Title: Near and Far
Summary: Over the summer of 2011 Blaine goes to Europe for a month. Kurt misses him. Really misses him. In ways he hadn't not missed him when he was home. They skype. Smut ensues.
Characters: Kurt/Blaine with nary a single cameo to be had.
A/N: The long, long awaited skype fic. I always wanted to challenge myself and write phone sex for them early on because they're both so, so new to it all. So this happened. And now I'm posting it.
Enamoured, sexy, awkward first time (but over skype, does that even count?) more-than-making-out. So much more. And Kurt is…bold. And Blaine is…receptive. Pffft. Read it! SMUT!
"Hey!" Blaine sounds overly excited and he's bouncing a little in his seat, grinning and waving at Kurt through the computer screen.
He's always this excited, he has always got stories to share. Kurt does his best to smile. "Hey!" he tries.
"What?" Blaine asks, calming instantly because even over skype he can tell when something's wrong. And yes, so maybe, Kurt isn't hiding it quite as much as he could have. Because he wants this attention.
"I miss you," he whines and he wants nothing more than to reach out and hug his boyfriend to him but Blaine's been in Europe for three weeks with his family and hugging a computer screen just seems stupid.
Blaine's expression softens, even though it's a little grainy and the picture's darker than usual and Kurt momentarily hates that. "I miss you, too."
"No, I—" Kurt cuts himself off; he knew taking the call when he did was a bad idea. But they will have to discus this eventually and Kurt just really wants to fall back into love and everything, everything, that goes with it, as soon as Blaine is home. Awkward conversations can be had here. Now. While Kurt can't kiss him or touch him or…other things.
"I miss you," Kurt tries with the emphasis, he thinks, in the right place and eyes staring at Blaine's through the screen.
But Blaine misses it and just says back—oh god, his voice a little gooey—"I miss you."
Kurt huffs and yeah, he really shouldn't have taken the call scant few minutes after he finished jacking off and fell into a gross kind of melancholy that confused lust with love and made him wonder what the hell he was doing. But he does miss him. Emotionally and physically and he's kicking himself for not pushing Blaine into his bed and doing things before he left. And now…now.
"When you get back," Kurt says, sounding confident, self-assured even though he's cringing inwardly, "I want to do things."
Blaine stares at him, eyebrows high in surprise and then low in consideration. He looks flustered, and then fidgety, he's glancing around and Kurt has to ask: "Where are you? The picture's all dark!"
Blaine just shrugs off the question, blinks his eyes closed for a second and asks, "What kind of things?"
Now Kurt's flustered and shrugging because in three weeks, three weeks of missing Blaine's kisses and his hands on his cheeks and neck and in his hair, Kurt has managed two weeks and six days of imagining Blaine's hands on his stomach and hips, across his back, wrapped around his thighs, then his cock, fingers pressing inside his ass. God, when did that happen? Serves him right for suddenly have hours of spare time to himself every day. And teenage hormones. And a gorgeous boyfriend. Who was absent. His thoughts just ran away with him.
Not that he hadn't imagined it before. Just a little.
Before Blaine left, when they first started, Kurt had given a stunning monologue on how he wasn't really that disinterested in sex and he knew about it and was fine with it. He didn't watch porn because it lacked emotion but he wasn't asexual or not interested or anything like that. Kurt had felt it was important to point that last bit out. And then to point out that he wasn't sex-crazed either and he wanted to take things slow because this was special and he was very happy with just making out for now because it was new and wonderful. And he'd rambled until Blaine kissed him to shut him up. Because Blaine had been a little bit gobsmacked and then had grinned and said 'okay' between kisses.
"What things, Kurt?" Blaine's voice makes Kurt jump and he realizes his eyes have glazed over and he's drifted. Not that Blaine would be able to tell. Because Blaine isn't there.
Kurt's a little exasperated. "The things that teenage boys are meant to want to do, Blaine."
A breath rattles out of him and Kurt can see him in the ghost-white light of his screen raise a hand to press to his face and run up through his hair. "Sex things?" he asks.
Kurt shifts in his chair, pulling a leg up under him. "Yeah. Sex things."
