DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "Miss Missing You" by Fall Out Boy.
I wrote this fic as a commission for a friend on Tumblr, and I decided, what the hell, I've been neglecting my FFN account. Warnings include: daddy!kink and spanking.
Tumblr is here (endofadream)
Kurt detests the hesitancy that taints his and Blaine's relationship; though they're back together after months of chasing and denying, cat-and-mouse that had flipped sides more than once, neither of them can deny that one last huge thing: that this isn't the same. There's something missing, something that needs to be said or done, but Kurt has no idea what it could be.
Their relationship has always been easy, because first and foremost they're always going to be friends. But knowing what Blaine's done, though long forgiven, has built up a barrier Kurt hasn't had around his heart in years, not since he met that special boy at the bottom of the stairs and learned that hope wasn't so hopeless anymore.
Kurt doesn't want to call it a coldness, because it isn't, not really. But he does always feel like he's on eggshells around Blaine, and whenever he tries to move closer, it's like something is stopping him, something nameless and big. They kiss, and it's good, great, the way it's always been, but there's always something missing now, like the spark is hesitant to make its grand and glorious return, to take them back to where they were before: unable and unwilling to keep their hands off of each other.
They haven't said I love you in weeks, but Kurt can feel it still there just under the surface as it waits. He knows that he'll never stop loving Blaine—that he had learned the moment they'd broken up, had remembered again on Valentine's Day when Blaine had been under him, gasping out his name again after all these months, and it had felt so perfect, so right, that Kurt couldn't help but remind Blaine how much he loved him in that moment, how much he'd always love him.
Blaine is beautiful. Blaine is kind, compassionate, the one person Kurt isn't sure if he could ever live without, now, the root to his tree and the platform to his dream. Kurt is still painfully, irrevocably in love with this boy, and he refuses to let anything stand in the way.
That thin-ice feeling is shattered three weeks into getting back together. Summer's coming to a close, cicadas loud in the afternoons and evenings as August withers the grass and dries up the shallow riverbeds. Classes are going to be starting up soon, and with Blaine beginning his freshman year at NYADA Kurt is more than ready to have him as a full member of the Bushwick loft.
There hadn't really been an adjustment period when they got back together, because even in their denial-based "we're just friends" stage they were handsy and touchy. They had maybe added on a "benefits" part to that relationship a few times when Kurt had come down to visit, and when they'd been apart and it had been late at night and they'd needed to hear each other's voices.
Kurt's wondering how it is that his bedroom doesn't feel like his bedroom anymore, more like a stranger's or a hotel room, when Blaine is there suddenly, bereft of the bottles of water he'd promised to go and get both of them. The sheets stick slightly to his shirt when Kurt sits up, and he furrows his brow when he sees Blaine looking more troubled than he's seen since, well—then.
"Sweetheart?" Kurt asks, tentative. He takes in Blaine's simple polo, his jeans, the way his fingers are twitching and shifting restlessly over each other. "Is something wrong?"
Blaine looks at him, and his eyes are huge, deep with a shimmering emotion that grabs at Kurt's heart and tugs so hard he feels breathless, punched in the gut. It's rare to see a chink in Blaine's mask, to see this raw, vulnerable side: even when they'd been fighting, when they'd been broken up and hurt deep, Blaine had never looked at him like this. And now, Kurt can't understand why.
He's about to get up, to ask Blaine again, when Blaine blurts out, loud and sudden, "Did you only get back together with me because you felt sorry for me?"
Kurt blinks, not sure he understands. He and Blaine had gotten back together after weeks of discussion—it had been completely mutual. But somewhere along the line that knowledge must have gotten lost, mixed up, leaving Blaine biting his lip and hugging his arms to his sides like he's going to fall apart if he doesn't. He wonders if maybe someone had suggested that to Blaine, but—no, no one could have. They know how much he and Blaine care about each other.
Blaine blinks at him, waiting, and Kurt sits up, reaching out to grab Blaine's hand. "I didn't," he says as their fingers twist and twine together, and he marvels over the familiarity of it all. "I got back together with you because I couldn't stand to be apart from you, baby. You know that. You know how much I care. I've always cared about you."
Blaine shudders, closing his eyes. His lips part and Kurt can feel the slight flex of the fingers between his. Blaine seems to deflate a little, spine bending and curving as he relaxes; when Kurt tugs him down Blaine complies, going easily as one knee hits the bed, then the other. Kurt slowly bends back, taking Blaine with him until Blaine is hovering over him, shaking. His eyes are still closed.
"What do you want, Blaine?" Kurt asks softly. If anything, Kurt still knows when Blaine needs. He cups Blaine's cheek, feels the flex of muscle as Blaine sets his jaw, then relaxes it. His eyes slowly open, sparkling golden wobbling with unshed tears, and his lips twitch, rising before falling.
