarian voice.

"So sorry." "Very sorry."

Kurt looked back at the screen and didn't see a damn thing. His brain was entirely occupied with reframing his mental picture of Blaine Anderson, and that was something that no movie, however wonderful, would ever be able to distract him from. At first he wasn't at all certain that Blaine had said what he thought he'd said, and then he wasn't sure, if Blaine did say what he thought he'd said, if it meant what he actually thought it meant, and then he wasn't sure, if Blaine had said it and meant it and if there had been no errors of interpretation on his part and if the new facts he was playing with were actual, factual facts, how he felt about it. Except then he thought about being Blaine's first… everything, and about Blaine being his first everything-except-kisses-that-didn't-count-for-various-reasons, and he got kind of dizzy and woozy and his face almost combusted and he had to cross his legs—and then he knew without a single doubt how he felt about it.

And then his hand started sweating. A lot.

"Sorry," he whispered to Blaine, pulling his hand free and wiping it on the forgiving fabric of his jeans.

"No, I'm sorry," Blaine whispered back, whipping his handkerchief out of his pocket and scrubbing his hand down.

They looked at each other, their hands hovering close, but not quite touching.

"This is just ridiculous," Kurt said, shaking his head, at the same moment that Blaine said, "God, how absurd—"

"SHUT UP, YOU AWFUL, ROWDY HOOLIGANS!" came from in front of them, and they both jumped and looked at the very angry lady craning back to scowl at them, but then Kurt made the terrible mistake of sneaking a glance at Blaine—and Blaine had his lips pressed hard together and his eyes wide, and he was obviously only not-laughing by the narrowest of margins—which made Kurt giggle helplessly before he smacked one hand over his own mouth.

But then they were both laughing, and Kurt grabbed Blaine's perfectly dry hand and hauled him out of there, stumbling up the aisle and through the quiet, dusty, deserted lobby and out into the painfully-bright street where he could not stop laughing because every time he thought he had it under control he thought about the two of them and then thought rowdy hooligans and oh, he was going to be lucky if he didn't have another fucking bladder control issue.

Blaine was bent almost in half laughing, in public, on a public street—a shocking, unheard-of lack of decorum. And on the one hand it was… amazingly wonderful, for some reason, to see him like that—but on the other it was problematic, because watching Blaine have uncontrollable hysterics to the point where he was almost braying was in no way conducive to him being able to stop laughing any time soon, and his stomach muscles were starting to cramp. Blaine almost collided with a couple who emerged from the store next door, and the next thing Kurt knew Blaine had him by the hand and had tugged him off the street and into the cool shadows of the long alley that ran the length of the theater.

They ended up side-by-side leaning against the grungy brick wall, catching their breath a little at a time.

"It wasn't even that funny—" Blaine said at one point, but that just made things worse and Kurt waved with both hands and shook his head, and wondered vaguely if it was possible to laugh so hard you threw up.

Eventually, sanity prevailed, and Kurt was able to trail off to a few random snorts and hiccups. "God," he said, wiping tears off his cheeks. "I feel like I've… achieved something. I mean, after seventeen years, I've finally, finally been called a—"

"Please don't say it," Blaine gasped at him, and then leaned over and kissed him.

Kurt stopped laughing. He almost stopped breathing. He choked a little and Blaine rolled towards him, and when everything settled he was against the wall with Blaine pressed up against him and Blaine's tongue in his mouth, one hand sliding up his waist and making him shiver. It was sudden and shocking and so, so good; hungry, urgent kisses that felt like… like they'd been waiting to happen. His hands reached out on their own, but he had enough presence of mind—just—to guide them to the nice, safe, broad expanse of Blaine's shoulders, and leave them there.

"Sorry," Blaine said, breaking away from him, his eyes lowered and his cheeks flushed red. He was staring at Kurt's mouth.

"Don't be," Kurt said faintly. "I've been waiting—wanting—"

"Oh," Blaine said, and kissed him again, hungry at first but then… slower, sweeter, kind of a slow-motion explosion of goodness, kissing soft and deep and almost… lazy, a lush and unhurried gratification that was so… oh…

When Blaine pulled back the second time, Kurt couldn't look away from his eyes—there was something… something between them, person-to-person and frank and honest and bare, bare-naked-staring, which made no fucking sense at all but God, it was. That's what it was. Kurt shivered, and every hair on his body stood on end.

