Spoilers: ALL THE SPOILERS. Seriously. If there's anything you don't know, this will spoil it. For ep 5 anyway. And that scene. The scene. THE SCENE.
A/N: Little reaction fic. This is what goes down. For shizzle. Me and my Kurt pov. I remember not actually being able to write him at all and sticking with Blaine and now I'm just all Kurt all the time. Of course, Blaine's pov in this would be…different.
His hands are everywhere. Blaine's hands, everywhere, places they shouldn't be. Grabbing at Kurt's ass and pulling him further into the car and over him, the door pulling shut behind them. There's a moment in which Kurt's silently thankful he's over his boyfriend and not under him because he can't really think but he knows he should.
And Blaine's mouth, hotter, wetter, tasting of tequila and vodka and lime. Over Kurt's, wide and pressing and moving faster, harsher, than usual. Blaine under him, moaning and racing his hands up Kurt's back, then down, tugging at his shirt, tugging it loose from his jeans before sliding down his thighs, back to his ass, trying to pull him in. But Kurt keeps his distance, head swimming and he wishes he hadn't had that one last drink.
He opens his eyes and can only see the shadowed closer-up of Blaine's cheeks, his eyelashes, the sweat on his nose. Then there are teeth closing over his bottom lip and tugging and kissing it better. Again, rougher and Kurt hears himself whine before he can bite it back and he slides down into Blaine's lap, nearly, almost.
God, what are they doing?
Blaine mumbles, "Want you," into Kurt's mouth and it's slurred and the wisps of alcohol burn at his nostrils.
But Kurt falls anyway, hips pressing down with gravity then force into Blaine's, in the backseat of the car, outside a gay club. And he rocks. He's at that point where he knows he's a bit tipsy, he knows he wouldn't do this is he weren't. Not like this, anyway. But he still can't stop. Rocks down hard again and again and whimpers into Blaine's neck as Blaine's teeth start nipping lines up and down his throat.
He can feel him hard and under him. And that's Blaine's cock. God, he tried so long to ignore the fact that Blaine had a cock and then gave in and thought about it, and then thought about it all the time, and now he can fucking feel it. Everything tingles and feels warm and languid and desperate at once and Blaine's making too much, noise, arching up, grabbing at his ass and mumbling against his neck. Too much saliva. Too much contact.
"Kurt?" he keens out, half a question, half a moan.
"I haven't felt this turned on in my life," Kurt babbles into his hair. Trying to pull himself off and away, because, No. Not like this. But also pushing down, rutting because he wants to get off like this. Now.
Blaine's hands drag around, hot over the skin of his hips, then his belly, then down, fingers digging roughly under the too-tight waistband of his jeans, following the trail of hair and tugging, closer, forward, down, going for the button and fumbling with imprecise fingers as he pulls back and tries to see what he's doing.
Kurt bolts off him in a flash. Scrambling back and away and hitting his head on the door as he clamours out of the car and suddenly there's clarity edged with fear.
Blaine just stares at him with heavy eyelids, wrecked on the seat, hair messy, jeans clinging too obvious, chest heaving. But he looks loose, he looks drunk. "Kurt? What?" he asks.
Drunk and fumbling and garbled and Kurt kind of wants to cry because that was so close. He wanted it. Wants it. But not when Blaine won't remember, won't be completely himself and know it. He breathes deep. He needs to say no. Blaine will never forgive him is he doesn't say no.
Blaine. Blaine would be the one to never forgive him. He'd never, ever forgive himself either. God, Kurt can imagine the fallout from this if he goes with it. Lets it feel good and amazing but a little hazy around the edges.
So another deep breath, hands holding the cool metal of the door, and then he says no.