Kurt purses his lips. "Well not sex, not right away."
"No," Blaine actually sounds…wistful? Thoughtful? Like he's aching a little at the idea of not sex, not right away. And Kurt secretly enjoys that because he's been aching after that idea for weeks.
"Can we do that?" Kurt asks.
Blaine's head snaps up and his expression is all the more unreadable for the fact that it's in two dimensions, on a shitty screen, lagging a little and in shocking light. "Yeah," he says then thinks and Kurt's kind of thinking this might have been an important moment for them. But maybe not because it's over skype and that shouldn't count at all. "What do you want to do?"
Kurt flushes red instantly and hopes Blaine, who seems to be staring at him with dark eyes, doesn't notice. "Just things," he manages, though his voice is high-pitched and that's really a terrible answer.
Kurt draws his other leg up and then thinks better and rearranges himself to sit cross-legged at his computer desk. He really doesn't want to have to say anything, anything, out loud right now. He feels like his cheeks are on fire and he's worrying his bottom lip and his mouth is dry. But Blaine's still staring at him intently. "Blaine," he tries for a warning tone, the one he uses when Blaine asks too many questions about fashion. "Why?" he lets the question hang and obstinately ignores the fact that he really, really, wants to ask Blaine the same and he knows why he wants to ask.
Blaine shifts, the laptop tilting and the image fuzzy and says, voice a little playful, "Because I wanna know."
Kurt huffs. "And I'm not sure I want to say it out loud," Kurt answers honestly, unable to miss Blaine's grin because it's broad and his teeth flash bright. "And if you were here, trying to talk to me about this, I would be kissing you to shut you up."
Breath catching, Blaine goes still and the grin drops away and he asks, too fast, "And then what?"
Kurt stares at him, as appraising as his gaze can be. And he knows exactly what Blaine is asking for. "Oh my god," he squeaks high-pitched. "Seriously? You're trying this now?"
Blaine manages to remain calm. "Yes."
Blaine waves an out-of-focus hand at him. "You said you wanted it. You said you missed me. You said if I was there you'd be kissing me." And he shrugs and shifts in his seat again.
"Yeah but…" Kurt trails off. "I'm not going to do that. Not over skype."
Blaine looks just ever so slightly hurt, maybe disappointed, god Kurt wishes he could see his face properly. Now he thinks he looks hopeful. "But you'll do it in person?" Blaine asks, and he sounds embarrassed. "When I get back you want to do things in person?"
But Kurt's still terrified by even the idea. All those fantasies, such in depth, filthy ideas in his head but reality feels so much more real. "Well yeah, but we won't be talking about it!"
"Oh," Blaine frowns. "Really?" Hopeful.
Motherfuck, fine, fine, in Kurt's head they talk. In Kurt's head he tells Blaine what to do and whispers really, embarrassingly sappy things in his ear, a fine mixture of cliché and stupidly in love. And he likes to think Blaine won't be able to talk much at all. But when he can, he'll say ridiculous in-love things back.
And then, sometimes, they're not so sappy, they're not about being in love and perfect and fitting together. He's watched porn, a lot, in the last three weeks, not really to enjoy it but to get ideas. And so he blames that for when he imagines Blaine saying some pretty awful things. But in such a good way. And he'll bite back saying things like 'fuck me' and 'come for me' and 'yeah, you like that?' for as long as is humanly possible when they're together but god does he want to hear himself say them. And he wants to listen to Blaine. Talking. Not talking but still making noise. Falling apart.
"Kurt…" It's a soft call and Blaine doesn't look half as upset as he was a minute ago and Kurt's drifted off again and blushes to imagine what Blaine thinks he was thinking about. Except it can't be as bad as what he actually was thinking about.
"I really would kiss you if you were here right now," Kurt whispers. "Just to get you to drop the subject."
Another shuffle and the image tilts, then settles and Kurt beats back a thought with an immense show of willpower.
