Title: Let Me
Summary: Kurt and Blaine, engaged and happy, make the trip back to Ohio for Blaine's cousin's wedding. Tension between Blaine and his father boils over and Kurt's left to make things right.
A/N: Thank you to everyone on tumblr who jumped to my aid when I needed a beta, sorry I couldn't use all of you! I did appreciate all the offers! Thank you to forgiveninasong for actually doing the beta in real time and reassuring me it was in character and finding several typos.
This one is a bit more character-driven than the recent spate of silly smut fic. I don't know where it came from, probably me wanting to write angry!sex and not knowing how. But there's a sprinkle of angst and character-study in amongst all the porn. Don't despair, this is still one of the dirtiest things I've ever written. Enjoy it!
Kurt's pissed off. If the way he's just slammed the door didn't give it away, then the way he's swearing like a sailor would: "Jesus fucking Christ, Blaine, I have no fucking idea how you stand your family because I can't." And if that didn't give it away, the way he's now vibrating with energy, scratching one hand through his hair and one up his thigh would. He pulls his jacket off, loosens his tie and sits on the edge of the bath and seethes.
Blaine wants to try to talk him down except his own skin is crawling and opening his mouth is going to break his own anger open. He feels disgusting and disgusted and hateful all at once and that's not him. That's not who he wants to be.
"How can you sit there and just take it?"
Blaine stares at him when he asks and he knows exactly what he means. This is one of the few remaining points of angst between them, they've been over this. Every time they get called back to Ohio for a wedding or a christening or something else in a church, something else around the perfectly good Anderson family, they grit their teeth and expect to fight.
They're engaged. Have been for a year. They're getting married in New York in the fall and honeymooning in a remote, hidden cabin in California. Kurt's family is ecstatic and helpful and constantly buzzing about it. Blaine's family, for the most part, pretend it's not happening.
When both of them turned up at Blaine's cousin's wedding, hand in hand and fake smiles plastered on, it had taken ten minutes for Blaine's father to have them both bristling. And then later that night at dinner, Kurt had had to sit and watch as Blaine was introduced to 'Rebecca—so and so's daughter, studying at Yale and blah, blah, blah." And Blaine was polite and sent Kurt agonized looks and apologized in the car. That night Kurt had gone home to his dad's house and they hadn't met up until the next day's pre-wedding cocktail party at Blaine father's house.
And more thinly veiled sneers and disgruntled looks and Blaine's father telling his son openly that it was time to grow up. Kurt, stupidly, had stepped in and told the room that this was happening, that it was real. And for a split second of silence he thought he'd gotten through. But there had been a sniff of disdain and the words: "I hardly think you're suitable for my son."
Kurt had walked stiffly out, Blaine had followed him, down the hall into the Anderson master bathroom and the slammed door would have been heard.
Now Blaine responds, a few seconds slowed breathing and now, "I don't want to sit there and take it. But I don't want to lose my family over it. I'm putting up with it." He feels it coil around his throat, making his words sharp, and lower, knotting his stomach and making his calves sweat beneath his suit pants.
Kurt wants to argue, he really does. Except having watched the agony play out over the last two days and juxtaposing it against the pleasure of his own family: not just at their engagement but when they'd moved in together, graduated college, at the achievement of dreams and New York and everything, Kurt doesn't think he has the right to argue. When he thinks about his family and Blaine's, on some level he thinks he's wrong to ask Blaine to explain, on some level he already gets it. And the wounded, terrified look Blaine's giving him, the way his cheeks are flushing hotly while he chews on his bottom lip makes Kurt want to just pull him into a hug.
Blaine's fist comes down on the vanity, and he's furious, having taken on Kurt's anger and pressed it into his own. He knows Kurt wants to lash out but won't and now he does to. He's slamming his fist into the wall without thinking. And this time it's loud and with the force of his arm behind it but it doesn't break the tiles and Kurt's grabbing him and pulling him and kissing him as hard as he can because it's the best way he knows to distract and placate him.
