DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "The First Time (Natalie's Song)" by The Friday Night Boys
Warnings are: talk about sex, flashbacks to sex, minor swearing. Lots of adorableness.

So originally Mal (aka unshurtugal on Tumblr) prompted Kurt and Blaine's adorable, blushing awkwardness the day after they have sex for the first time. Naturally I had to fill it because it was perfect. And then the fill sort of blew up and everyone wanted more and so did I. This is the result! (Which means you can check out the original fill at my Tumblr below.)

endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com


"Hi," Kurt says shyly on Monday morning as he walks over to Blaine's locker. He hugs his books close to his chest, the frenzied pounding of his heart reverberating rapidly against the hard covers. Every inch of his body buzzes in anticipation at seeing Blaine for the first time since he'd left Blaine's house last night, the buttons on his shirt done up wrong and a new but somehow satisfying ache present every time he took a step.

This morning he feels like he did when he first met Blaine and they started talking: shy and hopelessly awkward and bare, vulnerable and out there, spilling everything for someone who is so confident and breathtakingly perfect on the outside.

In light of everything that's happened since those first few unsure days it's ridiculous, he knows, but he still feels like everything's going to be different. Of course, he's seeing Blaine like he does every morning. This is the way it's been all year. But he's never had to see someone and know what they look like without clothes. He's never seen someone at their most natural, at their barest and most vulnerable. He carries that weight now, that mental image and experience.

As Kurt stops just a few feet away from Blaine, his shoulder pressed against his locker as he observes, Blaine looks up from pulling his American History book out from the bottom of his locker and…nothing's changed. At least, not in the way Kurt had imagined.

It's still just Blaine. It's still just the boy who'd been so kind, so encouraging at the beginning when no one else was. It's still just the boy he wants to share all his firsts with, that he wants to undress—and god, undress, fingers gripping clothes and sliding under collars and waistbands—and worship and make feel half as good as he's made Kurt feel. It's still just Blaine, the boy he's fallen so hard and fast for that it still makes him dizzy and unsteady on his feet even to this day, this very second as he's still reeling in the reality of we had sex.

When Blaine meets Kurt's eyes they both blush, Blaine ducking his head and fiddling with a few of the magnets on his door as something to do with his hands. Kurt sees the small smile tug at his lips as Blaine pulls out the last book, tucks it under his arm, and shuts his locker door with a definitive echoing clang. Kurt knows, just from that glance, that tingeing of skin a beautiful faint red that Blaine is thinking what Kurt is thinking. "Hi," he replies, voice trembling slightly as he raises his head again. His eyes are bright; his smile is wide and sincere. He runs his free hand down the length of Kurt's arm, tangling their fingers together briefly, their version of a good-morning kiss. "You look gorgeous this morning."

Kurt's whole body jolts abruptly, thrums at the seemingly-innocent praise. It's a near-Pavlovian response to the very thing he's so dazed about. His breath catches in his throat, a quiet gasp, and his eyes flutter shut as he's pulled back into memory.

"You look gorgeous," Blaine gasps, sliding in until his hips are flush against Kurt's ass. Their bodies tremble where they touch, Blaine's arms quivering where they bracket Kurt's head. His thighs are powerful where they press against Kurt's, and—it's not just his thighs, but his whole body is powerful, thrumming with energy and restlessness and a need to move. "God, Kurt, so fucking gorgeous and hot for me."

He flushes red, letting out a nervous giggle that's more of a reflex than anything else and immediately he's trying to stifle it, feeling that flush spread, creep red and hot across his cheeks and down his neck. Blaine raises an eyebrow and Kurt thins his lips, trying to keep the high-pitched noises in. He's nervous, flustered, and he knows he really shouldn't be: this is his boyfriend, after all, and so what if they've finally seen each other naked? The timing had been right—perfect, actually, with performance highs and how proud he had been to see Blaine on that stage, holding the crowd captive with his talent and charisma—and it's a natural step. It's what they both had wanted.

At Blaine's house after the performance, just them and a bed and trembling fingers and nervous laughs…Kurt had never felt so alive. Never felt so in love, so connected to another person like he is to Blaine now.

And that's just it, the clincher that lets him know he's not dreaming, that everything did happen: he, Kurt Hummel, is no longer a virgin.

It's amazing. It's surreal. It feels like it shouldn't be possible but it is.