When Blaine finally looked away, glancing side-to-side with a surprised expression like he'd only just now realized where they were, Kurt felt ten degrees cooler. "Huh," Blaine said ruefully, grinning. "You'd think I could have maybe picked a more romantic setting for, uh…"

Kurt caught Blaine under the chin and lifted his head up, looking into his eyes again. "I disagree," he murmured, resting his head back against the bricks. "I think making out in trashy alleyways is actually part of the rowdy hooligan code, so. Yeah."

Then he let himself do what he'd been wanting to do for a really, really long time, and slid both hands up the back of Blaine's neck to tangle in his hair, tugging him close. Blaine made a soft, faint, broken-off noise just before Kurt took his mouth, and Kurt slid one hand down to Blaine's chest, pressing hard against the wild, rushing rhythm there, pounding in sync with his own.


That evening, when Blaine took him home, they both sat there for a moment after Blaine turned the car off, staring out the windshield. It was quiet and dark.

Eventually, Blaine cleared his throat. "Well, thanks, Kurt—I had a lovely time—"

"Oh shut up and kiss me, you hooligan," Kurt said, and mere seconds later they were kissing again, twisted and cramped and uncomfortable in the close confines of the front seat, but Kurt couldn't even begin to care.


"Finn?"

"Yeah?" Finn used his forearm to wipe his milk mustache off, then licked it. Kurt had found that faintly revolting at first, but he hardly even flinched at it now. The power of ritual.

He crossed his legs and wrapped his hands around his knee. "What do you consider getting to first base? Uh, with a girl, I mean?"

Finn shrugged. "Making out, I guess."

That… was annoyingly imprecise. "Then, what's second base?"

"Heavier making out." Finn's eyebrow arched.

Nobody could out-eyebrow Kurt Hummel. "So third base…"

Finn's smile was radiant. "Super-hardcore making out."

Kurt sighed. "I don't know why I even bother talking to you about these things," he said scornfully, swirling his milk around before taking a careful, no-mustache sip.

Finn scratched his neck. "Hey, man, it could be worse—I asked Puck the same questions back in, like, seventh grade, and he told me second base was licking a married woman's ass."

For the first time in his life, Kurt shot milk out his nose.


He just didn't want to move too fast, that was all. But he didn't want to move too slowly, either, and it was one of those stupid, stupid things like hand-holding in the movies or wondering where it was okay to grab when you were kissing—there were no clearly defined rules.

Not that he would have bothered following them, if there had been. But it would have been nice, maybe, to have some idea of what was… normal. Or, 'normal'. A baseline. Just to keep him from feeling quite so… lost.

His phone buzzed just as he was doing up the last buttons on his pajamas. "Hi, Blaine."

"Hi." Blaine's voice was soft, maybe a little hesitant. "How are you?"

Kurt blinked and sat down on his bed. "You mean, have I gone way downhill in the hour and a half since I saw you last?"

"Sounds like you're fine," Blaine's smile was perfectly audible.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Blaine cleared his throat a little. "Um. I just wanted to make sure I didn't… I don't want to go too fast for you. You know. With… stuff."

Kurt grinned. "'Stuff'?"

Blaine sighed. "You know what I mean."

"And yet, I stubbornly persist in teasing you in this fashion."

"I know, it's terrible—my first real boyfriend turns out to be evil."

"I thought I was adorable."

"Oh, you are—and you're evil. It's a dreadfully compelling combination. I don't like my chances against it."

It was the gloomy resignation in Blaine's voice that finally made him giggle. "You're not."

"Not what?"

"Going too fast for me." He curled up on his side, around the ache that still lingered in his balls. "You aren't."

"Okay," Blaine said, and Kurt closed his eyes because Blaine sounded… so close, almost right there next to him. "Good. I'm glad."

"Maybe… we could agree to say so, though."

"To say what?"

Kurt dug his head into his pillow. "Maybe, if we both agree that we'll say something if… if it's too fast, then, maybe… we wouldn't worry about it so much?"

"Kurt… were you worried about, about going too fast? With me?" Blaine's voice was so soft, so vulnerable-sounding.

"I was, yes."

"Huh." There was a pause. "That's… not very evil of you."

