Title is from "The Music Or The Misery" by Fall Out Boy.
Warnings are: auto-fellatio (self-sucking), minor swearing, masturbation, recording and viewing of sexual acts (well duh).
Well hey, this story is back. This chapter wasn't even supposed to be in this 'verse but when I started writing it everything suddenly came back to here and I felt it worked better if I kept it that way. This seriously honestly definitely should be the last chapter unless I get another idea. Which, knowing me, is way too probable. But don't hold your breath, guys. Seriously.
TUMBLR IS THAT WAY
endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com
The text Kurt receives from Blaine at 1:48am East Coast time on a bitterly cold December Saturday a few weeks before Christmas break isn't one he ever expects to get.
He's cuddled up in bed, the heat turned up in the room—much to the dismay of Gerard, his roommate, who's currently sleeping half-out of the covers—and the penultimate chapter of "The Age of Innocence" open on his lap. He pauses in his consumption of the questionable morals of 1870s New York society to look down at his phone, now sitting silent and dark on the covers next to him.
He has no idea who could be texting him this late; Blaine had said he was going to bed about an hour ago and Rachel tends to text him in only absolute emergencies. He sets his book down, making careful note of the page and paragraph, and picks up his phone. A quick swipe of the finger unlocks it and from there he goes straight to his messages folder.
It's from Blaine.
I just came in my mouth
Kurt raises an eyebrow as he reads and then re-reads the text. Something twists hotly inside him, tight and coiling and overwhelming, as the weight of the words begin to sink in. Blaine just…he couldn't have. Surely he meant his hand and he's just too caught up and out of it to have noticed before he sent it. It's happened before with both of them and they've easily laughed it off, joking about autocorrect and masturbation being worse enemies than PETA and the fashion industry. Blaine can't really mean…no. That's impossible. Well, not impossible, per se, but Kurt's only ever heard of it, too nervous to go surfing the web for videos. It's something he's wanted to try—he's a guy, of course he's wanted to try—but he's never quite been able to work out his flexibility to go that far.
Youre not the only one working on your flexibility
The next one comes immediately after.
I have video
Kurt's next breath gets caught somewhere between his windpipe and his lungs. He vaguely thinks that they've got to stop with this video thing before someone actually finds them when he phone vibrates once with an email. He has to bite his lip to stifle his too-loud whimper, feeling his dick begin to take interest under the covers.
Let me know when you watch it ;)
Oh my god are you serious right now
Did you really…
Kurt bites his lip to muffle his moan, fingers twitching against his thigh, itching to wrap around his cock. He looks over at Gerard's sleeping form, wishing desperately that he would have gone to that party on the third floor instead of staying in to study and crash early. He squirms on the bed and texts Blaine back with shaky fingers.
Oh my god. Oh my god. I can't…I can't watch it now. Gerard is here.
Tell him to leave. Or he could stay. He's already seen us jerking off together
Blaine. No. I have to room with this guy for the rest of the year. He was okay with the first time, but I don't think he'll be too happy if it becomes a thing.
Watch it tomorrow then? And let me know. Seriously baby. I need to go to bed anyway. College Algebra test tomorrow
I'll watch it. God, yes, I'll watch it. Goodnight and good luck, honey. I love you.
I love you too xo
Kurt kicks Gerard out after lunch the next day.
"Go visit your friends in the other building," Kurt insists, hands on his hips. Gerard looks pleadingly at him, even throwing in that pout of his that usually makes Kurt cave (and has resulted in several disastrous incidents over the course of the semester).
"They won't have anything to do," Gerard whines, clasping his hands together. "Please let me stay. I'll do anything!"
"You're dramatic," Kurt replies, lips twitching in a smile. "But seriously, Gerard. My boyfriend. You remember him? I have plans with him. Plans that need to not involve my overly-dramatic roommate."
"Ugh, fine," Gerard huffs. "I hope you enjoy subjecting me to a fucking freezing afternoon of pure boredom." He pretends to grab angrily at his coat and scarf, sliding the coat on and winding the scarf around his neck before storming dramatically out the door. Kurt rolls his eyes and laughs, shutting the door and making sure that it's locked.
He sits down at his desk across the room, opening his laptop and turning it on. As he waits for it to load he can't help but be reminded of an extremely similar incident over a year ago and he's struck by how much everything has changed, by how far he and Blaine have come since that November night.
