DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "Come Around" by Sing It Loud.
This was originally prompted to me by anonymous on Tumblr, who wanted Blaine's first time topping with Kurt not being prepared for how big his dick is. And you know me, I can't just have a simple, short drabble for this stuff.
TUMBLR IS THAT WAY
It's been something they've been building up to gradually. Their first time on a chilly November night is nothing but hands and tentative mouths, eyes wide and fixated on the pulse of a different cock, semen coating a stomach not their own. They're too nervous to do otherwise even though on Blaine's nightstand there's a new bottle of lube and an unopened box of condoms; for now, the box remains too daunting and only just enough lube is used to slick their palms. Later on they murmur promises to each other, we'll do it later and we still have all the time in the world, because, really, they do, they'll make time just for themselves no matter what.
The next time, Blaine's the one who gasps out the words first, fuck me falling uncertain and stilted from lips bruised and slick from Kurt's teeth and mouth. Teenage insecurity bleeds through an otherwise-fearless facade like paint down a canvas, a surrealist image of nightmarish images rising to the surface and shoving aside a well-put-together boy to reveal what he really is underneath—just a boy. A boy who's finally ready to take that last leap, to give himself to someone he deems worthy, and god, that thought alone is almost enough to make Kurt cry because he'd never thought he be someone's worthy, much less someone as beautiful and selfless as Blaine.
And Kurt obeys, of course he does, mostly because it's Blaine—Blaine with the honest eyes, the heart stapled to the outside of his chest and the ever-optimistic view about everything; partly, though, it's because while Kurt has fantasized about being fucked, the fantasies where he's doing the fucking are much more prominent and vivid.
Blaine is someone Kurt's wanted to take apart since they met, meticulously sifting through every individual idiosyncrasy until it's clear who Blaine is, what he wants to be and what makes him tick underneath the bowties and blazers and Brooks Brothers. Kurt sees it in Blaine's eyes as he slides in for the first time, Blaine's hips propped up on a pillow and his legs too-tight around Kurt's waist. He sees pained pleasure, the scrunch of eyebrows carving deep lines on Blaine's forehead as he sucks in a breath and holds it, holds it as his body stays tight and taut despite Kurt's soft relax for me, Blaine, it's okay.
The arch and movements of Blaine's body when Kurt establishes a rhythm are raw, intimate, and Kurt almost can't believe that he's the reason Blaine's like this, so let-loose and out of the rigid control he's usually in. The noises pulled from Blaine's throat, grunts and moans and gasps all interspersed with small exclamations, are newer, more desperate than Kurt's heard before, and it's hot, so hot.
Kurt kisses Blaine when he comes this time, a desperate, almost pained whimper leaving long and high from his mouth to fall and swirl into Blaine's as he loses his rhythm, following instinct and fucking forward until oversensitivity kicks in and Blaine's clenching around him, muscles straining and straining as he tosses his head back and pushes his torso up, the lines of his ribs pronounced as he finally comes.
After that, Kurt can't stop imagining how it'd feel to be fucked by Blaine, how his body would accept the stretch, if he'd react like Blaine did. They've talked about switching, how and when they'd like to do what, so Kurt knows that if he's ready, Blaine is.
The next time they're alone together is the Friday after Thanksgiving break, and as soon as Kurt closes the door to his bedroom and grabs Blaine by the soft cashmere of his cardigan, there's only one thing on his mind. He doesn't say anything, though, wants to wait until they're together on the bed, skin sliding and sticking as they mark each other in places easily hidden by winter wear.
Blaine finally toes off the last article of clothing, his boxer-briefs, when Kurt's straddling him, mouth a hot suction against the side of his neck. Blaine shifts and Kurt can feel him, hot and damp and huge, and his jaw gives a phantom twinge at the thought of sliding down ad taking as much of Blaine as possible into his mouth until he's sore and there's too much saliva.
Instead, he kisses Blaine hard and deep, running a hand down the line of Blaine's torso to his hip. When he presses the bottle of lube he'd grabbed from the sheets into Blaine's hand and pushes his hips up against Blaine's, rubbing his cock along the crease of hip-meets-thigh, he hopes he's saying everything as clearly as possible.
And judging by the way Blaine's eyes widen and his mouth drops just the tiniest bit, he knows.