He says, whispery like a breath of wind, "Make love to me."
The eggshells crush, then, the ice finally giving way: this one last step, the thing they'd both silently and unconsciously denied themselves because it had never felt right, is finally spoken. Kurt sucks in a breath, watches the faint knitting of Blaine's brows before his forehead relaxes again. He nods, smiling and rubbing his thumb over Blaine's cheekbone. "Of course, baby. Of course."
Kurt kisses him, brief with a promise of what's yet to come, and gently rolls Blaine over; when Blaine's pinned under Kurt, head tipped and sunk back into the pillows, his throat bobbing, he says, in a voice higher-pitched than normal that dusts off old memories and makes Kurt's stomach stir pleasantly, "Daddy."
Kurt's mouth dries up, and for a moment he's left floundering, unsure and unable to do what he usually did—take care of Blaine. He should have noticed these signs, should have been there sooner like he had been in the past, but everything's been so screwy lately that he just hasn't been able to focus.
Before, when they'd done this, the signs had been clear, things Kurt was able to pick up on: hunched shoulders, sad eyes, mouth tightly drawn into a line, all of this Kurt had been able to fix by gently drawing Blaine aside, brushing his hand over his cheek, and quietly asking, "Do you need Daddy?"
And the answer had always been yes. In a way, it's comforting that this can make its return, especially now when things are still so unsure and tenuous and can we really make this last, can we fix what we've both done wrong? Blaine had admitted after their first instance back in December that telling Kurt hadn't been easy, that he'd trusted Kurt so much but he had still been so scared.
And Kurt needs to give it to him, needs to take the reins and let Blaine relax. He needs Blaine to know how much he loves him, how much he always will.
Blaine whimpers under him, shifting. His eyes stay closed but his lips part a little more, and he seeks up, grabbing onto Kurt's arm, then his shoulder, in a sleekly sinuous movement. It spurs Kurt into action, and he settles his weight on Blaine's hips, brushing a hand over the slick of Blaine's hair before leaning down.
His breath is warm against Blaine's cheek, his ear, and he feels the fine tremor work through Blaine's body as he asks, softly and gently with that still-firm edge he's perfected, "Do you want your Daddy, baby?"
Blaine lets out a soft moan, grabs at Kurt's hair, runs his hands down his back and bunches up his shirt in his fists. Blaine can never sit still when Kurt's full weight is pressing down on him, and it always makes Kurt grin, a little secret smile just to himself. He kisses the side of Blaine's neck, lets his lips drag and trail, and Blaine lets out another breathy groan. "Uh-huh."
Kurt's heart clenches, and he dips to kiss Blaine hard and fast, nipping at Blaine's lower lip and soothing it with the slick brush of his tongue. Blaine moans, pleased, and kisses back just as hard, arching up and pushing himself into it. God, Kurt's missed this, missed taking care of his boyfriend—his baby.
"What do you want Daddy to do, sweet boy?" Kurt asks, leaning back and sitting on the hard length of Blaine's cock. He smirks when Blaine moans and arches, and he bites back his own moan when Blaine's cock rubs along the cleft of his ass. "You gotta tell me, sweetie. Be a good boy and tell Daddy."
"Want—want you," Blaine gasps. His eyes scrunch up, lines fanning out like spokes on a bike's wheel, before he relaxes again and squints them half-open. "Please, Daddy. I want you."
"That's my baby," Kurt praises with a smile. He pushes up the hem of Blaine's shirt, exposing tempting planes of golden, muscled skin dusted with wiry, dark hair, that undulate with each deep breath. Kurt's hand drops to Blaine's lap, his palm curving around the hard shape of Blaine's cock; Blaine lets out a deep groan, head snapping back and hips jerking as they try to arch up.
Blaine whimpers desperately when Kurt squeezes, rubbing slowly. He sits up obediently when Kurt strips off his shirt, keeping one hand on Blaine's cock, the other propping himself up as he leans down, mouth at Blaine's neck, moaning when Blaine's fingers scratch along his scalp. He feels the fast patter of Blaine's heart as he kisses across his chest and revels in Blaine's sharp gasp and high, whining, "Oh, Daddy—" as Kurt licks over his nipples.
"Daddy," Blaine begs, voice pitching as it slides up into another whine. He grabs Kurt's wrist and Kurt looks up, sees Blaine staring down at him with wide, wide eyes. His lips are red and wet, dented deep with depressions from his teeth. Blaine squirms under Kurt, wriggling on the sheets, and his brows pinch together as he says, "Can you—please?"