He thinks wistfully back to West Side Story, to that horrid week before where neither knew how to properly ask about sex, instead choosing to dance around it until Scandals, where everything finally bubbled over and blew up. He remembers back to Blaine saying—actually saying, and he hadn't been expecting it in the least, though rationally he knew it happened—that he got off to thoughts of Kurt.
He thinks then to later, a few weeks after their first time, when Blaine had come up to him at school, blushing red and twitching nervously, shoving an unmarked DVD into his hands. It had marked the beginning of what is still an admittedly fantastic sex life that Kurt is so, so glad he gets to share with Blaine.
The computer finally loads; he opens Firefox and goes to his email, searching for the one Blaine had sent last night and finds it near the top, under an email from the Playbill Store, the subject title still their secret code.
It takes a minute or so to download and when it's done Kurt pulls it open in QuickTime. He hovers over the play button, worrying his bottom lip as his heart starts to beat a little faster.
He presses play with that same apprehension filling him that he'd had the first time he'd watched one of Blaine's videos. The shot, as it comes into focus, is a close-up one of the side of Blaine's head and upper torso; his eyes are shut, lashes fluttering and brushing the tops of his cheeks, and his skin is flushed slightly. His lips are parted, barely red and wet in the dim light of his bedroom. When he finally opens his eyes they're wide, dilated, and he glances over briefly at the camera before he's rocking slightly, getting momentum, and then—oh fuck, then he's swinging his legs up, feet resting presumably on his headboard or the wall behind it, and he's bent in half. He's bent in half and the head of his cock is a scant few inches away from his mouth, flushed dark and hard and glistening wet at the tip.
Kurt whimpers as Blaine lifts up and swipes the broad of his tongue over the head of his cock, bringing a hand up to twist at the base and rub at the skin of his balls. Blaine drops his jaw and lifts up further, pushing in deeper until his lips brush his hand. The moan he lets out is garbled but audible as he wraps his arms behind his legs and pushes his hips forward, fucking into his mouth.
Kurt's hard painfully fast inside his jeans; he lets out a loud moan, eyes slipping closed of their own volition as he squeezes his cock through the denim, rubbing hard. He undoes the button and zipper, unwilling to look away as Blaine swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, the shape pushing out the side of his cheek as he runs his tongue along the length, sucks hard at the tip with lush, swollen lips.
It's a sight Kurt's seen before numerous times, a sight he'll never get tired of seeing, but this time, knowing that it's not his cock stretching Blaine's lips wide, not his cock Blaine's moaning around, it's better. It's almost like it's new, like it's someone else, and that thought stirs up a surprising haze of lust as he imagines watching another guy take Blaine, own him (but never in the way Kurt does, no, never) and make him beg.
He wonders how long Blaine's been practicing for this, how much yoga he's been doing and if he's been getting any help from any of their friends in glee club. Images of Blaine alone at night in his room, naked and sweating and hard, stretching and bending, every night getting a little closer, just a few more inches until, finally yes, there flash through his mind. His cock twitches in his hand as he slides his jeans and boxer briefs down his hips, glad he kept on just a plain tank top instead of the sweater he's been dying to wear.
In the video Blaine pulls back to let out a breathy sigh, neck arching and head dropping to the pillows. He glances over at the camera briefly, eyes flickering up, then down, and Kurt rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, slicking up the next slide of his palm and moaning as the side of his thumb digs into the slit.
Blaine lifts back up again, sucking the head of his cock into his mouth, hand snaking from around the outside of his thigh to tug and pull at his balls. His breathing is harsh, quick, echoing tinny out of Kurt's speakers, and Kurt can hear every gulp and slurp as Blaine swallows and sucks.
"Fuck," he breathes, twisting his wrist tight at the base of his cock. His hips move up into the sensation, making the chair creak. He can't believe that this is happening, that Blaine has done this and filmed it and sent it to him, Jesus.
Blaine's hips arch impossibly closer to his face, forcing his cock in deep; Kurt can hear him choke slightly, the automatic convulsions of his throat, but with an exhale of breath that's barely audible Blaine's jaw drops a little further and he takes the length of his cock down his throat. His eyelashes flutter and his cheeks hollow, brow creasing as he rubs at the stretch of skin between his balls and hole. Kurt bites hard into the skin of his lower lip as his back arches, hand working rough and fast over his cock.