"It's just…" He cuts himself off with a laugh, looking up at the ceiling and down at the floor, absently scarping the toe of his boot across the linoleum. "That's what you told me. You know. Last night." He whispers the last part, though he doesn't quite know why. Any passing students aren't likely to stop and eavesdrop in on their conversation. At least, he hopes they aren't.

Now it's Blaine's turn to flush again, his eyebrows knitting together as he draws his lower lip between his teeth. "Oh," he breathes out, looking down, then up, lashes fluttering in a way that must be completely unintentional and so very, very detrimental to the calm composure Kurt had spent ten minutes in front of his mirror just an hour previous trying to perfect for his first day as a non-virgin. Kurt's sure he could tell you in ten different ways the way Blaine's lashes look fanning over his cheeks or fluttering as Blaine shakily inhales, the end catching on a low, needy moan. "Well, you do," Blaine presses earnestly. "And last night was…wow." He pauses for a moment, drawing in a breath and taking Kurt's hand in his again. "Kurt, I—you know if I could kiss you right now I would."

Blaine looks torn, upset that he can't, and Kurt is, too. He hates it, hates that everything they want to do they can't unless they're somewhere hidden, away from the world like they don't have just as much right as everyone else. He settles for brushing the back of his other hand across Blaine's cheek. It's become their unspoken signal over the past more-than-a-year.

"I know, sweetie," he says, smiling ruefully. "We'll make up for it. Later."

It's just enough of a promise to set off the blushing and avoided eye contact again, but Kurt feels warm and fuzzy inside because now he can do stuff, he can promise things like that and mean every single word of it.

The warning bell rings and they take off for their first period class, one of the few that they have together. "Last night was perfect, though," Kurt agrees, turning and smiling at Blaine as they round the corner behind the last few straggling students. "Just like you." He squeezes Blaine's shoulder as they enter the classroom and head to their seats.

Concentrating in class turns out to be difficult—way more difficult than Kurt had imagined when he woke up this morning. He's never been too prone at daydreaming or drifting off but today seems to be the exception and he can't decide whether it's a blessing or a curse. Every time his teacher opens her mouth Kurt tunes her out, doodling idly in his notebook with his chin propped up on his hand as he tries to recall every single detail of last night, some in clearer detail than is probably appropriate for a public setting.

Instead of statistics about Reconstruction and the change in the country after the Civil War Kurt only sees Blaine: his hands, his mouth, his body stretched out over him, under him, the way his muscles hiding under those smart sweaters and bowties had flexed and shifted under smooth, sweat-slicked tanned skin. Instead of the usual classroom sounds of yawning and shuffling papers Kurt hears Blaine's moans, his quiet grunts and tight gasps, his encouraging, love-saturated words whispered into Kurt's ear with hot breath.

(He can't get rid of the image of Blaine as he comes, his mind's eye stuck on a constant loop of the bowstring-tautness of that body, the dropped-O of lush pink lips and the shuddering-exhale moans as Blaine's hips still against Kurt's ass and his cock—oh god his cock, Kurt's seen Blaine's cock and Blaine's seen his—pulses inside him.)

He looks up, glances around the room idly and makes eye contact with Blaine, who's already turned sideways in his own chair, book open but forgotten and his pencil dangling loosely from his fingers as he stares adoringly in Kurt's direction. When their eyes meet they both immediately flush and turn away, smiling to themselves with their hearts pounding the same staccato, palpitating rhythm in their chests that are already tight with love and nerves and wow, that really happened, we really did it.

This is going to be a long day.


They see each other off when the bell rings with lingering touches, Kurt straightening Blaine's already-straight bowtie outside the door of the room just to have something to do with his hands, something so that he doesn't fist Blaine's stupid sweater and kiss him senseless in front of everyone. Blaine heads off to Resource Management with a parting hand squeeze and Kurt heads off to English. But even there, in a classroom without Blaine in it, Kurt's mind finds time to wander, everything else fading into a static-filled background.

This time it's to the way Blaine had looked at him the moment they'd shut the door to his bedroom: wide-eyed, apprehensive and excited and nervous—so, so nervous. But beneath that all, under the inexperience and bravado ("I don't know what I'm doing") Kurt sees the first real sparks of lust, a dark, looming storm cloud of promise. He sees love in its purest, in the way Blaine cups his face as he kisses him.

It's to the way they'd both breathed out yeses nearly simultaneously to their unasked questions and undressed each other with tender touches, fingers occasionally fumbling on buttons and shaking on the hems of shirts as clothing was shed like a snake's old skin.

It's to the way they'd scoped, mapped out and took in everything that they could. It's to the overwhelming amount of trust and love they share.

