Kurt Hummel was evil. That was the only way to explain it.

There was no other reason he could be wearing THOSE jeans on a night like tonight. The night of the cast wrap party for his first major role on Broadway as Georg in "Spring Awakening." The jeans that, when seen from the right angle, let you know what freaking religion Kurt was.

At least, that's what Blaine thought to himself as he watched his boyfriend leave their New York apartment, his ass swaying side to side all the way down the six flights of stairs required to reach the street. Blaine swore under his breath each time Kurt looked back at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes that just begged to be explored.

But they were already running late and there was no time for fun and games. This was a strictly business function, as Kurt had made abundantly clear a thousand times. By the time they arrived at the theater, Blaine's mouth was already dry from staring open-mouthed at his boyfriend's ass. He wasn't even aware when Kurt began introducing him to the other cast members.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked for what much have been the dozenth time. "Blaine! Wake up!"

Blaine shook his head to knock himself out of his reverie. He had been thinking about Kurt's ass again. Somehow, Kurt had brought over a short brunette who was shaking Blaine's sweaty palm.

"Blaine, this is Ursula." Kurt smiled, a touch of frustration in the grit of his teeth. "She played Ilsa. She's going to be reprising the role in the touring cast."

"Lovely to meet you." Blaine muttered, thanking God, Jesus, Buddha, Allah, and everyone else for the chill in the theater that let him keep his trenchcoat buttoned to his knees. "And congratulations on the touring cast!"

"Thanks!" Ursula squealed in a voice that perfectly matched her waifish figure. "And thank you for letting us borrow Kurt for so much time! He's such an asset to the cast."

Asset. ASSet. She was mocking Blaine. That had to be it.

"You can stop shaking her hand now, Sweetie." Kurt mumbled, pulling their hands apart. Blaine hadn't even realized that he had been gripping the hand of the tiny girl who now looked rather frightened. He blushed and apologized, wiping the sweat off his palm.

This was too much.

"Kurt," Blaine whispered, making the taller man moan at the feel of the hot breath on his ear. It was too much. "Kurt! I'm not feeling well. Can we-"

Kurt walked away, letting out a loud "oh!" when seeing a tall, muscular man walk through the door. Blaine took a deep breath, counted to ten, and made his way over to the snack table where he could drown his sexual frustration in pink dip and tortilla chips. Kurt skipped over to the table, the recent addition to the party in tow. "Blaine! This is Trevor. He was the Hanschen to my Georg!" Kurt proclaimed a little too excitedly.

Blaine popped a chip into his mouth and glared at Trevor. He had seen the play enough times to know exactly what those Germanic names meant. Hanschen was Georg's love interest. They shared an intense kiss and overtly sexual song in the second act. This Trevor person was the one who got to kiss his boyfriend, and Blaine was not happy about it.

"Pleasure." He managed to grumble out, nodding at the man's outstretched palm.

Kurt rolled his eyes and grabbed his boyfriend's hand. "Honestly, dear, I don't know what's gotten into you tonight. Be a good Dalton boy and shake Trevor's hand." Blaine begrudgingly did as he was told.

"Thanks for letting us borrow Kurtie." Trevor smiled, his light brown eyes glistening.



Fucking Kurtie.

No one called Kurt that but Blaine.

And there was that ass again, shaking back and forth as though Kurt couldn't contain his energy. Blaine swallowed hard and grabbed Kurt's hand. "Excuse me, Trevor, but my boyfriend" Blaine put an extra emphasis on the word, "has to show me where the facilities are."

"Blaine you know where-" Kurt began, but it was too late. Blaine was dragging him out the front door and back towards their apartment. "Blaine, where are we going?" He asked, worry growing in his voice.

"Home. Now." Blaine replied, unable to form complete sentences. He knew this probably looked terrible to any bystanders: a dark-haired man with an angry glint in his eyes dragging a man whose entire last job had required him to look sixteen along the street and up a flight of stairs. Before the front door was even closed, Blaine had begun ripping Kurt's clothes off his body.