"I know," Blaine mumbles out and Kurt has no idea what he knows. "And I miss kissing you, even though I know you do it to make me be quiet. I miss it and I've kept imagining it and it just…"
He trails off and Kurt cannot help but wonder. Because Blaine's playing a dangerous game and isn't the whole point…
"Blaine," he asks, voice level, "Are you?"
"What?" And Kurt watches as Blaine's eyes slide to his left and he looks...guilty. He looks...caught.
God, even his voice is caught, just a little. He so is.
"Are you turned on?" Kurt bites down on his tongue a second too late to catch the words and his cheeks must look tomato-red.
But Blaine just breathes out through his mouth and smiles shakily, glances down at…the keyboard, surely. "A little." And then worried and biting on his bottom lip and Kurt's always found that hot. He wishes Blaine bit down on his bottom lip like that. "Are you?"
Kurt shifts and he's happy with his legs crossed because he's been turned on, a little bit, the last five times Blaine's skyped him. "Yeah."
There's a pause, silent and uncomfortable and Kurt's trying to work out whether Blaine went somewhere dark and dead silent with this in mind—but no, this is, at it's core, Kurt's idea—and Blaine's trying to work out how to stop himself from angling his head pointlessly and glancing down the screen. Then he breathes out, "Tell me how you'd kiss me to shut me up?"
And Kurt laughs, low in his throat and it goes straight to Blaine's groin because this is real now. "Like I always kiss you to shut you up."
"I miss you doing that," Blaine interrupts.
"Shhh…" Kurt shifts, rocking forward, leaning closer into the field of view of the webcam perched on his desk and planting his feet back on the ground. God, this is turning him on. "I just, I would kiss you. If you were here."
"Hard and," he closes his eyes and he has no idea whether it's to fight off the image of Blaine staring intently back at him or to imagine. "And really…open." He breathes deep and licks his lips and it's subconscious but a moan reverberates back at him through his speakers and he prays the sound isn't making it through the walls of his bedroom. "Blaine…" he lets it hang.
"I missed you," he simply whines back. "I missed kissing you every day of summer and getting to hold your hand and getting to smell you." Blaine's mouth closes with the click of his teeth.
And Kurt can't believe how turned on he is. He came less than half an hour ago to an idea that is so much more than Blaine sitting a million miles away and saying he missed the way he smelt. But he can't stop thinking about him and staring at the way his eyes are half-closed and the image is dark but his mouth is hanging open.
He thinks he's probably about to make a fool of himself. But then, he's coming to realize, when he's turned on and confronted with Blaine his inhibitions seem to drip away.
"When you get back," he starts, then stops, swallows to wet his mouth. "When I kiss you," another pause, his mind flooded with a thousand words, none of them quite right, but he tries. "It's going to be desperate. And wanting. I want… And…I can't wait to taste you, Blaine." He glances up at the screen, not sure when he looked away and down at his hands resting dormant on the keys. He'd think the image was frozen except he can map the movement of Blaine's Adam's apple sliding as he swallows and he can hear him breathing.
A smile plays about Kurt's lips and he keeps going. "I've forgotten even though I've tried so hard not to. And as soon as you get back I'm going to race you upstairs and kiss you like that."
There's a pause, because Kurt wants something back. "Like what?" is all Blaine stutters out.
"Like I'm hungry for you." He feels stupid for a moment at that but it's true. And Blaine's licking his lips and Kurt can watch his tongue and it's that same feeling now. "Like now," he admits. "It's like I'm starving and…and it's that ache you get low in you belly when you haven't eaten all day except it's all over me."
Blaine whispers, "Me too," and means it and Kurt swallows hard and grits his teeth to hear exactly how hungry his boyfriend's voice is, it's rough and aching with it.
Kurt huffs out a breath, turned on and enamored and still wondering how much embarrassment he's really feeling about all of this. And concludes: "So I'll kiss you like I'm hungry and my tongue will be in your mouth, trying to get the taste of you back, as soon as you kiss me and I don't think I'll be able to stop for hours." It comes out just a little bit rushed but Blaine groans—holy fuck he just made Blaine Anderson groan over skype—and the image on Kurt's screen tilts and moves and Blaine's face is cast into even more shadows, even further away.