Another pull back, the slick squelch of his cock sliding out, and Blaine's swirling his tongue around the tip again, pushing it against the inside of his cheek as he runs his fingers light, teasing, over the slick, glistening flesh. Kurt watches his back arch slightly, the labored movements of his stomach and chest as he breathes. A thin strand of saliva connects the head of his cock to his bottom lip and Kurt moans at all the times he's seen that sight.
Blaine takes himself deep again, pumping what he can't reach. Kurt feels the stirrings in his abdomen, the low, dark coil of rushing, consuming pleasure waiting, sparking at the base of his spine, building heat in his face and ears. He runs his free hand over his chest, rubbing the broad of his palm over a nipple before letting that hand drop down to cup his balls. He cries out, a stifled moan, and breathes sharply through his nose.
He wants to see this in person, wants to be next to Blaine on the bed, watching and touching and feeling, feeling everything from the corded muscles of Blaine's body to the silkiness of his hair, damp with sweat and springing into the curls Blaine detests so much and that Kurt loves. He moans, the sound jumping from low to high in the back of his throat, and pushes up into the tight circle of his fist. He's close, so, so close.
It's not long before Blaine's shaking with it as well, and with a few more bobs of his head he starts to come with a jerk of his body, his desperate whimpers muffled by his cock, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut tight as it pulses deep in his throat, jerking and twitching in the loose grip his thumb and forefinger offer on the shaft and the loose skin of his sac. Kurt watches, enraptured, and it only takes another tight stroke of his own fist before he's arching up and tipping his head back, moaning loud and low as he spills over his fist and down his fingers, splattering the thin cotton of his tank top.
He blinks bleary eyes open, feeling heavy and sated and loose-limbed in his chair. Blaine sucks one last time before he's pulling back, running his tongue along the head, and Kurt inhales sharply at the thick white sitting on his tongue, connecting to the head of his cock in a thin string. Blaine sinks back down, laving at the shaft, and the wet echo of his swallows—his own come, oh god, it's his own come he's swallowing, a mouthful of it, not like he's licking it from my fingers or face—reaches Kurt's speakers, filtering through, and if he could come again, fuck. He groans and drops his head back, shutting his eyes and focusing on his breathing.
"Fuck." Blaine's voice is choked-off and breathy and Kurt looks up to see Blaine fumbling for the camera, grabbing it and tilting it sideways, offering a view of his body, slumped boneless into the sheets, and his still-red and shiny cock held in his hand. His torso rises and falls rapidly as he catches his breath.
He offers no more, and seconds later the video goes black, leaving Kurt with an empty screen and an emptier mind. Eventually the come starts to cool sticky and tacky on his hand and cock and he stumbles to the pack of wet wipes he keeps under his bed, producing two to clean himself off with. When the wipes are dirty and tossed in the trash he reaches for his phone, dialing Blaine's number and hoping he's not busy, though it's a Sunday and it's not like Blaine goes to church.
"Well hello, gorgeous."
"Blaine," Kurt breathes immediately, clutching hard onto the phone. He still feels dizzy and light-headed, everything feeling lime it's there but not, the ground uneven even when it's flat.
The laugh Kurt receives in return is knowing. "You just came didn't you?"
"Yes." Kurt knows there's no denying it; he'd promised Blaine he'd watch the video and now he has, and isn't that the reason he's calling in the first place? "I just—oh my god, Blaine. I…fuck, when did you get so flexible?"
Blaine's smile is audible even through a crackly connection. "It's always a good day when I've rendered Kurt Hummel speechless. I told you, I've been practicing. I wanted to surprise you with it when you visited, but when I found out that could happen, I couldn't wait."
Kurt whimpers before he can stop himself and finds that he's not embarrassed at all by it. "Baby," he whines. "I need you right now. So bad."
"Do you have time to Skype right now?"
"Um." Kurt looks at the clock, nibbling on his lower lip before releasing it, feeling the indentations of his teeth from earlier. "I told Gerard to leave about an hour ago, so I'd say we have…another hour, maybe, before he gets bored and comes back."
"Well then," Blaine says brightly, "I think another Skype date is in order. Then I can show you the other things I can do now."
Kurt's hanging up almost before Blaine's finished with his sentence.