"Blaine."

"It's too bad. That whole evil thing is… really sexy."

Kurt burst out laughing.

"Yeah, wow—you were much sexier when you were evil—"

"Blaine!"


Watching movies at home with his family was a pleasure (unless it was Finn's turn to pick—then it was kind of a crapshoot). Watching movies at home with his family and Blaine visiting was not such a pleasure, because he spent the entire time shuttling between wanting to cuddle with Blaine and avoiding looking like he wanted to cuddle with Blaine.

Watching movies at home with his family gone and Blaine visiting was… entirely pointless, as far as he was concerned. They'd gotten maybe thirty seconds into the opening credits before he and Blaine had glanced at each other and smiled, just a mutual, happy-to-be-with-you smile—only then their eyes were locked together and they both leaned in and—yeah.

"I love your neck," Blaine said huskily, and Kurt really had no reason to doubt him on that because Blaine's mouth had gone there just as soon as Blaine had straddled his lap, up one side and down the other with slow, tiny licks and soft, tiny bites and tender, open-mouthed sucking that made his pulse (along with some other parts of him) pound like crazy.

"Yeah, I, uh. Good." Oh, he was losing brain cells by the second, and he was achingly, painfully hard, and really he was going to have to do something about that once he wasn't busy coming apart at the seams from having his neck seduced.

He was trying not to move too much, but that wasn't working out so great because his hips had started doing this complicated thing where they were trying to move forward (where Blaine was, because his dick really, really wanted to be where Blaine was) and, at the same time, backward (where Blaine wasn't, because his brain really thought that shoving his erection up against Blaine without being asked was kind of, well, rude).

He wound up twisting sideways, slipping and sliding on the couch—maybe a little too enthusiastically, as Blaine almost got tossed off his lap and onto the floor. Kurt caught him just in time, only then Blaine made a grab for his waist and Kurt heaved and Blaine leaned and both of them yelped as they overbalanced in a kind of ridiculous ballet. And it should have been, and probably would have been, either endearing, comical, or both—if it hadn't been for the fact that Kurt ended up stretched full-length on the couch with Blaine on top of him, close and warm and… hard. Really hard. Both of them.

"Oh," Kurt said, soft and a little husky. His face felt like it was on fire.

"Wow," Blaine said, his eyes round and amazed above his flushed cheeks.

"Well," Kurt said, and swallowed. "This is, uh…"

"Yeah," Blaine agreed quietly. "It's… is it okay?"

"Yes," Kurt breathed, then blinked. "I mean—if you're okay. I'm okay. …are you okay?"

"Uh—" Blaine choked a little as he slid, and Kurt bit his lip because—oh fuck that felt amazing. "Uh-huh."

The first kiss was tentative, a barely-there touch of lips, just a taste. And even though he'd kissed Blaine quite a lot over the past few days it somehow felt entirely new, like all the questions had to be asked and answered all over again. Then the next kiss came and everything melted, wet and open and there was rocking—one of them, both of them, he couldn't tell and he didn't care—but he was probably going to have to care soon, because as the kisses got wetter and the rocking got sweeter it went from good to seriously good, and from there to insanely, blisteringly good, and from there he didn't have far to go to arrive at struggling-hard-not-to-moan-like-some-cheesy-porn-star-good.

"Kurt," Blaine gasped, and all of a sudden Kurt realized he wasn't the only one grappling with these problems—because Blaine was still moving, still rubbing up against him with all that delicious heat and hardness, and Blaine's breathing was more like throaty, ragged panting, and… oh. Kurt closed his eyes because hearing Blaine breathe like that was doing terrible, awful things to the part of him that was still trying desperately to cling to the idea that they were just… making out. "Kurt, I'm… I don't think, I mean, if I don't stop I'm, uh, God—"

"Right," Kurt said, and opened his eyes. Blaine was sweating and his hair was messy, his eyes hazy and hot, and he was pretty much the sexiest fucking thing Kurt could ever have imagined. He swallowed. "So, uh, I guess, I mean, we can stop, if you—"

"Okay," Blaine breathed, shivering and Kurt felt it everywhere, everywhere. "Okay, then, I guess I should probably… stop…"

Blaine stopped rocking. Then he started again, and both of them gasped.

"You… didn't… stop," Kurt whispered.

