Blaine was drunk.

So, so, so unbelievably drunk.

And so mad, too. Oh God, so, so, so mad.

Kurt had – Kurt had called a cab for him and sent him home and just what the hell, Kurt? It was just – just a stupid party and so what if he started serenading Kurt's boss? He liked Kurt's boss! Kurt's boss was nice and Blaine just wanted to show his appreciation and so what if the song was a tad inappropriate?

The song hadn't even been all that inappropriate, for God's sake. Kurt was all "Compliment his tie, Blaine!" and Blaine was all "Hey, that tie is a really nice shade of white!" and Kurt's boss had been all nice but Kurt had groaned and dragged him away and said "It was cream, Blaine, the tie was cream!" and Blaine felt bad for making Kurt look stupid.

So Blaine had another beer and then – then the idea came to him. The Best Idea Ever. The Idea to Beat All Ideas.

The idea that would make Kurt love him again!

He only wanted to show Kurt's boss that he understood fashion, too. That he did know the difference between white and cream, I mean, pssh, who didn't.

And c'mon - everybody loved Prince!

The song hadn't been inappropriate at all. Kurt was just being – Kurt was just being…

Mean.

Kurt had been mean a lot lately.

He was, it was - it was always about work with Kurt, now. It was always "No, I can't sing a flirty duet with you right now Blaine, I'm working on a design" or "Blaine, I don't care about those totally awesome Pacman shaped cookie cutters you saw on EBay – do you think winter colors would suit this sweater prototype?" or "What – for Gaga's sake, put that away Blaine, I can't have sex right now – I've got a show in two weeks!"

Yeah. That's right.

He and Kurt hadn't had sex in two weeks.

Because of clothes.

He had been cockblocked by clothes.

So yeah, Blaine was pretty drunk. He was pretty mad, too.

He was also pretty horny.

Like, really, really horny.

He was a man, goddamnit, a man with needs.

A man with a boyfriend who was supposed to fulfill those needs.

But noooooooo. There he was, drunk and angry and alone, all alone with his needs and nothing else because his boyfriend didn't love him enough to take care of him anymore. All his boyfriend cared about was clothes, stupid, stupid clothes – and you know what? Blaine honestly couldn't see the appeal.

Clothes couldn't buy you a cup of coffee when you had a bad day, or rub your back when you're tense, or sing a song with you when you're happy or even give you a hand-job when you're horny! They were - they were worthless. Yet, Kurt acted as if clothes were what crawled in to bed with him at night and cuddled him and talked him into having mind blowing sex like, all the time.

When Blaine had stumbled back to the apartment, he went straight to the couch and plopped down on it as loudly and as forcefully as he could. He just sat there for awhile, glaring at nothing – thinking about how if his boyfriend loved clothes so much then maybe he should just marry them, make little sweater babies and have kinky scarf sex. Psssh.

He couldn't help but laugh at the thought, though. Kurt would never have sex with a scarf. He'd be too afraid of getting it dirty.

While Blaine was busy glaring, though, something caught his eye. Something different. Something appalling.

Kurt - Kurt of Many Clothes, Kurt of Many Rules Regarding His Many Clothes - had left one of his scarves hanging off the edge of the coffee table. Gasp. How was that even possible? How on earth could Kurt be so forgetful?

It was a simple little thing, heather gray and kind of long – but it was still one of Kurt's favorite scarves nonetheless. "It goes with everything, Blaine," the countertenor had told him with narrowed eyes, his tone deadly serious. "Everything."

Blaine was pretty sure it was a Marc Jacobs, too. It was definitely Kurt's favorite.

And it was just lying there. Unfolded. On the edge of the table. Touching the ground. Kurt had just forgotten it there, left it there like it wasn't special, like it wasn't something to be cherished and nurtured and loved and oh my God.

Oh. My. God.

That scarf.

That scarf was Blaine's soulmate.

That scarf understood Blaine. That scarf was everything that Blaine was at that very moment – forgotten. Lonely. Sad. Angry. Discarded for bigger, better scarves. That scarf was…that scarf was…

Really freaking soft, actually.

He picked it up and let the fabric run through his fingers. It kind of felt like sweatpants, which was really weird because Kurt would never wear sweatpants, but it did and it felt really nice and smooth against his skin. He brought it up to his face and rubbed it up against his cheek. It was really warm, too. He could see why it was Kurt's favorite.

Was Kurt's favorite, anyway.