Kisses him hard and into his mouth, biting at his lip and trying to take the anger back from him, letting it burn through their clothes and into his skin and then pulling back, making to step away and smile and try to work out what to do next. But Blaine pulls him back in and kisses him more, tilting his head to get the best access and raking his hands over his fiancé's body. Owning and marking as his tongue pushes over Kurt's and behind his teeth and he moans.
"If I had to choose, you know I'd choose you," Blaine stutters out, pulling back and still too full of potential energy. "They can all go to hell if they think they can take away what we have."
Kurt doesn't point out that that's exactly what they think they can do, he just nods, and appreciates the sentiment.
"I'd choose you," Blaine pushes, nipping down Kurt's throat and this is starting to feel a hell of a lot like it's leading somewhere and it can't. "They're my family and I love them on some fucked up level and they love me when I'm not being…"
He trails off and Kurt has to kiss him again to stop himself from telling Blaine they only love him when he's not being himself.
"Gay," Blaine decides on. "And I want both. But I want you more. I don't care what they think. I shouldn't."
Kurt pulls back to stare at him, his hands curling around Blaine's wrists and making them still between them.
"I want to fuck you, in my father's house." Blaine breathes out and Kurt's eyes go wide.
"We never got to when we were young," Blaine continues, pulling his hands free from Kurt's and tracing them up over hips and chest. "It was always at my mom's house, never here. I wanted to."
He leans in and finds Kurt's mouth, bringing their hips together, catching his hands between them and forcing contact, sliding up against him hotly. "I was too scared because I didn't know what I wanted." Another kiss and the slide of his mouth to Kurt's ear. "Quickly. Now."
Kurt finds himself nodding without really thinking about it. Some small corner of his mind points out that there's psychology at play here and this might not be the best plan. A louder corner tells him they'll be heard, that they will be suspected.
Blaine's behind him, sliding around and pressing his cock—already hardening—into Kurt's ass, hands around his waist and tugging at his belt.
The loudest part of Kurt's mind just screams that this is perfect and warranted and exactly what Blaine's father deserves. What Blaine deserves.
"I want the room to reek of sex," Blaine tells him. "Because you know they won't say anything. I want them to know and not be able to say it." He bites into the flesh of Kurt's shoulder and Kurt realizes with a start that his pants are undone, that they've slid to mid-thigh and Blaine's hands are now pulling the buttons of his shirt undone.
Kurt watches as one of Blaine's hands leaves and reaches for the wall, flicking the light off and the heat lamps on, casting the room in even starker contrast. "I want us to sweat," he growls into his ear.
"Whatever you need."
They pause for a moment, Kurt now left with his pants pooled around his ankles, his shirt undone and hanging open and the outline of his dick obvious through his underwear. He's crowded up against the vanity, hands holding tightly onto the ceramic at the corners and the polished mirror in front of him reflecting Blaine behind him. Blaine's still fully clothed in pressed suit pants and jacket, dark and ominous and his hair already curling at his temples. His arms are sliding around Kurt's waist and pulling him back against him but even they still now.
"Whatever you need," Kurt whispers again, holding his gaze in the reflection and watching as Blaine's eyes slide from predatory and dangerous to sad and then thankful and he's mouthing 'thank you' before he slides back into the depth of his anger and yanks the collar of Kurt's shirt down to bite at the top of a shoulder blade.
Mewling, just lightly, mostly for effect, Kurt lets his body arch back into it, lets Blaine step in closer to his ass and press the coolness of the belt buckle there as he starts grinding, hands on Kurt's hips, pushing him into the vanity and making sure to translate the motion through them. Another mewl and one of Kurt's hands leaves the vanity to wind up into Blaine's hair, pulling it lose from the gel that he still overdoes when they're back in Ohio, threading his fingers through and twisting so that it hurts but frees the curls and gives him something to tug at.
"Here," Kurt tells him, twisting his neck around and finding Blaine's mouth, kissing him and not knowing whether to be happy or sad when Blaine's mouth is fierce and bruising and so angry against his own. Nipping at his lips and punishing and it's not Kurt's fault but he takes it willingly.