"And then what?" Blaine mumbles, voice still stuttering at a lower than usual register.
Biting his lip again, Kurt wonders why he's the only one divulging, why Blaine's fidgeting now, angling his head and shifting and intermittently staring and then not staring straight at him. But Blaine is most definitely turned on and so is Kurt, he's not even vaguely surprised that turning Blaine on turns him on just as much. So he whispers, "I'd just want to keep tasting," and lets it hang, lets Blaine take it however he wants to take it and stares wide-eyed as Blaine's own eyes flicker shut and the laptop slides dangerously to the side. Kurt thinks…he thinks… "I'd want to kiss that spot behind your neck and lick it—" Blaine breath hitches, it spurs Kurt on, of course. "You taste so strongly of you there, you know." And oh god, what an admission. "Salty and Blaine and…" he stops himself from saying 'mine'. But says, "I want to taste everywhere else." And then wonders if Blaine will later think he has some sort of fetish for tasting. Shit, maybe he does.
But Blaine's hips rock and the laptop slides sideways again before Blaine catches it, steadies it and stares. His breath is too quick, his cheeks the wrong kind of red for simple blushing.
"Blaine, what are you doing?" Kurt asks, anticipating, wanting, the answer.
But Blaine swallows, the shift in his throat a dance of white-blue light and that's when Kurt realizes he's sweating as well and he rolls his hips, his cock hard, starting to ache in that perfect way in his pants.
"Blaine?" Kurt tries again.
Blaine whines just loud enough for Kurt to hear and closes his eyes as he asks, sounding embarrassed and high-pitched and Kurt had no idea he had that power until now. "What do you want me to say?"
"Tell me the truth," Kurt whispers and throws a cursory glance to the image of himself in the corner of his screen, just to check what's in the show before he slides a hand down the front of his pyjama pants and lays his hand as dangerously close to his cock as he dare.
"I…I…" Blaine stammers to a halt, face blushing red over the heat in his cheeks already. He stares, breathes deep. "I'm touching myself."
Kurt's hand slips lower, fingertips just brushing the base, tracking over the hair and making the muscles of his thighs tense. "How?"
Blaine keeps staring and now, now, Kurt sees a shoulder work, just a little. "Just over the denim. Just to relieve…" he mumbles off and Kurt grins and feels wicked, feels like he's cheating, as he wraps his hand around his length and strokes just once, while Blaine closes his eyes and tries to collect himself.
Kurt thinks maybe, just maybe, in a few minutes he'll hate himself for all of this, thinks it will have been a huge mistake. But he is so hard and they've barely talked, they've mostly just stared at each other and he's gotten to watch Blaine get turned on just from the idea of Kurt kissing him.
Oh he is going to regret this in the morning but fuck he really, really wants, he aches with it and he needs and..."I think you should undo your pants," Kurt dares, eyes flickering as he internally berates himself for even thinking such a thing.
"Really?" it comes out high-pitched because on the other end of the connection, Blaine is also stupidly turned on. Because he's been dreaming of coming home and kissing Kurt but that's it. He daren't entertain thoughts beyond and yet Kurt's sitting there talking like that and now he does imagine everything else, he can't stop himself. And Kurt just basically told him to start jerking off. Kurt wants to watch him jerking off. It's terrifying and brilliant all at once.
And Blaine's moving too fast for skype to keep up and Kurt's pouting about it but when Blaine settles back, still only visible from the chest up, and oh Kurt wishes that weren't the case, his shoulder is definitely shifting and he's smiling and blushing.
"Is your laptop on your knees?" Kurt asks because he thinks it must be with all the tilting and sliding it's been doing.
Kurt wants to tell him that's pretty stupid and he should find a desk or a table or something but just as he's about to he realizes how easy it would be for Blaine to angle the screen down and let him see. Kurt wonders exactly what he'd see. He wonders exactly what Blaine's hand looks like around his cock. He wonders just how low his pants are. Whether he'd be able to see his balls. And he's thought about it before but now… "God, that's…" he does sound turned on. A lot. And his hand is squeezing around his own cock and setting up a slow stroke and he wonders if Blaine knows yet.
