a story of Klaine 'firsts'
This chapter stretches the boundaries of the T-rating, so please proceed with caution.
If you are worried about inappropriateness, skip the four long paragraphs following the scene change, and skim pretty much everything after that.
~First 'wet' dream, prompted by ZeebaDeeba
"I swear eggs don't taste like they're healthy."
The comment made Kurt sigh into his Calculus homework before glancing up at Blaine, who was sprawled across his bed on the other side of the room. A pencil was clutched between Blaine's teeth, swinging back and forth like a metronome as he squinted down at Great Expectations, eyebrows pinched in a frown.
"Oh," Kurt replied.
Without so much as a glance at his boyfriend, Blaine turned a page of his book, pulling the pencil from his mouth to underline a passage, then biting onto it again, tapping it with it his finger to start the same back and forth swinging as before. Kurt looked back to his books, trying to focus.
"I mean, people go on and on about they have all this protein in them and other great nutritional stuff, but I really think they just taste like fat. And salt. Wait- does fat even have a taste?"
Thoroughly unengaged by his work, Kurt looked back over at Blaine, checking if the question was directed at him. It didn't seem to be, as Blaine was still thoroughly immersed in his novel, eyes whizzing down the page as he read.
"Oh," Kurt said, turning back again.
"I think fat does have a taste," Blaine chimed, the moment Kurt had re-focussed on his Calculus. "Kind of thick and milky, but not really milk-milky, just sort of, how milk would taste if there weren't as much...milkin it, you know?"
Absolutely positive that this question was rhetorical, Kurt stubbornly refused to look up, forcing himself to concentrate on his work. Find X, the totally-not-annoying font ordered. Scanning the graph beneath, Kurt searched for some indicator of where to start. There was a Y just left of the origin, an R up in the 2nd quadrant and a Q down in the bottom-right corner, but among the maze of lines criss-crossing the page, Kurt could see no X. He turned the page, moving on to the next question.
He wanted to scream.
But Kurt Hummel wasn't the type of person to scream at Calculus. Kurt Hummel could do Calculus, Kurt Hummel understood Calculus, Kurt Hummel refused to be bested by a text book.
"Then again, I guess cream tastes like fat, because cream essentially is fat, but cream also tastes like milk. Like, milk-milk. And cream doesn't taste like eggs..."
Being bested by Blaine, though, was a completely different story.
"Argh!" Kurt shoved his book off his desk and it landed on the carpet with a resounding thump. "Blaine, please, can you just be quiet!"
Not looking over at the bed, because he could just picture Blaine's expression and didn't want to have to confront it in person – all wide eyes and pouty lips and God, it was not fair that he could look like that – Kurt bent down to pick up his book, replacing it on his desk and flicking quickly back through to the correct page. He sighed, picked up his pen, and restarted his search for X.
It wasn't that Kurt didn't love being with Blaine. Whether they were doing homework (which, given Dalton's jam-packed syllabus and the work Kurt had missed out on while he was away from McKinley, they often were), watching TV or just sitting around talking, it was always a pleasant experience. Pleasant, because Kurt had never before been able to sit next to someone and think calmly to himself, that's my boyfriend. It was silly, he knew, but there was a sort of thrill that came from knowing that the person beside you on the couch or just across the room or chatting to your brother in the kitchen was your boyfriend. Knowing that that person kind of liked you in a kind of special way.
So, it wasn't that Kurt didn't liked being with Blaine. He did. It was just that, at times like these, it was easy to get irritated.
Kurt was inexperienced and nervous and innocent, yes, but he was still a teenage boy. He still thought that, just maybe, when he was alone in his bedroom with Blaine, they'd be doing something other than homework. Or, in Blaine's case, talking about the perceived health benefits of eggs.
X was still being stubbornly elusive, and now Kurt felt bad for having snapped at Blaine, and that bloody puppy-dog stare was still stuck in his head, so he put his pen down again, sighed again, and – once again – looked over at the bed.
Kurt had to admit that, seeing his boyfriend sprawled across his duvet, there was very little to not be distracted by. It was no wonder Calculus was suddenly much more difficult than usual. Blaine's posture reeked of relaxation, from the soles of his feet (bare and hovering in the air, toes wriggling along to the beat of a non-existent song) to the top of his head (chin resting on his palm as he stared silently back at Kurt).
"Sorry for yelling," Kurt apologised, twisting around on his wheelie chair to face Blaine properly.
"Sorry for talking about eggs," Blaine offered in return. "I know you like them a lot, and don't like people complaining about them."
Shrugging, Kurt said, in a tone as sincere as he could muster, "I just think eggs are a very understated food. People are always throwing them and mixing them in with stuff and complaining about how they smell when they go off – no one ever really takes the time to appreciate them."