"Blaine, what are you- What the-" Kurt mumbled out, a touch of fear behind his voice. Blaine silenced his question with a deep kiss, forcing Kurt's mouth open and running his tongue along the back of his teeth. Kurt answered with a groan, thrusting up against Blaine's hips. He was hard already, and the friction made both men let out a groan.

"These... fucking... pants." Blaine grumbled, fumbling with the button fly. "Why... don't... never... wear... again..."

Kurt gasped as Blaine finally undid the fly and Kurt's cock sprang free.

No underwear. That bitch.

Blaine undid his own pants and let them fall down to his ankles. His aching cock sprung free from the demon prison-hell that those pants were, and he moaned at the sensation. Kurt was still sprawled with his back to the wall, glaring hungrily at Blaine's cock. Blaine almost came from the sight alone, but composed himself enough to mutter, "Turn around." Kurt let out a nervous whimper, but the hungry look never left his eyes as he did as he was told.

He's actually enjoying this.

Blaine cleared his throat to gather all the spit in his mouth, and spat onto his hand. Not enough. He stepped out of the pool of cloth at his ankles and walked over to the pale body pressed against the wall. "Spit." Blaine commanded, holding his hand next to Kurt's face. Kurt let out a whine, but obeyed the order. Letting out a contented "hmph," Blaine spread the warm saliva onto his cock and pressed it into Kurt's entrance. Kurt moaned as Blaine entered him, the lack of lubricant making him ache a little bit.

"Mine." Blaine mumbled as he thrust again. "Mine. Mine. Mine." He groaned with each thrust into the taller man. He opened his eyes, unaware that they had even been closed, and saw Kurt's white shoulder in front of his face. He couldn't help himself- he bit and sucked on it, listening as Kurt screamed at the combination of pain and pleasure. Kurt struggled against Blaine's motions, but Blaine gripped his wrists, pressing their bodies against the wall together. Kurt wriggled, the motion making Blaine groan into Kurt's now-bruised shoulder.

Suddenly, Blaine's front felt cold. He looked up to see that Kurt had freed himself, and was now giggling on their leather couch. Blaine leapt over the back of the couch and on top of his boyfriend, who had now devolved into full-blown belly laughs. Blaine gripped the blond's torso and, in a feat of flexibility, managed to flip him on his stomach underneath him. Kurt's ass was laying bare as the rest of him continued to laugh.

"Oh you think this is funny?" Blaine growled. "You think watching you flirt with everyone else in the room in those fucking skin-tight jeans is funny?"

"Babe, you know I-" Kurt managed to squeak out before Blaine smacked his ass with on open palm, leaving a bright red mark.

"You've been bad, Kurt." Blaine groaned. "Very bad." He lifted his arm and slapped Kurt's ass again, watching the loose muscle jiggle at the contact. "You... need... to... be... punished." He shouted out with each slap.

"Fuck." Kurt finally cried out as Blaine entered him again without warning. "Punish me."

Blaine thrust into Kurt's squirming body again and again, feeling his boyfriend tense up around him. "You've... been... so... bad."

"Fuck." was all Kurt could reply.

"Whose ass is this?" Blaine asked, pushing himself deeper into Kurt.

"Yours." Kurt said in a breathy moan.

"Whose?" Blaine asked again, pulling Kurt's hips up into his movements.

"Yours!" Kurt shouted.

"Whose?" Blaine asked a third time, grabbing the base of Kurt's cock in a circle formed by his thumb and forefinger. "Whose is it, Kurt?"

"Blaine... Anderson." Kurt moaned. "It... belongs...to...Blaine...Anderson."

Blaine let go of Kurt's cock and Kurt responded with a loud moan, spilling himself all over the couch. The tightness of his orgasm made Blaine lose control, and he came deep inside Kurt.

After what felt like both ten years and thirty seconds, Blaine pulled himself out of Kurt, rubbing the black-and-blue mark on his shoulder. "Sorry," he muttered.

"'S'no problem." Kurt replied dreamily. "I hate sleeveless shirts anyway."

Blaine laughed at the blond's confession. "Let that be a lesson. Never EVER wear those jeans for anyone but me. Got it?"

"Of course." Kurt mumbled, pulling his shirt back on. "Back to the party then?"

"Of course." Blaine smiled.