DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "Vegas Skies" by The Cab.
Warnings aren't too copious on this one. First-time making out, accidental stimulation if you don't blink because it's pretty brief but obvious, even more schmoop. This was supposed to be well under a thousand words, and while it's not exactly "Ulysses" it's longer than originally intended.
As always, I love you, reviewers. You are sweet and kind and just made of an awesome concoction of win.
"I've wanted this for so long," Blaine breathes as his back hits the couch. In Kurt's living room the lights are dim, the curtains are open and showing a moon-soaked lawn outside, stars shining as bright as they can against the harsh yellow gaze of streetlights and various passing cars.
"Me too," Kurt replies, just as breathy, as he brackets Blaine's shoulders with his arms, sliding a thigh in between Blaine's legs but keeping clear of his lap. Blaine doesn't know if that frustrates him or relieves him; either way, their matching blazers are crumpled on the floor, ties still knotted but loosened and hastily thrown down next to shoes.
No one's home, or so says Kurt, and as much as Blaine wants to do his best to impress Kurt's family, he knows he wouldn't give a damn if they walked through the front door this very second. For all his bravado that he puts on at Dalton, he's never been this close with another boy before, and while he's terrified, he's also excited. Kurt's body is a solid weight above him, his rhythmic breathing a comforting presence, but even that's not enough to distract him from the knowledge that the couch's arm rest is uncomfortably hard and his neck is already beginning to cramp.
Looking into Kurt's eyes, though, the burgeoning neck cramp fades to the back of his mind.
Since their initial kiss over a week ago all the feelings that Blaine had been pushing back have rushed forward and taken over, engulfing him and empowering him in a way that borders on surreal. He had originally meant for that kiss to be short, just a peck to let Kurt know that he's there now, romantically, even if he'd been admittedly to stupid to see it in the past, but it had grown and grown, and then Kurt had kissed back with just as much force and suddenly Blaine was left wondering why he hadn't been there all along.
"Is this… Is it okay?" Kurt asks, teeth catching on his lower lip as he looks down at Blaine. Lit by only the pale moonlight Kurt looks completely ethereal; he's as flawlessly perfect as an angel or even a tormented ghost, and, as much as Blaine hates to ruin the monumental moment with his stupid running train of internal dialogue, Kurt's maybe even more hauntingly beautiful than the Gray Lady.
Blaine cups Kurt's cheek in his palm, giving him the most adoring smile that he can muster. "It's more than okay," he whispers, sliding his hand down to trace a thumb over Kurt's bottom lip, watching blue-gray eyes flutter shut and pink lips part slightly in a quiet gasp. He feels a hesitant touch of tongue to the dry pad of his thumb and he stifles his own groan-gasp hybrid.
Despite the strain in his neck Blaine leans up and presses his lips against the impossibly smooth skin of Kurt's cheek, pulling back enough to nuzzle at the slightly damp print left behind. He can feel more than hear the tiny noise Kurt makes, the flexing of his arms as he wants to move to touch any part of Blaine possible but is rendered unable to do so without shifting his weight.
They understand each other completely, know just by looks and touches and gesture what they want, what's best for them. Kurt's doing too good a job at keeping his hips a safe distance from Blaine, and Blaine is doing disappointingly well at not grinding his hips down on Kurt's thigh. Neither realizes that the other wants friction just as much but is too scared to voice it.
Their eyes meet, both pairs portraying teenage nervousness and excitement, anticipation and arousal. Kurt leans down, positions his head, and Blaine grasps onto a bicep and waits.
Their first kisses are tentative, unsure, dry lips to dry lips, mouths sealed closed. When Kurt finally opens his mouth and changes angles, Blaine turns his head and tilts his chin up, the slick slide of their lips together sending shivers throughout his body. With his eyes shut, Blaine can only sense and hear Kurt around him; he can smell his cologne and face cream and it's intoxicating.
Kurt's lips are warm against his, and while this may be their first time kissing like this, straddling and laying down on a couch, he feels so at ease here, so comfortable in a way that he never has been anywhere else. One of his hands stops drawing circles on Kurt's lumbar region and moves to caress his arm where the button-up's sleeve is rolled up past the elbow, fingertips skating down the smooth, pale skin with ease, feeling the fine hairs and mapping out the strong muscles underneath.
Blaine wants the feel of Kurt's palm on his cheek again, thumb pressing into his sideburn as he takes control, pushing Blaine back with the force of his passionate reciprocation. He recalls Kurt's flushed cheeks and slightly reddened lips, how by the time they moved into their second kiss his ears were the same bright red color but his eyes sparkled.
Above him, Kurt shifts slightly, top lip dragging over Blaine's philtrum, and his breathing's slowly becoming ragged and labored, skin hot to the touch when Blaine ghosts his fingers over Kurt's neck and is rewarded with a soft sound and Kurt's knee shifting just enough to press lightly against Blaine's balls through his slacks.