Blaine nodded seriously, his lips twitching slightly as he replied, "You're completely right. I couldn't agree more. We should make a group on Facebook for all the egg-lovers out there. So people like us can unite and talk about our feelings and-"
Kurt stood up and approached the bed, making Blaine break off.
"Or we could just make out," he suggested.
"Yeah, we could do that."
So, see, the thing wasn't that Kurt didn't like hanging out with Blaine. It certainly had its perks. The main problem (other than the random conversations and distracting habits) was that right about when things started to get especially... perky the 'hanging out' tended to grind to complete halt. Literally.
"Kurt, wait, wait- stop!"
Groaning with the effort it took, Kurt dragged his hips back down onto the mattress, creating evil, stupid, awful distance between himself and Blaine. He felt Blaine exhale sharply against his neck as he pressed another messy kiss there before lifting his head up so he could meet Kurt's gaze – frustrated, exhausted, and blown wide with want.
"Why?" Kurt asked, managing to choke out the question despite the fact that he was pretty sure his pounding heart was currently lodged in his throat. Which was an anatomical miracle given he was absolutely positive that all his blood was somewhere else entirely.
"Because we can't- we're not-"
Blaine didn't seem entirely capable of finishing this sentence, not that Kurt gave him much of a chance, leaning up swiftly to capture his boyfriend's lips and swallow the half-formed explanation.
This was all still kind of new to both of them, and Blaine was probably right about them not being ready to do the stuff that this was leading to. But God, sometimes Kurt wanted – wanted so much that it hurt – and it didn't seem entirely fair that all over the world other people were just grabbing on to what they wanted with both hands, whereas here he was, having to very carefully keep his hands far, far away from what they wanted oh-so-desperately to grab. And squeeze. And rub. And-
"Oh, no," Kurt moaned, feeling pressure begin to build in his stomach. "No, no, no, no, no. Please no, just-"
Blaine pulled back, much further back than Kurt had managed, and Kurt wasn't sure if the embarrassing sort of moan he let out was from relief or frustration. Because he was so agonisingly close, and this was not what he had been talking about when he'd said 'no'.
"Sorry," Blaine said, sounding worried. "Did I do something wrong?"
Kurt shook his head, not quite capable of stringing a sentence together just yet.
Blaine was still talking, and honestly, that was doing nothing to help Kurt's situation.
"Are you really sure? Because you look kind of- um..."
Clearly, Blaine was being careful. After the whole sexy faces/gas pains debacle, Blaine had demonstrated his tact and ability to learn quickly by never again commenting on his boyfriend's expressions. It was mostly a good thing, because lately the weird expressions issue had become a two-way street, not that Kurt was ever planning on mentioning that to Blaine because it was rude and because Blaine was being so good about not mentioning it to him. Still, this was definitely a delicate topic for both of them.
Blaine chose not to finish the sentence, opting for silence instead as he rolled completely off Kurt to lie on his back beside him. Both boys were panting a little, although Kurt was sure he had it worse, hands twitching from the effort it took to stay exactly where they rested on the covers and not leap up to finish this blissfully painful process that Blaine had started.
"Sorry," Blaine ventured again.
"It's okay," Kurt whispered back, now able to close his eyes tight and focus on car crashes and dead kittens and his grandma and- yep, that did it.
"I shouldn't have... um..." Blaine started, but then trailed off because he still seemed unsure about exactly what he'd done wrong.
"You shouldn't have started kissing me," Kurt pointed out, his voice still sort of breathy. Then he laughed, saying, "Actually, I guess I shouldn't have started kissing you. Because starting means we have to stop, and the stopping is a real pain."
Blaine chuckled too, turning his head to look at the side of Kurt's face. His breath tickled Kurt's cheek as he murmured, "Maybe we should try not stopping then. Some time. If you want."
The highly effective image of his grandma torturing a goldfish dissolved entirely from Kurt's brain at those words, to be replaced with much more pleasant ones- which he quickly (and reluctantly) cut off, filing them away for later.
"I want," he assured his boyfriend, eyes still closed.
Blaine shuffled closer, his hand reaching out to trace Kurt's jawbone as he kissed his cheek sweetly. Then he sat up, pressing one last kiss to Kurt's forehead before moving off the bed.
Kurt stayed where he was – lying still on his back with his eyes closed, silently thanking the universe for creating skinny jeans because everyone knows they bulge no matter what's going on underneath – and listened as Blaine picked up his book from where it had fallen off the bed. Another few minutes passed in silence, Kurt keeping his eyes very firmly shut as his boyfriend presumably retrieved all the rest of his belongings that had scattered over the room in the course of the day.
"I should probably go," Blaine finally said, his voice sounding far away.
Kurt quirked an eye open, finding Blaine standing by the door, scratching his neck awkwardly.