Kurt knows what Blaine wants, of course he does, but he plays coy, merely smiling at Blaine as he kisses back up his torso, going against the grain of the sparse dark hair peppering the subtle muscle of his abdomen. He kisses the hinge of Blaine's jaw, feels the clench, and Blaine eagerly meets him for a kiss, messy and sloppy with Blaine's tongue sliding across Kurt's lower lip, the crease of his mouth. It makes Kurt chuckle when Blaine lets himself sink a little deeper, because then he starts not caring; then he truly lets go and concentrates solely on being Daddy's good little boy.
"Baby has to ask with his words," Kurt murmurs, rocking down and groaning low when his cock drags over Blaine's. "Otherwise Daddy won't know what to do."
Blaine huffs, grabbing at Kurt's shoulders. He rolls his hips up, kisses Kurt's cheek and says, "T-touch me, Daddy." He pulls back, bites his lip and looks down, lashes fluttering demurely. He tentatively touches the hem of Kurt's shirt, tugging at it, and hesitantly asks, "Can you be shirtless, too?"
Kurt strips off his shirt, blushing under the once-familiar, long-forgotten look of absolutely innocent wonderment in Blaine's eyes. His hands come up, carefully skimming over Kurt's pale skin; he shivers, nipples peaking and gooseflesh erupting over his body as Blaine touches, always so perfect, always the way Kurt likes it.
Blaine's hands are broad over the thin taper of his hipbones, and Kurt inhales sharply, grabs at Blaine's wrist before sliding his hands up the taut muscle of Blaine's forearms. Blaine's hands slide forward, down, and Blaine gasps when his palms brush over the jut of Kurt's cock. Kurt bites back his moan as he takes Blaine's wrist again, manipulates it so that Blaine's palm is rubbing gently over Kurt's cock.
Kurt noses against Blaine's neck, lets go of his wrist and inhales the leftover traces of his cologne staining his skin. He lets his hand wander back down Blaine's torso, going to the button of his jeans and stroking slow, back-forth, back-forth, over the metal. "Where do you want Daddy to touch you?" he whispers. "Daddy's touching you right now, sweet boy."
"Puppy!" Blaine gasps out, eyes wide. His hand falls from Kurt's lap as his hips push up into the air, just shy of the broad of Kurt's palm where it still rests on his button. He says, again, harsh and desperate, "Touch puppy, Daddy, please."
Kurt sucks in a breath, closing his eyes and feeling his cock twitch in his jeans. When they do this it's usually about a fifty-fifty that Blaine will fall completely into his headspace, or he'll go partway, using Daddy and euphemisms as a tether while still being one hundred percent himself. Today, it seems, is the latter, which is good, because if just ten minutes ago was any indication they need to have a serious talk when this is all over.
As much as Kurt misses the sultry smoothness of Blaine saying things like cock (and he'll never forget the first time he heard Blaine say it, all those cold months ago after West Side Story, how he'd asked Blaine to say it, again and again and again; let me suck your cock, let me ride your cock, god your cock feels so good in my hand), scenes like these are always the ones that Kurt goes to when he's alone.
"Since baby asked so nicely," Kurt teases with a little smile. Blaine's lips part, red and beautiful like a rose unfolding, and he looks down, astonished, as Kurt pops the button of his jeans, slowly slides down the zipper with teasing ticks of metal. "Hips up," he says, and Blaine obeys, propping himself up on his hands as Kurt sits back and slides his jeans down his legs. Kurt tries not to stare at the bulge of muscle in Blaine's arms, wonders when Blaine had toned up.
He hurriedly gets rid of his own jeans, dropping them on top of Blaine's. The bed creaks when Kurt climbs back on it, and he wobbles slightly as he straddles Blaine's legs again. He rubs circles into the sharp jut of Blaine's hip, runs his knuckles over where the dark hair grows thicker just above his waistband. He swallows hard at Blaine's cock, straining against the thin heather of his briefs, and at the growing-darker gray where the head is pressed.
A thumb pressing gently over hot, hard skin, and Blaine's head is tossed back as he groans. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and Kurt smiles, says, "My little boy is eager, isn't he?"
"Please, Daddy," Blaine begs. His body arches, and Kurt can feel the faint tremble of his thighs. Kurt ghosts his fingers over Blaine's cock, watches it twitch. "Please. I need you."
Slipping the waistband down to Blaine's balls, Kurt grasps him at the base, forgetting how to breathe for one moment at the familiar heavy weight, the hot, slick skin, the way Blaine's cock looks so perfect, so red and flushed and beautifully hard, in Kurt's hand. Blaine gasps, lets out an ah-ah sound.
Kurt swipes his thumb over the slit, lets it trail over the smooth head and down to the ridge and sensitive spot underneath. Blaine keens out a whine a few pitches higher than normal. His hands grasp at the sheets, white-knuckling, and Kurt leans forward, coaxes Blaine's head up to press their lips together, sloppy and dirty as he breathes out, "God yes, such a good little boy for me. Only Daddy gets to touch you like this, doesn't he?" He grips Blaine a little harder, twists just under the head, and Blaine goes taut, crying out against Kurt's lips. "Yes, that's right, little one. Only Daddy gets to see you like this, make you feel this good."