Blaine's drags his teeth down Kurt's neck and Kurt just watches in the mirror, sees the trail of saliva and red marks and the silhouette of Blaine's curls and eyelashes across red skin. He bucks forward and whines when Blaine's teeth catch at the juncture between neck and shoulder, the muscle between his lips as Blaine angles his head and lets his teeth dig in, a growl escaping.
It's sexy and hot and still panging of bitterness at the same time. Kurt wishes they'd fought about curtain patterns or whose turn it was to talk the dog down to the street because then Blaine would still be biting at his neck and growling but it wouldn't be real and they'd inevitably dissolve into giggles and lighter touches before it got very far. But he needs this and Kurt wants it, is rolling his ass back and ignoring the painful way Blaine's belt buckle is still catching at his ass.
A hand scratches down Kurt's chest, nails leaving red marks that might or might not turn to welts by morning; it stings and he arches and Blaine's fingers catch at the hair beneath his belly button, tugging as he bites again at Kurt's neck and growls out once more, cursing and muttering and getting lost for a moment.
Kurt watches him still, watches him snarl and switch to the other side of his neck, his hand drifting lower to where Kurt's hips are pressed to the vanity and he's pushing Kurt's underwear away and down, nails again at his thighs as he lets gravity take the material. Then his hand is around Kurt's cock and is fisting it roughly, guiding Kurt to stand a little taller, until his fist can work Kurt's cock over the vanity, giving them a more obscene visual and the space to operate. The ceramic is an ungodly version of too-cold and too-smooth under Kurt's balls though and he flinches and shivers and it takes only a word: "Cold," to get Blaine's other hand beneath them, massaging them as he keeps stroking.
Kurt watches but Blaine doesn't, too busy working marks into Kurt's neck as he stays tense and angry behind him.
"Blaine," he calls between gasps. He wonders faintly if Blaine plans on doing anything more than getting him off across the sink. "Blaine," he tries again.
Dark brown eyes flash up and Blaine's chin hooks over Kurt's shoulders, eyes flickering down to his hand around Kurt's cock, then up to the mirror, up Kurt's chest—now marked—to his neck—marked worse—to his eyes. "Too much?" he asks.
Kurt shakes his head and smiles and gasps. He turns his head and kisses lightly at Blaine's mouth, a sting in his neck telling him it probably is way too much. "Don't get lost in it," he warns.
Nodding, Blaine licks his way to Kurt's ear and then down, soothing and lighter, blowing cold air and the angry purple is still rising to Kurt's skin but it doesn't matter.
The hand under his balls withdraws and the ceramic's warmed to body temperature now. It slides away to where Kurt can't see it but his eyes have fluttered shut while his hips keep rocking forward to meet every stroke and he's content to lean back against Blaine's shoulder and let Blaine's breath against his neck keep time.
Blaine works his belt open with one hand, the strokes around Kurt's cock losing their elegance as he splits his concentration until his belt's being pulled away, the button popped and his zipper forced down.
His pants join Kurt's on the floor around their ankles and the creases in material that minutes ago was immaculate are going to show. Blaine's hips snap forward at just the idea and Kurt groans louder than he expected. Picking up on the meaning, Blaine's hand uncurls from his cock and he clicks his tongue.
"Please," Blaine murmurs, his hands sliding under the waistband of his own underwear
Kurt swallows because obviously this isn't just going to be Blaine giving him an impromptu hand job.
"I always wanted to and I never did," Blaine mumbles and his eyes are wide and his pupils blown large. His head turns and he presses a kiss to that spot behind Kurt's ear. "I'll make it so good for you."
Kurt chokes on a laugh: it's a throwback to when they were young and working these things out and Kurt was the shy one, always unsure and Blaine was always promising him, over and over, that it would be amazing. Always making it more about Kurt than about himself.
"Lube?" Kurt whispers out, as though saying that word aloud is the thing that will get them caught. As silly as it is it makes his spine tingle with doing something bad, with the threat of getting caught, even though it's so much worse than that. Blaine grins and it's wicked, but at least it's a grin.