"See you soon?"
With one last grin, Blaine left, and Kurt could hear him shout a goodbye to Burt and Finn, who were still watching a basketball game in the lounge room. Outside, Kurt listened to the front door slam shut, thebipbip of Blaine's car being unlocked, its door opening and closing again, and then finally the sound of it pulling out of the drive and disappearing down the street.
Now he was alone, and no one would suspect a thing if he just closed his door and dealt with this problem before going back to his Calculus homework. Urgh – now why didn't he just think of that when he was looking for something to calm him down earlier?
Because of course, now that Blaine had gone and all the wonderful kissing and pressure and fingertip touches – and, wow, how could it only have been a few weeks ago that he thought they weren't sexy? – had stopped, Kurt was very quickly losing his desire to deal with his situation. In fact, he was very quickly losing the situation altogether.
Growling in frustration, because it honestly wasn't fair to come that close and then have bloody Calculus homework jump out and kill every single iota of buzz left in his body, Kurt sat up. He was in that awkward stage where things could go either way, and maybe if he closed his eyes and indulged for a few minutes he could convince himself to finish this properly, but that just seemed kind of pathetic, especially when a cold shower would just as easily do the job for him.
"I hate you," he muttered to his text book as he passed his desk, grabbing a change of clothes and heading to the bathroom.
In retrospect, taking a shower was probably a bad idea. Because showers had always made Kurt tired, ever since he was a kid and his Mum would shove him in there, turn on the warm water and sing him a lullaby if he was complaining about not wanting to go to bed. In fact, thinking about it as he drifted off to sleep, the post-shower feeling of warmth and cleanliness settling around him like a woollen blanket, Kurt decided that this shower thing really wouldn't be a great instinct to retain, especially if his sex life ever reached the kind of heights he had recently taken to imagining it would.
For instance, he could just imagine if, two or three years from now, when he and Blaine were living in New York together, he came home after a successful audition (of course) to the sound of the shower running. And because they were older and everything was legal and not scary and comfortable and right, Kurt decided to join his boyfriend in there. And then say things got a little steamy – wet hands running over arms and ribs and thighs, moist lips licking, nipping, biting into collarbones and earlobes, groans and whines and all those perfect little noises Blaine made when Kurt's lips settled over his Adam's apple – and it got to the point where the water was all over them and their hair was ruined and it was so excruciatingly warm that it was almost too hot because he could feel Blaine against him, not Blaine the person but, Blaine. And they were pressing close and God, it should be uncomfortable because they're in a shower and it's slippery underfoot and it's frosted glass pressing into his back but it so, so isn't even the slightest bit uncomfortable.
By this point, Kurt had totally lost his train of thought and was about ninety percent sure that he was dreaming. Because, as far as he knew, he wasn't New Yorker and his shower didn't have frosted glass and whoever owned the shower he was imagining was really going to be quite cross when they found out what was going on in there. But it was such a wonderfully comprehensive dream – complete with all the details right down to that funny little scar on Blaine's shoulder that Kurt was just dying to ask about but was sort of scared of the answers because if they were bad it would make it entirely creepy just how turned on he sometimes was by it and how much he wanted to press his lips to it and to kiss it again and again and again to see if maybe he could heal it, if he could kiss away all the past pain that Blaine had gone through.
In the comprehensiveness of it all, Kurt could almost feel Blaine's hands on him. He could feel them settling on his hips where Blaine's palms curled around the bones, fitting perfectly in the little hollows around them because, let's face it, the two of them were made to be together and every single plane of them just fit. Then Blaine's hands ventured a little lower, slowly and gently and carefully and Kurt could feel the intensity of Blaine's eyes on him, the way they were boring into his and Kurt knew he was looking back because there's no way he could close his eyes to this. Except that, rather than being able to see anything at all other than a gold that he's pretty sure is all Blaine, Kurt could only feel sensations – the sense that gazes were locked, that skin was wet with a strange, exotic cocktail of sweat and water and desire, that the rough, confident, perfect hands on him were running lower and lower and more and more softly until-
It was a choked sound that awoke Kurt, shaking and covered in sweat and wondering what on earth that ungodly noise was until he realised that it was himself and it suddenly shut off.
"You okay, Kurt?" his Dad called from downstairs and no, no, he wanted to scream, I'm very much not okay. But that was his Dad and sure, they were close, but this might just be taking it a step too far.
"I'm fine!" he shouted back, cursing his voice for being all high and tired.
He was meant to be sleeping! He was meant to be taking a perfectly innocent nap before starting on his Calculus homework. He was meant to be rejuvenating after an exhausting morning of very light, innocent, taking-it-slow making out.
Kurt opened his eyes, daring to let them flicker down to his middle. The sheets were ruined. So were his pants. So was his shirt. If he weren't so disgusted by it he'd be impressed that there was that much... stuff... in him at all!