He remembers laughing and giggling as they undressed each other further, the sounds sometimes cut off or sliced down the middle with a moan or gasp as hips pressed and rubbed, a friction that was once forbidden and taboo and is now welcome and so wanted.

(He doesn't think he'll ever forget the way he'd raised gooseflesh for the first time on Blaine's skin, how beautiful such a simple act was just because it was Blaine and it was the result of his touch, his delicate fingertips skating across a surface he'd never before dared to trace.)

He doesn't realize he's been out of it until the bell rings.


At lunch they play footsie.

It's not unusual for them and it's certainly not the first time they've done it in the cafeteria with Mercedes to Kurt's right and Mike and Tina to Blaine's left, their friends chatting and laughing, oblivious to what was going on right in front of them. But Kurt knows the weight behind this time, the reason why he can't help but smile and blush every time he looks up to see Blaine staring at him from across the table. Kurt watches Blaine's eyes flicker mischievously to his lips and back up as he twirls his fork through his salad absentmindedly. Kurt's own lunch remains untouched as he leans across the table and brushes his fingers lightly over Blaine's knuckles.

Under the table he hooks his foot around Blaine's ankle in a fit of giddiness, smiling when he feels Blaine slide his foot up Kurt's calf and back down. They have their own little world, locked safe and warm inside it, where no one can touch them or tell them they're wrong when Kurt knows they've both never felt so right in their lives.

He catches Tina's eye as she glances over, looking quickly between them, and he's pretty sure she knows—and he knows about her and Mike, too, and he does feel bad about keeping this a secret but he wants to stay like this just a little longer, keep it between him and Blaine for a few more days—but she only smiles and takes Mike's hand. It's her unspoken way of saying we'll talk about it later.

Kurt's pretty sure Rachel asks him several questions throughout the hour that he doesn't acknowledge or answer or even hear.


To Blaine (1:31 pm):
I still can't believe that last night happened.

To Blaine (1:33 pm):
And I know I'm probably harping on it, but…wow.

To Blaine (1:34 pm):
You look gorgeous, by the way, and I hope you know that I'm still blushing even though you're halfway across the school right now.

To Blaine (1:40 pm):
I swear I'll stop texting you now, but I really want to kiss you. And make you sound like you did last night. I want to make you come undone again.

To Kurt (2:00 pm):
Oh my god

To Kurt (2:06 pm):
I would normally say you're so cute, but after last night I can think of a few other creative ways to describe you

To Kurt (2:09 pm):
Adorable. Definitely adorable


"I hope you know I didn't hear a word any teacher said today at school," Blaine murmurs as they walk to their cars. "All I could think about was you. So when my grades start to slip, it's your fault."

Kurt brushes his hand across the top of Blaine's thigh just to be able to touch. "Join the club," he says as he fumbles for the unlock button on his keys. "My notes are just doodles so I'd look like I was paying attention. I was too afraid of getting called on and saying something embarrassing."

They stop in front of his Navigator, Kurt pulling open the door to the backseat to toss his bag in. When he closes it he's immediately pinned against it, Blaine's thigh slipping between his.

"What," he squeaks, more of a statement than a question. Blaine's lips are inches from his, his palms flat on the window on either side of Kurt's head.

"What do you think you would have said?" Blaine asks. Already his voice is low, that same husky quality he's been recently acquainted with that makes the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stand up, makes his toes curl and a whine rise up in the back of his throat. He'd be blushing right now at Blaine's straightforwardness if he wasn't so turned on already.

Kurt leans forward and lets his lips brush slightly against Blaine's. He looks around and leans back, pulling Blaine close so that his lips are right against his ear. "Just that you look so hot when you're about to come and how much I want to see it over and over and over again," he whispers. He presses down slightly onto Blaine's thigh, shivering at the friction and warm rush of pleasure. "That I want to kiss you all over again and that if my sexy boyfriend doesn't get into his car and follow me to my house where we will have exactly an hour and a half of alone time, he'll be seriously missing out."

Blaine springs apart like he's been burned, digging around inside his messenger bag for his keys. Kurt watches with an amused smile on his lips, arms folded across his chest as he continues to lean against his car.

"Ready to go?" he teases when Blaine finally produces his keys. Their eyes meet—and they blush, somehow still shy—and Blaine nods. There's an unspoken challenge in the air and Kurt trembles to know the outcome, what's going to happen when they shut that door to the house behind him.

Well. He'll just have to find out.