Crowding Kurt forward again, catching him tight between Blaine's cock pressed hard along the crack of his ass and the still-cool vanity in front, Blaine pushes him forward and over with a hand between his shoulder blades. "Stay," he tells him and Kurt's whole body freezes up to obey.
They're not like this often but sometimes.
The heat behind him departs and he can hear Blaine moving across the tiles, pants still around his ankles and he probably looks ridiculous: Kurt smiles to imagine it but doesn't look. A cabinet creaks open and then closes and then Blaine's pressing back behind him again and pulling him up straight by the hair and a kiss to his shoulder.
"This do?" It's a jar of Vaseline and they haven't had to resort to that for years but taking it from Blaine's father's medicine cabinet makes it entirely perfect for the job. Kurt's nodding and Blaine's sliding his hand down between them, holding his hips back so he can follow Kurt's spine with his middle finger, low to the cleft of Kurt's ass and then switch to his index finger, slick with Vaseline and sliding easily around Kurt's hole once and then pressing in.
It's an easy slide and Kurt relaxes forward further onto the vanity, letting Blaine start working him open. It's just a single finger, moving slowly in and out of him, stretching and pressing the makeshift lube inside him. He's coaxed down, legs spread wider as Blaine's feet kick gently at them, spread and bent at the waist so that when Blaine leans over him, still fucking him on one finger, he feels bigger and taller and more than usual. Covering him and kissing at his back in a chaste press of lips that turns dirty and wet as another finger slides inside.
Kurt arches and moans into the lick at his spine and the stretch inside him, starts working himself back and down, willing his body to shift and relax. They keep moving, tiny quiet sounds escaping and Blaine's other hand shifts back, working his own cock as he waits for Kurt to be ready. Their eyes keep catching in the mirror, soft smiles exchanged as Kurt rolls his hips.
"Another?" Blaine has to ask.
Kurt shakes his head, pressing back to pull Blaine's fingers as deep as he can get them. His head falls low and he stretches out his spine, trying to ignore the knots and the jut of the vanity into his stomach. Another push of his ass back, forceful and more than Blaine expected because he feels Blaine's cock there, between both Blaine's hands, up against his ass.
"Just fuck me."
Kurt watches in the mirror as Blaine's eyes sparkle and his head falls down to rest against Kurt's back once more, just dark curly hair that looks nothing like the tamed, slicked-back do he'd walked in with.
"Blaine," Kurt whines out, ready and wanting and twisting his hips so that Blaine's fingers slide out.
Blaine lines himself up, stepping in close again and giving his dick another stroke, spreading the hot, liquid oil over himself and then kicking Kurt's feet even further apart, leaning forward and pressing Kurt lower still across the vanity. When he slides inside it's just the tip and it's tight and hot and Kurt's back is arching with it. Blaine just bites down on his tongue and keeps sliding in, inch by inch, slow as he dare, until he's sheathed. He waits, drawing the seconds out and pretending he can hear the clink of cocktail glasses and the fake laughter from the party beyond.
Anger boils in him and without thinking he's pulling back and then snapping his hips forward, hearing the slap of flesh on flesh and the rattle of the vanity and the gasp from Kurt before he feels the pleasure explode up his veins. He does it again and the rush of blood in his ears blocks everything else out except for the bite of Kurt's nails into his thigh. One more rattling thrust and this time his hips don't pause, he keeps moving, finding a deep rhythm that aches to his very bones and won't let him last long.
Again he falls forward, pressing his still-covered chest to Kurt's still-covered back and letting the friction there drag with heat and sweat in spite of the material. His hips snapping forward, burying his cock hot and tight every time and Kurt's whining low and almost undetectable with each thurst.
Blaine slows, just a little, pulls his hips back and tries for shallower, less forceful movements. "You okay?" he mumbles out into the nape of Kurt's neck.