"Are you sure?" Blaine asks, sounding just on the other side of breathless.
Kurt's stomach stirs at the thought and he nods, pulling Blaine down for another kiss and hooking his leg around Blaine's thigh. He doesn't think he's ever been surer in his life, and just the thought of Blaine pushing in, inside him, is enough to make him moan. "So, so sure."
Blaine nods, then nods again, his fingers tightening slightly around the bottle. "Okay," he says. "Okay, I—god, okay, Kurt."
Blaine's fingers tremble slightly as he opens the cap, pours out enough for two fingers. Kurt spreads his legs, tamps down the feeling of too exposed, should be embarrassing, should be and finally moves on to but isn't, not with Blaine's eyes hungry and dark like that, not with his cock hard and red and heavy between his legs, thick and—fuck.
Kurt's hands are on Blaine's face before he's even fully settled in the space between Kurt's legs, fingers digging in and twitching as Blaine circles Kurt's hole with one slick finger, the lube chilled on skin too-hot, and he closes the distance for Kurt when he sinks it in, swallowing down the tiny gasp Kurt makes.
"God, so tight already," Blaine groans, pressing his forehead to Kurt's as he twists his wrist, crooks his finger until Kurt's legs inch apart further, until his heels are digging into the sheets and he's squeezed his eyes shut, blindly ask for more. "Can't wait to feel this around my cock, baby, you're gonna take it so good for me."
Kurt whines, tangles his fingers in Blaine's hair and tugs hard until Blaine gasps and slides in his middle finger, pressing them together before spreading and crooking. Pleasure rushes over Kurt like a wave when Blaine changes the angle just right, and the broken cry he emits hangs still in the room for a few seconds before being washed away. "Blaine, oh god, oh god," he repeats, over and over and over, his mouth cottoning with each pant.
Three is more of a stretch, a burn that rises and falls as quickly as it comes. Blaine's fingers are sure and broad inside him, the slick sound of lube the undertone for their harsh breaths and the wet slide of their mouths.
"Just fuck me," Kurt says, palm broad and flat on Blaine's shoulder to feel the muscle twitch and his body dip as he works his fingers in-out. Every inch of Kurt's skin feels flushed, tight like if he moves the wrong way it'll crack and split, unraveling until there's nothing left. "Blaine, baby, c'mon, wanna feel you."
And he does, Jesus, he does, and Blaine obeys, sitting up and sliding his fingers out—Kurt clenches around nothing, a horrible emptiness that makes him whine, arch up to seek more—before reaching for the condom. He tears the wrapper open, slides it down and slicks himself up with long pulls that make him sigh and moan.
Kurt wraps his legs around Blaine's waist when he leans back down, tips his head back and does his best to force his body to relax. "I love you," Blaine murmurs, the tenderness almost out of place in the moment. Kurt can feel the slick, blunt head of Blaine's cock brush against his perineum, the divide of his ass and the stretched rim of his hole. It makes him shiver, makes his cock jump against his abdomen.
"Love you, too," he says, words harried, fingers tight on the smooth skin of Blaine's shoulders.
Blaine grips his cock with one hand, lines up and slowly begins to slide in, and all of the relaxation Kurt's forced his body into evaporates quicker than a puddle in July; the sound that leaves his lips is strangled, pained, as Blaine gets the head in.
"Oh my god," he says in a voice an octave higher than usual, pinched and hushed and too much way too much. "Fuckfuckfuck."
"What?" Blaine asks quickly, pulling back enough for Kurt to see his forehead is creased in worry, eyebrows drawn tight. His cheeks are still red-flushed, eyes sparkling, but he pauses long enough for the sting to subside slightly.
"You're just—" Kurt stops, wriggles his hips and hisses when the pain returns. His skin heats but it's not a flush. "You're so big."
Blaine's flush darkens, if possible, and he wets his lips and looks down, away, at the wall. His hips twitch forward, but Kurt's still too tight for him to sink deeper a substantial amount. "Just, ah…relax," he says dumbly, and Kurt could almost laugh at the conflict on Blaine's face now, the way he's torn between being flattered and saying 'thank you,' and the way he's worried he's going to hurt Kurt, a pain Kurt had known was going to be inevitable, anyway.
