Title: Winning

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Inevitable reaction (sex) fic to the whole "I know what it does to you when I win" and several people on tumblr goading me on. Klaine. Early relationship. But not so innocent. Smut. SMUT.

A/N: I honestly don't know. It's 4.45am here. I've been up since 6am. Life is mental. I wrote this. I may regret posting it when I'm coherent. But just…silly sexy klaine. Basically.

Spoilers: I suppose vague, very vague, for the season premiere.


"Come on," Kurt moaned. He sounds desperate, needy, but utterly in control, just how Blaine likes it. "Come on," he tries again.

Blaine just whimpers, arching back and refusing to loosen the grip of his fingers in Kurt's hair, lets his hips buck higher.

Then Kurt sucks hard at the underside of his cock, licking down, too wet, then tonguing at his balls. Fuck. His boyfriend plays unfair and he wouldn't have it any other way. Mouth entirely around his balls, one then the other and Blaine's sure Kurt's fingers would be slipping inside him except that's against the rules so, no, not yet.

Which is probably for the best.

Because…

"Fuck, Kurt," he whimpers out, fingers tighter in his hair, cock too hard, too little attention paid to it while Kurt just tongues, back and forth and back again at his balls. "Kurt," he pleads.

Why they came up with this deal, he has no idea what he was in for. Just how competitive Kurt could be.

Then Kurt's mouth is down over his cock, sliding down, hot, wet heat, desperate, and Blaine's bucking up and suddenly he's happy to come: fuck the game. Useless and over the sheets, his belly, down Kurt's throat—fuck, that'd be nice—if only he could come. He'll come and then Kurt will fuck him. Long enough to get him hard and rutting, beyond being over-sensitive and whimpering and back to wanting. And then Kurt will come. Perhaps inside him, condoms by rule, though they're both so sure, they're both also smart. So perhaps inside him, but not really. Or perhaps over his ass, his legs, the small of his back. Mouth, hand, neck.

Fuck, he's wanton, now. In the best of ways.

Kurt's mouth over his dick. Down, licking, lapping, slick. Blaine never stood a chance. He never wins these things. He doesn't want to.

"Let me win," Kurt moans against a hipbone, pulling away and off, just the curve of his neck nuzzling against Blaine's cock. "Blaine," he calls singsong.

"Yes," Blaine whispers. Ready to give in and come and turn, let Kurt fuck him or press to him or just sit there and laugh at him—all entirely worth it for this.

"I win?" Kurt whispers back, teeth sharp against the bone, the soft skin, a hand over his cock.

And Blaine whimpers, arches beneath him and really, really wants to give in. But takes precious seconds to mumble out, "Yes," and hopes Kurt will let him come.

Kurt just giggles at him, slipping back to young and stupid and in love. Giggling and staring longingly, a second of not being sure, hesitating and then pulling himself up and covering Blaine as he kisses him hard. "I always win," he says. Then, more unsure, "Can you come with me inside you?"

They haven't. Not yet. God fucking knows why. Kurt always fucks him after he's come. When he's sated, pliant. And Blaine's only ever fucked Kurt once, because Kurt wanted him to, but he came later, Kurt's mouth working at him.

It's the competition of it all and now Blaine's nodding so hard Kurt can't kiss him.

But Kurt says, laughing breathless, "But I still win," and Blaine keeps nodding, ridiculous grin in place, breath in gasping neediness as he aches for it.

Kurt's hand slides low, fingers splayed, searching, pulling at every inch of skin, muscle on the way and making Blaine writhe beneath them. Over his cock and down until Blaine rocks back hard, thighs in his hands, drawn back and open and bare.

Kurt's breath catches and he quickly scrambles for the condom, keeps it in hand a second too long as he tries to get the lube open and then it's done and his fingers, now slick, are reaching blindly down to Blaine's hole as Kurt stares hard at him, concentration and calculation lusting over with want.

His fingers touch and Blaine presses down desperate, feeling his cock twitch as though he almost comes in that moment. But he doesn't because he wants to badly to gauge this reaction.

Wide eyes and a silent moan, lips a perfect 'o' shape as Kurt's gaze turns surprised, scandalized then hungry. "Blaine," he whimpers out and Blaine is so, so, happy to hear him broken, wrecked, rough.

"I win, too," Blaine whispers back, stretching himself out on the sheets, pressing his ass down on the fingers there and instantly Kurt's sliding two inside him with a moan.

"How?"

Blaine chuckles and wriggles, moving his hips down, rolling them into the touch. "You always win," he says, sounding all too smug, "I thought I should be ready."

Kurt's mind races to think what Blaine has done to be ready for this. The way he met him at the front door half an hour ago with flushed cheeks and a smile that didn't quite make sense. Until now. He's been stretched and prepped for ages.

He's been upstairs with fingers inside him, stretching, fucking, getting ready for this.

Kurt moans and scrambles. Finds the condom again and rolls it down his cock roughly, getting better every time at the formality that always interrupts them and this time he does it well enough to feel a spike of need and look good enough to make Blaine moan. Then three of his fingers, deep in Blaine's ass, flexing, trying to judge.

God what if Blaine wasn't just using his fingers to stretch himself out?

Kurt makes a garbled sound, as if to ask, but Blaine's fingers have found his hips, are scratching, grabbing, willing him forward and Kurt can't say no. Slides inside so easily and the boy beneath him moans, is so tight and hot and perfect.

Sweat and blushing cheeks and a stretched out body Kurt wants to lose himself in. He buries himself to the hilt and then again, slides only a few inches out and then pushes back in, hard as he likes because it's so easy and Blaine's whimpering and then he's mumbling his boyfriend's name, over and over, begging, calling to a religion he doesn't have. Feeling electricity spark up his back, through his stomach and his own hands are clawing at Blaine's abdomen, anchoring him there as he snaps his hips forward one last time and comes with a growl.

Little, sharp thrusts, emptying in the condom and he imagines it being inside Blaine, owning him that completely and knows he will one day. Fuck, he really, really, will. "Fuck," he mumbles out, buried deep, still hard.

Blaine just grins wickedly. "I win," he mumbles, rolling his hips, once, twice, then keening Kurt's name shamelessly and coming in sticky streaks across his own stomach. Fucking himself down hard on Kurt's cock even as it starts to soften and Kurt cranes his head back and bites his bottom lip at the spike of over-pleasure, almost aching like pain, and shooting through him.

Blaine wriggles away though. Arching and shaking and laughing hard as Kurt collapses next to him, growling something and mumbling, "Cheat," as he pulls the condom off, attempts to tie it neatly, grabs at some tissues and then misses the big with a groan.

He lies there, body and face pressed to the mattress but staring at Blaine who's on his back but with heavy dark eyes and a grin, looking exhausted and sated.

"You love letting me win," Kurt tells him.

Blaine makes a noncommittal noise.

"You do," Kurt reassures him.

And Blaine's grin grows and his head tilts just enough to concede. Kurt preens, just for a second, and then Blaine adds, "I think you'll like losing though." He shifts his hips, wiggles closer to press a chaste kiss to Kurt's mouth. "To me, anyway," he adds.

And Kurt huffs, rolls his eyes, but doesn't make any more to properly disagree.