Kurt's head flicks to the side and he's trying to see Blaine, in the mirror, over his shoulder, but they're too tightly together and the heat's too much. "Harder," he whispers, his ass shoved back to emphasize the point. "Fuck me harder."
Not able to resist the permission, Blaine's hands are at Kurt's hips before he knows what he's doing, his own hips stuttering back and he's so hard and so close, but it doesn't matter. His hips roll once, experimentally, cock sliding deep again and Kurt whimpers and mumbles out his fiancé's name.
"Fuck, Kurt," is the only warning Blaine gives and then he fucks into him properly and without hesitating. Builds the rhythm again, snapping his hips forward as hard as he can and then dragging them back at half speed until just the tip of him is inside. Again and again. And Kurt's whimpers slide higher, enough to echo, enough to be heard if anyone walks by outside. And the room already smells of sex. Kurt's shirt is wrinkled and ruined and stuck to his back and Blaine's hair is wet and curled with sweat.
Still with his hands on Kurt's hips, one of Kurt's on his thigh, digging in and egging him on, Blaine's hips stutter for a second and he is close to breaking, finds his mouth on Kurt's shoulder again, bent close and over as his hips fuck into him obscenely and his teeth bite down and mark. "God, you're perfect," he finds himself whining, the slap of his balls where they hit up against Kurt's, loud in his ears. "Perfect," he mumbles out again. And then, "I love you," over and over again and he could warn, could pull out and keep this from getting really messy, but he'd rather just swear and tell Kurt the truth.
He comes buried deep, pulling Kurt back onto him as he swallows and yells, yanking him up off the vanity so they're a tangle of barely standing-up limbs and flesh and sweat, Blaine's arms twining and pulling Kurt flush so his mouth can find his and kiss him as dirty and wet as they ever do. Whimpering through his release as his hips rock and he spills and Kurt sucks on his tongue and the electricity in his blood makes him feel like he's on fire. Blaine stays tight and close until he can't and he's slipping out of Kurt's ass with a groan and stumbling back with a last, "Fucking love you," to sit on the edge of the bathtub.
Kurt's still hard but he doesn't care, he's shaking with the force of what just happened and as he leans back in against the vanity and looks at his reflection he's not just a mess, he's marked. There are bruise down his neck and the imprint of fingers at his waist. Scratches down his stomach and across his hips. The extra heat in the room has made him sweat and flush and he swears it's only been fifteen minutes but he looks like he's been well-fucked for hours. He preens, just a little, and tries not to read too much into it.
Sliding his gaze in the mirror to Blaine on the bathtub, he can't see his face because he's leaning over, neck slack and slumped forward. But beyond the physical exertion and the still-rapid expansion and contraction of his back as he breathes, his shoulders look relaxed. When he does look up, he's smiling, and his eyes are bright and creased at the corners.
Kurt expects him to say "Thank you," and he's ready to brush it off like it was nothing even if the bruises across his pale skin say otherwise. Instead Blaine tells him, "Don't move."
Kurt quirks as eyebrow at him in the mirror but doesn't say anything. The 'thank yous' will always be implicit between them.
Blaine slides off the bathtub edge, a picture of debauched and wrong and ridiculous with his tie still mostly done up and his pants still around his ankles. He kneels and then crawls towards Kurt and Kurt can't see him anymore in the reflection but settles because he doesn't have to get off but he's achingly hard and then Blaine's head is bobbing up beside Kurt's hip as he settles back on his haunches and smirks and then kisses lightly over a purple fingertip mark on Kurt's side.
Soothing, soft, still-hot hands come up to Kurt's hips and Blaine pulls him back from the vanity, giving himself space to work between his legs. Reaches forward and wraps his hand around Kurt's cock, stroking him, listening for the intake of air and the whimper to judge how close Kurt is.
"Blaine," Kurt mumbles, settling down further across the vanity one more, arching his back and letting his feet creep wider apart. It's low and warning and Blaine silently thanks god that Kurt is okay, more than okay, hot and turned on and going to come for him.