Kurt's honestly not sure how he didn't foresee this: he knew Blaine was big, had realized it the first time they'd been naked and his fingers had just barely wrapped around Blaine's dick, but he guesses he'd been too caught up in the fantasy of a perfect first time that he'd forgotten to stop and think of the logistics, that maybe he should have gone with four fingers instead of three, that they should have spent more time stretching and less time being impatient.
However, what's done is done, and he kisses Blaine hard, presses his heels into Blaine's ass, and says, "Move" in a voice that leaves no room for argument.
Blaine slides in with an almost involuntary thrust, and Kurt's back arches as he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. Blaine pants against his ear, hot breath in fast rushes, and he waits, trembling, until Kurt's heel digs into his ass again, an unspoken command, and he bottoms out quickly.
"Oh fuck," Kurt gasps, torn between a sob and a moan. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he feels so unbelievably full, so owned. When Blaine shifts Kurt can feel his cock shift, a slight drag in-then-out, and just that friction is enough to make him want more.
"Just fuck me," Kurt breathes, looking up through slitted eyes to see Blaine looking down at him, the faint gleam of sweat shining already on his brow. The light of his room is golden in the background, a contrast against Blaine's dark hair and dark skin; outside the windows the sky is cold and milky-gray, the sun already setting beneath pregnant clouds.
When Blaine slides out and back in, the pinch is lessened and Kurt can breathe, let some of the tension drain from his muscles. As he relaxes Blaine slides out once more and fucks back in quicker, harder, and when Kurt moans this time there's not a trace of pain.
Blaine quickly gains rhythm and speed, thrusting harder and harder until Kurt's body is jolted, their skin slapping together. He unhooks his ankles, lets his legs fall out as he clutches at Blaine's back, moans to the ceiling as he feels the rush build and build, licking hotter and brighter with each uh he lets out.
"So gorgeous," Blaine murmurs, nipping the lobe of Kurt's ear before trailing down to his neck, the junction of his shoulder, and there he kisses, wet and sloppy, as he shifts, angles his hips and fucks forward, his balls slapping against Kurt's ass. "So hot, Kurt, taking it so well, just like I said you would."
Kurt moans in response, clenches his toes as the head of Blaine's cock brushes his prostate. He works a hand between them, wraps it around his own cock and tries his best to match his rhythm with Blaine's. "Gonna come," he gasps, biting down onto his lower lip as he thumbs over the slit. "Make me come, Blaine, shit, please."
There's so much more Kurt wants to say: he wants to tell Blaine how good he feels, how big he is and how much he's filling him up, but he can't find the words without sounding like—in his opinion—a bad porn star. Maybe in the future, once they've had some more experience. For now, when he comes it's on an off-stroke, Blaine pulling out and fucking back in just as Kurt tightens and arches up, up, semen splattering his torso as he moans and whines, undulating against the bed.
Blaine comes almost immediately after, stuttering forward and biting down onto Kurt's shoulder as his dick twitches—and Christ, Kurt can feel it, feel every pulse as Blaine comes into the condom—until he's spent.
"Okay, just relax," Blaine says, out of breath as he sits up on shaky legs and pinches the end of the condom before sliding slowly out. Kurt can help but wince and let out a tiny whimper at the renewed sting, the aching emptiness when Blaine's fully out and tying off the condom. "Are you all right?" he asks after tossing the condom in Kurt's trashcan, a tissue wrapped around it.
Kurt nods, sprawled out on the bed. He aches, of course, and luckily he at least has the weekend off to get rid of the worst of the sting, but it's amazing. "More than all right," he says after a minute, turning to smile lazily at Blaine. "Though maybe next time a little more prep?"
Blaine's flush returns as he looks sheepishly at Kurt. "I'm sorry," he starts to say, but Kurt sits up on his elbows and shakes his head.
"I swear to god, if you even begin to apologize for having a rather…pleasurable asset"—he feels his own face heat up at this—"I'll have no choice but to smack you."
"I might like it," Blaine says, looking immediately afterwards like he could smack himself for saying it. Kurt laughs; he can't help it, and he leans forward, tugs on Blaine's arm until he lies down next to him. He wriggles his hips just to feel the return of the burn and smiles a little secret smile to himself that he's sure Blaine can't see.
"I'll be sure to file that one away for later."