There's a huff of air as Blaine breathes out hard through his nose. "Yeah, look, Kurt, I need to—" he begins but Kurt cuts him off.
"Tell me how you do it." Again with his run away mouth and the hot red color in his cheeks.
Blaine makes another choked off sob of a sound and Kurt has to grit his teeth not to return it. "Do what?" Blaine asks, blatantly already knowing the answer but wanting to hear Kurt say it.
"How you touch yourself…" he trails off. "I want to know so when you get back…" he trails off again and watches Blaine arch and pump his arm faster, a little more surely. Kurt really, really wishes he could see him. All of him.
"Kurt, if we keep going…If you keep going, I'll…" the look he's giving Kurt is in earnest and he's biting his lip again, slowing. Fuck.
"I want—" Kurt bites it back, tries a different route, daring—oh my god, he thinks he's probably lost his mind—to reach out to where his little webcam perched above his computer and angle it down, just enough that when he sinks back into his chair, the image of him being thrown across the Atlantic is from belly button up and the arm across his stomach, still clad in his pyjama top, can't possibly be ignored by Blaine. "Me too," he whispers out.
And Blaine gets it and groans and arches in his seat and the laptop slides back, completely away and Kurt's left with an image that's mostly darkness, maybe a ceiling and chuckling while his stomach clenches and Blaine scrambles. In the few seconds where the image is fuzzy and random, Kurt swears he catches a glimpse of Blaine licking across his palm. And that's…insane, and Kurt's reaching in to the desk drawer and single-handedly finding the lube he threw there only a half hour ago and squeezing some into his palm.
Blaine misses it completely, probably luckily. "Kurt," he ends up whispering when he's righted again and fidgeting with the screen, Kurt thinks, to make sure it's angled up.
"Tell me how to touch you," Kurt whispers, and sure, he ripped that line from a Cosmo magazine, but he means it.
Blaine whines and Kurt's never heard him whine. Shit, half of the things Blaine's done, Kurt's never seen, has only imagined and they are so, so, much better in real life. Well. On skype. He can only imagine how amazing they'd be together.
"I…" Blaine can't do it and Kurt has a momentary rush of feeling amazing and in control and being better at sex for the time being. He stills his hand, on second thought, because he can feel everything going too tight and too hot and he wants to wait.
"However you wanted," Blaine mumbles, eyes flickering closed again, lips pressed around words he's not letting out, Kurt thinks. "I mean, I think, I think your fingers are so long and…and your hands are so damn smooth." His nostrils flare. "But so strong. When we hold hands…god, please don't hate me…sometimes I can't help but think about your hands…on me."
And oh, fuck, Kurt is getting close, even though he's doing his best not to give himself enough friction, because Blaine's right there, talking about letting Kurt touch him.
"What else?" Kurt asks, voice high, catching.
The laptop tilts dangerously again. "I don't know, I really…" Blaine stutters and blushes hard and Kurt can't stop looking at the way the light seems to refract through the sweat on his neck and his forehead, the ways his eyes are dark and shining at the same time. "Just touch me."
Kurt swallows. "I would, you know. When you get back, I will. And I want to know how," a pause, he gives himself a last chance to back out and start talking about kisses again. "You could show me now?"
"Fuck," is Blaine's only response, for several seconds as his head presses back into the wall behind him. "Really, you want…?"
"I really, really do," Kurt says, realizing only after he's said it that it sounded almost as though he were begging.
"I'm on a mac," Blaine whines and Kurt arches an eyebrow and doesn't understand. "If I angle it down so you can see my—" he closes his mouth too quickly and Kurt grins before he can stop himself. "I won't be able to see you."
But Kurt aches with wanting to see him. Even pixelated and lagging and he really fucking hates Europe right now. The whole goddamn continent.
"I…oh fuck," Kurt murmurs out, his hand, seemingly of it's own volition tightening around his cock, squeezing at the head. Oh he aches.
And Blaine just heard him swear and it's the hottest thing ever and he's babbling, "I can…I can't...Kurt, I'm close. I am so, so, close."