He keeps stroking with one hand, tighter and faster, almost as fast as he'd fucked into him minutes before. His other hand smooths up the back of a thigh, a caress that turns to splayed fingers across one side of Kurt's ass and Blaine spreads him open so he can see. Kurt's hips are pushing into the fist of Blaine's hand and the rocking translates back to his ass, shifting with Kurt's hips as Blaine stares at the still-stretched, abused-red hole. The slide of Vaseline along the cleft, down to Kurt's balls and it's all translucent and slippery.
Blaine's hand twists and he hold his breath as Kurt whines and bucks into his hand and his ass tightens and then relaxes. He's close.
His mouth pressing to the smooth skin of Kurt's thigh, the soft hair teasing his nose, Blaine kisses wet and hot and then slides up, nuzzling into the crease between thigh and ass and then kissing a trail of barely there presses up the perfectly round curve until he can smell the sex and the sweat stronger than ever and he lets his teeth dig into the skin for just a second, a swipe of his tongue and he listens to Kurt call his name.
He shushes him, mumbling out "Almost," and then Blaine falls into him, turning his head and pulling Kurt's ass wide with his hand so he can lick up the crack and over his hole. Ignoring the nothing taste of the oil and focusing on the heat and the smell and the way Kurt keens and bucks, first forward into his fist and then back against his mouth and sets up a haphazard, ill-measured rocking.
Blaine wants him to come but doesn't, wants to lay him out over a bed with dark sheets and drag the act of getting him off like this out forever. He wants to work at his just-fucked ass with his tongue until he can't taste anything but Kurt and his own come. But there's no time and Kurt's keening and babbling and warning: "So close."
So Blaine just fucks into him hard and without finesse, his tongue stroking easily inside and lapping at the wetness, sucking at the skin around his hole and licking and then fucking back into him, trying to match the stroke of his hand with the thrust of his tongue but not even nearly managing as Kurt writhes and twists and shouts out about him, his name and "Jesus fucking Christ," as his body tenses and Blaine refuses to stop tonguing his ass, tasting the remnants of his own come and moaning and Kurt's cock pulses under his hand and his come spills across the vanity and the floor and Blaine's fingers.
"Jesus, fuck," Kurt says when he realizes he can't feel his toes and everything else he can feel feels too much. He squirms away, hips twisting his ass off Blaine's tongue and Blaine's hand falling away from his cock. Kurt turns to lean back on the vanity and spends just a second arching and trying to find his breath again. Then he looks down, at Blaine still on his knees below him, lips bruised red and shining and clothes and hair worse still. Watches him lick his fingers clean and then his lips and then breathe out once heavily and close his eyes on a smile.
They clean up in silence, a hand towel shared between them as touches linger and smiles slide from one mouth to the other. They kiss twice, unable to help themselves, not sure what they can say that won't break the moment but sure that the press of lips can't. They end up looking more presentable than they expected, their clothes wrinkled but the material expensive and dark and hiding the most of it. Their shirts are sweaty and sticking to their backs and chests but their jackets hide it well. Blaine's hair is irretrievably ruined but Kurt likes it better with curls anyway. Their lips are obviously kissed-red and raw but it's nothing compared to the evidence Kurt's hiding underneath his clothes.
Blaine folds the hand-towel and shoves it deep in his pocket and then stares at the floor.
"What do you want to do?" Kurt asks finally.
Blaine looks at him and resists the urge to crack a joke or to tell Kurt that all he wants is him because it's not really true. "Can we sneak out and go back to your house for the night?"
Kurt's smile falls because this will feel like defeat for both of them. It already does, it's already eating in on the perfection of what they just dared to do in Blaine's father's house. But it's best, he thinks. The anger still simmers beneath the surface for both of them. "We can, I'll call my dad once we're in the car."
"He won't mind?" Blaine asks, ever cautious of getting on Burt's bad side.
Kurt smiles and brings a hand up to lay against Blaine's cheek as he leans in one last time to kiss him. He shakes his head, checks them over one last time, checks the mirror and the floor and then turns the lock on the door and pulls it open. "He won't mind."