"I'm trying to," Blaine whispered back plaintively. "It's just… really hard because you're so beautiful, and you feel, you feel so—" Blaine bit his lip.

Oh. "Oh—I… then. Maybe… maybe we don't have to stop?"

Blaine made a sudden, high-pitched, distressed-sounding noise and ducked his face into the curve of Kurt's neck. "Kurt." He sighed. "You can't, you can't let me—"

"What? Can't what? I don't—"

"I don't want to push you or… persuade you or get you into something you're not ready for, okay?" Blaine said in a rush, finally still, finally stopped. Finally stopped and whispering to Kurt's collarbone, his hands shaking and warm under Kurt's shoulders. "I can't… push you but oh my God I want to see you, feel you, hear you. Come. I want… it's the… I think about it. All the time."

"You think about it?" Kurt was so breathless the words were almost inaudible to his own ears.

"Yeah. I just… yeah."

"About me coming."

"Uh-huh."

Blaine was still motionless, but all the irresistible waves of goodness were back, and Kurt was kind of confused by that until he realized he'd taken over himself, rubbing up against Blaine—just a little, only a little, sliding their hips together. "You want me to come," he breathed.

Blaine shuddered on top of him. "I… I—"

Blaine was right—it was impossible, unimaginable, to stop this once you'd got started. It just… felt too good, way too good to stop, and now his hips were rolling like his spine had been replaced with greased ball-bearings, lifting up into Blaine, and when his hands wanted to go to Blaine's curved, muscular ass, he let them. "You want to make me come," he gasped.

"Kurt—"

Kurt squeezed, grinding them together and lifting his hips. "You want… oh. You want to know I'm coming because of you, because of… how good you feel—"

Blaine seemed to have locked up rigid above him, his face still pressed hard against Kurt's neck. "God, oh God, Kurt—"

"That you feel so—ohh, Blaine—so good, that I'm coming because, because—"

"fuck-fuck-fuck—"

"Because I can't help it," Kurt gasped, bucking now, his hands tight on Blaine's ass and holding him just where it was perfect, where he could slide and rut and hump up against Blaine's hard cock like the layers of fabric between them didn't even exist. "Because I can't stop, can't hold back anymore and I have to… I have to… I'm—"

"Yes," Blaine groaned, loud and desperate-sounding and deep. "Yeah, yes-yes-yes please—"

Kurt came so hard he almost shook both of them off the couch, moaning and arching into Blaine and riding him from underneath, taking Blaine's full weight when he came and collapsed, soaking up every second, every groan, every hot, sweet throb of Blaine's cock pressing against him. Blaine made soft, helpless noises against his neck, tender, gentle cries that made Kurt pull him up from where he'd hidden—because Kurt had to kiss him, had to, needed it like he needed air, needed to kiss and kiss and kiss Blaine's generous, gasping, slick-wet mouth.

They were both shaking afterwards, clinging to each other, holding hands with their fingers intertwined, and Kurt closed his eyes and tipped his forehead against Blaine's, reveling in mingled humid breath and soft, semi-sloppy kisses and oh, his heart—his heart felt like it was glowing, warm and huge and deep in his chest.

"Kurt," Blaine said, and just in that one word there was so much, there was everything, because all of a sudden there were a million possibilities, a million open doors, and Blaine was right there, right with him—the perfect person to have by your side if you had a whole new landscape to explore.

"Blaine," Kurt said, his voice sultry and sated. "I'm glad… I'm so glad it's you."

So… okay, he hadn't really meant to say that out loud, because it didn't make a lot of sense outside his head, but Blaine apparently understood him anyway. "Yeah," Blaine said, and his face turned pink. "Me too."

Kurt smiled, and kissed Blaine's warm, flushed cheek. "Good." He took a deep, deep breath and let it go, sighing. "You know, if there's any other things that you, um, think about, you should probably let me know—"

"Oh, God," Blaine said, and then pressed his flaming face down into the curve of Kurt's neck, and started laughing.

~End

Author's endnotes: I'm having a hard time believing I just wrote a story with only one sex scene in it (and a fairly innocuous one at that), but I got to the end and said 'what's next?' and the story said 'that's the end happily ever after blah' and I said 'whahuh?' and the story said 'doneski' and I said 'weird, but, whatevs'. So there you have it.