Kurt groans and wants but pulls his hand away, up to the screen to show Blaine. "Let me watch," he begs. "Let me see you now and when you come home and we do this it won't be so awkward." Oh it will, he knows that, but it's a nice lie. "I'll know how to touch you." Blaine shudders. "I'll know how you like it."
He sounds on edge and looks it and Kurt has his right hand over his own heart and his left at the keyboard. "Show me," he tells him. "Let me," his mouth is bone dry and his cock is hard in his pants and Blaine is whimpering at him. Because of him. "Let me watch you come."
Blaine bucks up into his hand and catches the laptop with the other, sucking in a audible breath and staring hard at Kurt who manages to just stare back, lust and want and begging in his eyes and both hands there, waiting.
And then Blaine tilts the screen down and Kurt's breath catches harsh in his throat as he waits for the picture to catch up, to adjust from too white a reflection off sweat and skin in close-up. And he can't see Blaine's face but he can hear him, breathing hard and holy fuck this is so much better than porn.
It's just Blaine's hand, wrapped around his cock and Kurt gets an instant idea of size and width and feels everything about him shifting to try to think exactly what that would feel like. Red and big in Blaine's hand, thicker than Kurt's own, he thinks, not by much and not by the standards set by the porn he's watched, but exactly enough to feel amazing in his mouth, his throat. Everywhere.
God, up against his. Pressed together against their stomachs as they kiss like the world is ending. He might have actually breathed out "Perfect" but he hardly cares because Blaine is. All dark jeans undone and open, shirt rucked up to mid-stomach, dark hair and too-white skin in the camera's contrast and Kurt wants him home now.
But his hand's frozen, squeezing hard, Kurt thinks, but unmoving, at the base of his cock and Kurt's about to tell him to move when he finds himself leaning forward and staring intently at what he thinks, oh god, maybe, fucking resolution, he thinks there's precome pooling in his slit.
He's not touching himself but he feels everything about him pulse and his mind flood and he wonders if he can come with a hand on his heart and one on the desk. "Blaine, you gotta move."
"Talk to me," Blaine whispers, face out of view but Kurt can almost imagine how desperate he must look as his hand strokes up, his thumb rubbing a fast circle around the head and slicking the wetness down the side, over a slightly purple vein Kurt can just make out and he moans. Then Blaine stills.
What on earth is he meant to say? Kurt opens and closes his mouth, three times, and he's happy Blaine can't see his screen at this point and can only hear him. He bites back at line after line of filth or adoration and incoherent swearing that presents itself as an option because Blaine wants to hear something hot, Blaine wants to come and Kurt wants, he needs, to make him.
"Fuck," he breathes out, hand from his heart coming up to slide over his face. "I can't wait to touch you like that. Except I wouldn't be stopping," he adds, thinking it's playful, not expecting Blaine's hand to jerk into action and start stroking. "I don't know how you like it," Kurt adds, sounding timid, unsure, but talking made Blaine move so he has to keep going now. "But, I think tight and…fast. I think when you get back, the first time, I'll just want it to happen so I can see you come." He doesn't even hesitate and he can hear Blaine moaning, breathing hard. Can see the shift of his stomach muscles as he breathes or holds back. Something.
"I just…" his voice does fall away now, gone with his breath as Blaine's wrist flicks and his hand twists around and he lets something broken escape his lips. "I just really want to see you come." A swallow because he has to say it because he wants to and if he doesn't say it now he's sure it'll be all he can think about and he'll end up saying it over coffee or at the movies or something so much more mortifying than here, in the heat of it all and a million miles away. "And I want to taste you, god Blaine, you have no idea how badly. I want to taste every single square inch of you but mostly you."
He wonders if Blaine knows what he means, thinks by the way his moan slips into a growl, he might. He thinks maybe that was a good sound and he can't stop himself from stretching a hand down and squeezing because he needs to relieve just a little of the pressure.
"That's the thing I think about when I come," he's whispering, half-turned on, half-terrified but Blaine's hand is a blur and the sounds he's making, god the sounds. "I can be thinking about anything while I'm—" oh god, he can't say 'jerking off' or 'rubbing one out' or…he can't. "When I'm getting there," he settles and blushes and squeezes his eyes tight shut: this still feels stupid. Stupid and really fucking hot.