It smelled like the other boy – all fresh and flowery and Kurt, and it was Blaine's favorite scent in the world. He huffed into the fabric, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a shiver that coursed through his whole body. Goosebumps prickled all over his skin and so soft oh my god, so, so soft. It felt so, so good. And – oh.

Hey…

Wait a minute…

If it felt this good on his face, just imagine how good it'd feel on his…

Blaine threw the scarf to the side and hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, cursing at himself when he fumbled over the last few buttons. Throwing that aside, he got to work on his pants and his boxers, slipping them down his legs and almost tripping over himself in his haste to kick them off. He fell back onto the couch with a grunt and lifted his feet onto the coffee table, stretching himself out long and taught.

He'd been half-hard since he left the party, aching in the back of the cab but being too angry to even really notice it. Now, though…

He started slowly – raking his fingers through the hair around the base of his cock, tugging on the curls and ghosting his palm down the shaft. He licked his lips and spread his thighs wider, arching his back when he thumbed over the leaking slit. His mouth fell open just slightly as he stroked himself to full hardness, slicking himself up with pre-come that had gathered at the tip.

With his other hand, he felt around for discarded scarf and brought it to his chest, gasping as the delicate, warm fabric brushed across a dark nipple – peaking it with just the barest of touches. The cloth instantly made him warm all over, almost unbearably warm, and he let the fabric slip slowly down his body as he tugged himself off at a steady rhythm.

When the scarf brushed up against his navel, he reacted by sucking in a sharp breath and fucking into his fist and oh God it'd been so long so long since he'd done this, like, five hours, oh, fuck, feels so good. He lifted his hips off the couch and flicked his wrist, twisting his palm as he reached the head of his dick. He clenched his fingers around the scarf as it sunk lower, lower, low enough to drape across his spread thighs and cover his fist as it slid up and down his cock, bumping up into the fabric whenever he bucked up into the friction, and oh God –

Kurt. Fuck, Kurt tying me to the headboard with the scarf and – fuck – teasing me, touching me with feather-light caresses until I'm begging him, begging him to touch me where I need it, touch or suck or ride my cock, anything, anything at all, with his long, soft hands or his pretty, red little mouth or his fucking perfect ass, oh please, please, my wrists are red and sore but it feels so good, touch me touch me touch me –

Kurt screaming, absolutely gagging for it while I pound his tight little ass, and fuck, he's so loud, whimpering and moaning and fucking thrashing for me while I fuck him into the mattress and oh God the neighbors are gonna hear it and they're gonna come over but I can't stop, feels so good he's so tight and so warm around my dick, gonna have to shove that scarf in his mouth to get him to shut up but I can still hear him around it it's muffled but he still can't help himself he wants it so bad –

The scarf coiled itself around his cock and he squeezed himself around it, wincing slightly at the coarse friction but relishing how warm it felt, how close it was and he could feel himself soaking through the cloth, slicking it up with sweat and pre-come and he tightened his hand around it, thrusting up into the fabric as it clung to him.

And then he was thinking about nothing but how good the scarf felt, the heat it provided – how smooth it now felt after the initial roughness, how easy it was to just buck up and feel a drag, a resistance around his dick that made his toes curl and his balls tighten. He feel himself draw closer to the edge with the tensing of his muscles – the stretch only making him moan and fist himself harder, and when he finally did come, it was hard and blisteringly hot – his could his come spurting up through the fabric, soaking through and sticking to his hand.

He didn't move a muscle as he came down, keeping a firm grip on his softening cock and the scarf wrapped loosely around it. He titled his head back, trying to catch his breath and corral his thoughts from the drunken, post-orgasm recesses of his brain. He came up short, though, blanking out while he sat on the couch with a scarf around his dick and his legs spread out on the coffee table. Just when his mind started coming back to him, he heard a door slam.

"Blaine Anderson, is that my – oh my god, Blaine! That's my scarf! I'm going to – I'm calling my dad, I'm borrowing his flamethrower and I'm going to light you on fire, you scarf-fucking psychopath!"

God, if only that scarf wasn't stuck to his dick. This would've been the perfect time to use it as a gag.


A/N: You should totally review. This was a joke (but I really do love Kurt and Blaine, honestly!) so don't get mad at me D: I'm not making fun of anybody! I apologize deeply for whatever the hell this was, but the image came to my head and would not go away. I mean, not that I THINK about Blaine jacking off into scarves often, but for some reason this just...I don't even know. Please review. I'd love you forever. I promise not to touch your scarves.