And, God, now he understood why sex had made him uncomfortable for so long. This wasn't comfortable at all. This was sticky and beginning to get cold and it made him feel sort of dirty, as if he should have had better control of his mind than to let it wander off like this. It utterly astounded him that things like this happened to teenage boys all the time, because sure, it had happened to him before, but never on this grandiose of a scale. And never because of Blaine.
Stupid Blaine with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and hands and neck and the way he-
Clearly, Kurt was going mad. Because he was not going to go down this path for a third time today. Two was quite enough thank you very much.
So he sat up, tucked himself away - and seriously, he had undone his freaking jeans in his sleep? It usually took him half an hour to get dressed in the mornings, and yet this he could manage semi-conscious? - and pulled a handful of tissues from the box beside his bed, beginning to clean up.
He'd just finished changing his clothes, wondering how on earth he was going to hide all of this from Carole, when his phone rang on his desk. Dumping his dirty clothes on the floor (something that he would never admit to doing but, seriously, they weren't going anywhere near his furniture), Kurt went to pick up it, smiling at Blaine's name on the screen.
"Hey, Kurt. Sorry to bother you-"
"You're not bothering me." At least not in the sense Blaine had meant.
"-right, well, good. Anyway, I just remembered that I forgot to wish you good luck for New York. I know you guys will be fantastic. First place at Nationals, right?"
Kurt grinned at Blaine's enthusiasm, answering, "Yeah, sure. Only, don't get your hopes up too much. Mostly I'm just going to be scouring the area, looking for the best place for us to go once we finish school."
They'd already had the dreaded 'after graduation' conversation a while ago – well, not so much a conversation as Kurt shyly bringing it up and Blaine eagerly agreeing, as per usual – so this was safe territory to joke in. Strange how two-years-away plans were safer territory than sexy-expressions. Maybe Kurt needed to reassess the nature of his and Blaine's relationship...
"Sounds like the perfect plan. What sort of stuff are you looking for?"
Kurt wandered over to his bed, biting his lip to hold back a grin. It should not be this easy to be this crazy about someone.
"Well, it needs to be in the right area – either close to Broadway or close to the subway so we can get to Broadway easily for all our auditions. And, you know, not too dodgy, although I'm sure you'd protect me from all the evils of New York City."
"Like your own personal Spiderman," Blaine vowed.
"The interior needs to be right too, of course. Two bedrooms so Rachel can stay over if she needs to. A big kitchen so I can cook whatever I want whenever I'm stressed. The living room can be kind of small, because then we're allowed to only have one couch that we can cuddle up on while any guests have to sit in a separate armchair. And a bathroom with a frosted glass shower screen."
"Why frosted glass?"
Oops. Kurt could feel his face glowing like a hot plate, and was extremely glad that Blaine couldn't see him.
"No reason," he squeaked out, sitting down on the bed, carefully avoiding the stain on the sheets. "I just like frosted glass."
Blaine was silent for a while, and Kurt took the opportunity to scrutinize the damage he'd made. The stains were definitely drying in now, and he was pretty sure he'd have to wash them out of the sheets himself, doing his best with soap and hot water before surrendering them to Carole for a proper washing and hoping that she didn't notice.
Something crinkled under a fold in the sheets as Kurt prodded at them, and he muttered, "Hang on a second," into the phone before putting it on his bedside table and reaching under the covers.
It began to come back to him as he pulled his Calculus book out that he'd brought it to bed with him and laid it on his lap, intending to work, before he'd fallen asleep. Thankfully, it had fallen off his lap, but Kurt wasn't sure when or how and it didn't make a huge difference anyway. There was still a very unseemly stain across its open pages, damp but not wet, but still definitely not the kind of stain that could be ignored.
From his bedside table, he could hear Blaine's voice, asking what was going on.
Sighing, Kurt deposited the book back onto the sheets, and retrieved the phone.
"-everything okay?" Blaine asked, evidentially finishing a sentence.
"Everything's fine," Kurt replied, shooting a glance at his ruined book. "Just realising that life's a little different with you around."
There was a pause where he could only hear Blaine breathing slowly, the sound so impossibly close that Kurt let his eyes flutter shut, loving the feel of it right by his ear.
"Different-good?" Blaine finally asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Different-fantastic," Kurt assured him with a grin. There was another moment of wonderful silence before he said, "I just have one question for you."
"When I get back, do you think I could borrow your Calculus book?"
Many 'thank you's to my wonderful new beta Dylan8!
Anyone else counting down the days 'til November 4th? Just over a month until I'm free!
(And really, I should be a lot more stressed about this. I have the exams that my entire life so far has been leading up to in just under a month. Hmm. That's scary.)