"But when I come," and yet he can say 'come', "I always think about you in my mouth." Bites down on his lip. "Coming." Oh fuck, if this is not Blaine's thing, if this is…"Or licking it off my hands. Your hands," he wonders if someone offered him a million dollars to shut up, whether he'd be able to do it. "Your stomach. I—"
Blaine cuts him off—probably luckily—with a high-pitched keening of his name. "Kurt. Kurt, fuck, I'm gonna…" the rest is lost in a moan and Kurt closes his mouth and opens his eyes and stares.
"Come on Blaine," he whispers, a stark moment where, even if Blaine laughs at him or is completely weirded out by him, Kurt thinks it will have been worth it. "Come for me." Oh, well, fine he stole that from like a billion pornos.
Evidently Blaine doesn't care because he keens Kurt's name again, so pitchy and breathless and manages to stammer out across a half a dozen syllables "I'm—" before he's growling low in his throat and his hand is stuttering to a stop clenched tight around his cock midway and then pumping in little tiny jolts and Kurt watches, unable to blink, as Blaine comes hard, cock big and red and—oh Kurt must be imagining it—throbbing. Line after line of come spurting from Blaine's cock and painting streaks across his stomach, across his shirt.
Actually, this skype connection isn't that bad after all.
And Kurt's left holding his breath and staring at the image, at Blaine's cock slipping from his grip and onto his thigh, of his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, pulling it down to cover the mess and probably acutely aware that there are white streaks across the material, too. Kurt's mouth waters and his hand's sliding into his pants and wrapping around his own cock without him thinking about it, setting up a tight, hot pace that he immediately knows he doesn't really need.
"Kurt?" Blaine calls, screen angling back up so that Kurt can see his face—stunningly flushed and shining with sweat— and Blaine can see his as he bites down on his bottom lip and a whimper escapes, too loud. "Kurt…"
Kurt has no comprehension of what Blaine wants to say at this point. Whether he's embarrassed or upset or about to say 'Thank you' but he doesn't really care either. He lets his lip pull free of his teeth and gulps a breath, hand on his cock moving faster still and he is close. "Please…" he begs, all high pitched and longing and he stares hard at Blaine who looks beautiful and sated and insanely gorgeous post-orgasm.
"Let me see," Blaine mutters, sounding hoarse and turned on again. "God, Kurt, you gotta let me."
He scrambles, a mess of limbs and his hand trying to stroke at he stands, Blaine given a view of his mid-section as he leans and grapples, almost drops the camera and then yanks it forward and he can't even think how self-conscious and unsure he should be feeling about this because he just aches from his bones out and everything inside him feels too hot and too tight and he wonders if sex with Blaine will always feel like this. Scrambles more, angles the camera and stands up straighter, stands with his thighs pressed against his desk, rocking into the fist of his hand and angles the camera until he can see in his feedback image that the view is from an off-centre angle and close and utterly obscene.
"Fuck," comes Blaine's breathless response and Kurt can see his eyes going wider, his lips pressing and then wet with his tongue, his throat working to swallow. "Fuck, Kurt, you're amazing."
Kurt rolls his eyes at that and thinks it's ridiculous but works his cock harder anyway, tightens his grip and debates the appropriateness of reaching down and playing with his balls. Fuck, something deep inside him presents itself and makes him want to angle the camera at his bed and splay and writhe and show Blaine everything.
But there's no time. None and he just begs Blaine again, "Blaine, please."
"What do you…." Blaine trails off and Kurt's eyes screw shut and he concentrates on the sound of Blaine's breathing, wants to come off of just that.
"Anything." He moans it out and feels wanton and desperate and needier than ever.
Blaine bites his lip, bites something back and Kurt growls at him, can't stop himself.
"I can't wait, Kurt," he whispers, leaning forward into the screen. "I want that to be my hand and I want to kiss you senseless when you come and swallow all these sounds and press so damn close and—" He could have gone on but he loses his voice when Kurt's other hand stretches upwards, a shelf, Blaine thinks, and then drops, pushes the keyboard to the side and then grips at the edge of the desk beside his thigh.