When Blaine moans, deep and just this side of throaty, Kurt pulls back quickly, scooting his knee away, and Blaine immediately feels like a fool, feels like he's ruined the entire moment with his stupid teenage body and its stupid reactions. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, almost afraid to see the look of disgust or horror or pity that's sure to be on Kurt's face.
There's a dip in the cushions and then fingers are under his chin. Blaine's eyes slowly open, Kurt's face coming into focus gradually and there's nothing but adoration in those bottomless, sea-colored eyes, nothing between the lines in the smile Kurt has on his face. Blaine scrunches his eyebrows up, confused, and Kurt says, "That was the hottest noise I've ever heard."
Blaine's forehead flattens out and he exhales, keeping his eyes wide and unblinking even when Kurt lowers his head and removes his fingers from under his chin to prop his weight up evenly. He speaks directly into Blaine's ear when he says, "I want to hear it again."
Before the words can process in Blaine's mind the point of Kurt's tongue is pressing, hot and wet, against the back of Blaine's ear, trailing down and around the lobe. Kurt takes the skin between his teeth, biting and tugging gently, and this time Blaine's moan advances quickly into guttural, his hands grasping tightly at Kurt's shoulders as his hips cant up against his will.
"Oh, Kurt," he gasps, titling his head to the side when Kurt's mouth trails down the line of his neck, sucking softly, light enough that he knows there won't be bruises. "Kurt."
His mind goes fuzzy and his breaths comes out shorter, shallower, as Kurt kisses the gentle slope where neck becomes shoulder through the thin cotton of Blaine's shirt. He feels his body temperature spike when Kurt's lips and teeth move to his jaw. He squeezes his eyes shut and holds on to the back of Kurt's neck as if to keep him there.
When their lips meet next Blaine slides his tongue into Kurt's mouth on impulse, feeling desperate and needy and oh god that's Kurt's tongue sliding in to his mouth, that's his moan reverberating down Blaine's throat. This time the sound of their lips sliding together is intensified, wetter, and Blaine finally tangles his hands in Kurt's hair and hopes that Kurt doesn't mind it too much.
It seems that hands in hair are a very good thing for Kurt: He moans almost immediately and curls his tongue in Blaine's mouth, rubbing gently against the inside of his cheek.
Even without friction to his aching cock Blaine isn't going to last much longer, and as appealing as the idea may sound to him right now, when even rubbing off against a pillow would feel fantastic, the hopeless romantic side of him doesn't want their first time coming together to be on a couch in a dark living room with their uniform slacks still on. He knows that Kurt will thank him eventually.
It's with a lot of reluctance and a gargantuan display of self-control that Blaine pulls back, peppering Kurt's jaw and cheeks and chin with little kisses as he says, "I know it sounds stupid, but I don't really want our first time, you know… together to end up just being on a couch with our pants still on."
Kurt looks like Blaine's just told him that he's hidden all of his scarves but he nods anyway, jutting out his kiss-swollen lower lip slightly as he sits back against the couch and Blaine pulls himself up, cracking his neck with a wince and trying his best to ignore the throbbing in his slacks. The room seems eerily silent without their noises and heavy breathing.
"You're a fantastic kisser," Blaine says out of nowhere. Kurt's fading blush reddens again.
"Blaine," Kurt says, tone shy and serious and suddenly he's not wanting to meet Blaine's eyes, choosing instead to pick at a loose thread in the stitching of the couch's upholstery, "I—I really want to, um, to—to get you off. The, uh, you know… The proper way."
Blaine raises his eyebrows, bemused, but only says, "The proper way?"
Kurt glances up at him, looking through thick lashes in a way that makes Blaine's stomach flutter pleasantly. "Yeah, like, uh, like under the clothes. And—and, you know…" Seeing the usually-loquacious and eloquent Kurt Hummel at such a loss for words was as funny as it was just completely new.
Scooting over a little, Blaine presses a hand on Kurt's knee, nudging his shoulder with his affectionately and smiling. "I know," he says, voice dark but playful and Kurt looks up at him, the same hopeful, bright-eyed look he'd sported throughout his first few weeks at Dalton. "I think the feeling's mutual."
In only a few short months Kurt's gone from being the damaged kid, the best friend, the crush, to the boyfriend who's become slightly less baby-penguin-ish the moment he'd slid his leg between Blaine's thighs.
It'd taken death threats and ignorant jocks to send Kurt to Dalton in the first place. It'd taken one well-timed spying appearance to give Kurt a front-row performance for a song that, in hindsight, told of Blaine's true feelings the moment that Kurt descended that staircase and asked him a question.
It'd taken a song about a dead bird to make those feelings come to light.
It'd taken one make-out session to solidify Blaine's notion that he wanted to be everything for Kurt.
And it'd only taken a few genuine smiles and a loss at Regionals to realize how in love he really was.