Summary: Written for the prompt "camping, woods, with ND, in a small house, first time sharing bed together, no sex, fluff, mosquitoes" by firelle though I missed half of those. Basically, Kurt and Blaine share a bed in a cabin surrounded by ND. Fluffy fluffy fluffy fluff. I think.
A/N: Written because I have writer's block on everything else and it hurts and I wanted to write something quick and painless. Sorry for any typos! And the bad title! And the cliche of it all.
Kurt wakes up slowly. No alarm. No yells from outside his room on those rare occasions he sleeps in. His phone's not vibrating under his pillow. He stirs, rolls his shoulders and feels pleasantly blissful. Feels rejuvenated and thinks it's because he seems to have just slept in for the first time since summer.
Except…there's a heavy weight across him. An arm across his chest, shit, fingers tangled into his hair and slipping down now to pet at his neck. There's a leg over his and the body of someone warm and strong pressed up against his side.
Now he's wide awake.
And staring down. A mop of dishevelled curly black hair. That distinct, masculine smell that lingers in his car after long drives home from dates.
He relaxes, breathing deep and last night floods back to him: This is Mr Schue's fault. He'd eagerly nodded along to the proposed split of the group between the two cabins thinking it could be wonderful, ignoring the array of looks from everyone else: on one side of the track all the people who liked girls. On the other side of the track all the people who liked boys. Such a genius division except, as several had attempted to point out, that left Blaine and Kurt—affectionate, dating, honeymoon-period, straight out of summer, Blaine and Kurt, in the same room.
Mr Schue, once stuck on a good idea, hadn't been swayed and Kurt and Blaine had talked the girls down, had promised, promised, nothing untoward and it was real because they never did anything like that.
So now they're seemingly wrapped around each other in the not quite-double bed beneath the bunk single that Rachel had claimed. And Kurt's awake and Blaine's…
He's breathing against him, soft puffs of air across his chest and they're both only wearing cotton and it's all so warm. Kurt grins and casts his eyes around the room, just the beginnings of morning sunshine sneaking through the curtained windows. No one else is stirring so he tightens his arms where they are, pulled tight around the back of Blaine.
Except then Blaine tilts, leg hooking more firmly around Kurt's and pulling Blaine's weight even more above, over, and then pressing down in a rock and—
Kurt can feel him hard against his hip. Really hard. And hot. The shock of it makes everywhere else they're touching seem cool and distant and unimportant and Kurt shivers and bites his lip and wonders what the hell to do.
I mean, what exactly does one do in this situation?
"Kurt?" Blaine mumbles in his sleep.
At least Kurt thinks it's in his sleep. Shit, what's he going to do if he wakes up? When he wakes up? He closes his eyes, bites hard at his lip and feels Blaine's hand slide under his shirt and up his back, fingertips pressing against naked skin. That's not new but that's…
Blaine rocks his hips and moans and Kurt's stopped breathing and he hopes that will stop him getting harder in response because he's always imagined…
But not in a room with all the girls of ND. Not with Mr Schue, of all people, likely to burst in, possibly burst into song, at any moment.
"Kurt…" Blaine whines and it's high pitched and loud and only a little muffled by where Blaine's mouth is pressed, drooling—what is that hot—to Kurt's clavicle.
And Blaine rocks again, leg hooking more, pulling him closer and if he does that again he'll be on top of him and Kurt will be properly on his way to giving in and rocking back and that is just wrong on so many levels. His hand fists in the back of Blaine's shirt and he hisses in his ear, "Blaine!" trying to wake him up.
"Kurt, I want…" and Blaine trails off and nuzzles sleepily.
Torn between angling his hip a little, trying to commit the weight and heat and feel of Blaine to memory, with trying to wake Blaine up and escape potential embarrassment, with wanting to know…"What?" he whispers.
"Kurt, just, let me…" he trails off again and Kurt huffs out his discontent and rocks up without thinking, looking for friction but getting none, giving Blaine plenty.
And Blaine groans this obscene, needy groan that Kurt's never ever heard him make and then his eyes are wide and bright and then panicked and he's rolling away, to his back, then rethinking—Kurt just saw something else insanely hot— up to his side and stealing all the covers to drape not-at-all-conspicuously over himself.
"Kurt!" he whispers, eyes still frantic and he has no idea what's going on but he just woke up hard and, shit was he against Kurt? Rocking?…Dreaming. Oh fuck, he was dreaming. And he was dreaming about…"Kurt?" he tries again, trying to sound soothing while he fights down terror because Kurt's knees have come up to his chest and his arms have hooked over them and he's staring back with wide blue eyes.
His voice comes out shaky and low and Blaine doesn't know what to make of it. "Good morning, Blaine."
Blaine stares and Kurt stares back and then looks away, around the room, searching, again, for signs of life. Then back at Blaine who is blushing red and blinking too much and Kurt feels bad for him. But wonderful for himself. And to think he said nothing good could come from a New Direction retreat.
He bites down on both his lips, slow breaths through his nose as he stares at Blaine. "You were asleep," he eventually breathes out.
"I'm so sorry," Blaine is babbling out.
Kurt shakes his head. "No," he tells him. Blaine can be such an adorable fool and Kurt feels a pang of guilt for letting it play out as long as it did. He wants to make up for it and make Blaine understand and then whisper something promising and convincing in Blaine's ear.
He sucks his bottom lip again, contemplating and watching Blaine continue to panic. And then he unfolds and wriggles forward and close and slides a hand across Blaine's cheek, around his neck and draws him in for a kiss. It tastes raw and unexpected, with hints of toothpaste but Kurt slides his tongue insistently into Blaine's mouth and they are so, so good at kissing that Blaine doesn't know Kurt's against him until he is.
A hand beneath the covers, to his hip, pulling him forward and against and as soon as Kurt feels him there, hard—god still hard for him; in a dream and in a rundown cabin and, he thinks, anywhere— and against his own length and it feels amazing, makes them both groan but Kurt pulls back immediately, puts inches between their mouths, more between their hips.
And he blushes hard and can't quite look Blaine in the eye because that was bold. "I didn't know you dreamt about me," he whispers, hand still curved to fit Blaine's neck.
Blaine just stares at him some more.
"We can't…" Kurt tells him. "Not here. But when we get back maybe we talk about this?" he sounds hopeful and it's a blatant proposition and Blaine can't not grin.
And then nod. And grin some more. But, as always, every time these things come up in conversation, he adds, "I can wait, if you're not—"
This time Kurt cuts him off. "I'm ready," he says simply. "At least for something. For more of…" and he laughs, turning his head into the mattress. "I didn't know you dreamt about me," he says simply.
And then Rachel snorts loudly in her sleep and the springs in the bed above them strain, she rambles something incoherent and then they hear her turn in her sleep and start to snore. They both giggle as silently as they can. The moment broken but grins still set firmly in place, Kurt reaches out and pulls the covers back over before he settles on his side, staring at Blaine, their hands finding each other under the sheets, fingers interlacing and neither one wanting, even for a second, to fall back to sleep.