"Blaine," he whimpers. Then "Blaine" again. And again and his hips jerk forward with too much energy and his back arches and Kurt's swallowing as much as he can of the keening, desperate high noise he can't help but make because he's never felt it coil this hot, this tight, never ever for this long, in his balls. And then he squeezes tight around his cock, chokes for air and then holds as still as he can, staring down as he comes across the pine-colored wood of his desk, no tissues, no keyboard, because he wants Blaine to watch. Holds still and thinks to look at Blaine's face which is just open-mouthed and open-eyed and still so flushed and sweaty.
Hips rocking forward again as something that sounds like a groaning sob falls from his lips and come drips from the head of his cock, the last of him spent and now aching with wanting to fall to the floor and breathe. He comes down slowly, shifts from bliss to sated and happy and then realizes Blaine's eyes are still wide, his lips hanging open and giggles.
Oh god, he giggles and Blaine blushes at him and then Kurt remember he's standing there, pants around his thighs, dick out and softening and still slicked with lube and come. He swallows, embarrassment creeping back in and yanks his pants up, slides back down into his seat and tilts the camera back towards his face.
"Well…" Blaine says. And he sounds happy, seems to be smiling.
But embarrassment is creeping back in for Kurt and he can't believe they just did that. That was meant to be a conversation. He shifts, his cock uncomfortable in his pants now, too sticky and lewd and, shit, what exactly was it he said to Blaine? How much did he reveal?
"Well?" Blaine asks again, this time a question, a little worried.
"Yeah," Kurt just says, trying to stop his cheeks from burning even brighter.
"You okay?" Blaine says after a beat.
"Just…yeah, no, I'm fine." Kurt doesn't know where to put hands. Not in his lap. Not, oh definitely not, on the desk. They're hanging useless by his sides and he feels ridiculous. Oh my god, the things he said.
Blaine's just smiling. "I can't believe that," he's saying. "I can't believe you."
Kurt tries to chuckle convincingly, winces just a little. What was he thinking? All of that was fine inside his head but now Blaine's looking at him like he doesn't know him.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just…" he takes a deep breath, "Freaking out a bit."
Blaine goes still and his smile falls away. "You think we shouldn't have done that?"
"No!" Kurt sucks in a breath. "I mean, maybe, if it's going to make things weird. I just…I'm sorry, I got a bit carried away." Kurt's biting his lip again, his lip that is starting to ache from all the biting. And Blaine's looking at him with a furrowed brow, like he's not sure.
Shit, Blaine's not sure.
"I just didn't expect that," Kurt says, and he mostly means that he wasn't able to keep his obscene fantasies well and truly to himself. They just came together, for the first time, over skype. He feels like such the deviant.
"Neither did I," Blaine says carefully.
Kurt takes it personally and doesn't know what to say from there. He can't tell if Blaine's blissed out but freaking out as well. Or just confused. Or just trying to disguise the fact that he is utterly, utterly shocked by it all. "I think…" Kurt steadies himself, palms flat in the air beside him. "I think I want to talk about this face to face. Just, work things out, I don't want this to be weird. I really don't Blaine."
He tries so hard to sound like a good boyfriend because he knows about sex now, and knows it happens and wants to get there, fuck he wants. Obviously. And a lot. But fuck… over skype… where he falls into the trap of thinking he's alone and mumbling things out loud he really shouldn't even be thinking about yet. In person would be better.
Blaine interrupts his train of thought. "I'm out front."
Blaine takes a deep breath and looks away. "I'm parked in front of your house."
"You're in Europe," Kurt says dumbly.
"Nope. I'm right outside." He at least has the decency to sound sheepish about it.
…Don't hate me. There's a second part. It'll be up probably late this weekend. Certainly before new Glee. And…and…like I never get the chance to post in parts! Ever! Because it's smut. But this time. I did! So. I did! Don't hate me. This should have been very fulfilling on it's own. Phew. Kurt.