"Only you," Blaine whimpers, arching up and fucking his cock through Kurt's fist. "I want you," he repeats. He tangles his fingers in Kurt's hair, messily shoves his tongue into Kurt's mouth to lick and curl at his teeth. He bites at Kurt's lip and neurons shoot down Kurt's spine, making him moan and shiver.
"How do you want me?" Kurt is dizzy with it, aching for release, for the familiar tightness of Blaine's body. He strokes Blaine again, and the slide is beginning to get dry, rough, but Blaine doesn't say anything.
Blaine's face flushes scarlet, but he says, on a hushed whisper, "I-in me. I want you in me, Daddy. Put puppy inside me."
Kurt groans against Blaine's cheek, nods. He gets Blaine's underwear down, then his own, and Blaine stares at the bob of his cock, eyes wide, though just underneath Kurt can see the faint glimmer of a familiar sparkle, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
The bed creaks, wobbles again as Kurt leans over to root through his bedside drawer. The contents are scarce, but hidden behind old magazines is the emergency stash of lube and condoms that he'd put there just before he'd left for NYADA. He tosses the bottle on the bed, checks the date on the condoms. He exhales a sigh of relief—they don't expire for a few more months. He tears one from the strip, tosses it next to the bottle, and shuts the drawer.
He settles between Blaine's legs, and before he can ask Blaine spreads them wider, shamelessly baring himself, and Kurt lets out a quiet groan, closing his eyes as he takes in the fullness of Blaine's balls, the dusky tightness of his hole. "God, such a good boy for Daddy, sweetie. Such a good, slutty boy."
Blaine props himself up on his elbows, wets his lips. Kurt runs his hands up Blaine's thighs, feels the gooseflesh erupt under his touch. He stops at the apex and rubs his thumb over the hard line of tendon, then slides under to grasp the firmness of Blaine's ass. He digs his nails in, lets them drag as he slides his hands up to Blaine's thighs, the tender insides, and Blaine moans again, breathes out another please.
Kurt pushes Blaine's legs a little wider and reaches for the lube. He shakes the bottle, uncapping it, and slicks his fingers. He warms it up, kisses the side of Blaine's knee, and says against the soft skin, "Are you ready, baby?"
"Uh-huh." Blaine grabs at the sheets again, and Kurt circles his hole with a cautious finger, rubbing and pressing slightly before finally pushing all the way in. Blaine lets out another little ah sound, relaxing before Kurt has to ask him.
"So tight," Kurt murmurs, slowly working his finger in and out. He swivels it, searching, and Blaine's legs spread wider. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock, baby. You're gonna take it so good, just like you always do. Are you ready for another?"
Blaine tenses at two, but when Kurt brushes over his prostate Blaine arches up off the bed with a sharp, "Daddy!" Kurt chuckles, brushes against that spot again, and easily works in three. Blaine's body takes them eagerly, and Kurt cups Blaine's balls with his other hand, rolling the heavy smoothness of them in his palm.
"Please, please, Daddy, please," Blaine gasps, shaking his head back and forth on the pillow. "Now—please."
Kurt hurriedly rips open the condom and rolls it down, slicking himself up before lying back and propping himself against the headboard. The look Blaine gives him is quizzical, but Kurt just says, "Daddy wants you to ride him, okay, sweetie?"
Blaine's eyes widen, and Kurt has to smile as he says, "Oh," like he's never heard a better idea in his life. He nods, then, scrambles on top of Kurt and grips the headboard. He hovers on his knees, looking unsure, and Kurt grabs his thigh, scoots him forward and grasps his cock with his other hand to hold it up.
"Now, move back a little, baby—good boy—there, feel puppy? Just lower yourself down, slowly—good, sweetheart, good." Blaine groans, pinched, as he slowly sinks down.
His hands grip tight to the headboard, and his face is scrunched up as he settles down onto Kurt's hips. He swivels his own a few times, adjusting to the feeling, and before Kurt has to say anything he's moving, lifting up before falling back down.
Kurt's head falls with a thunk against the wood of the headboard, and he grips Blaine's hips, guides him as he lifts off to the tip, sinks back down, and grinds his hips in languid circles. "There you go, baby. God, so good, B, so good."
Blaine tips his head back, eyes still shut, and whimpers. His cock bobs between them, heavy where it slaps against Blaine's abdomen, and his words are almost lost to a loud groan as he sinks down, says, "Spank me."
Kurt blinks. "Sorry?"
Blaine breathes hard, and now Kurt can see the faint sheen of sweat of his forehead, wetting the gel of his hair. "Spank me," Blaine says again, high-pitched. "Punish me, Daddy, for being a bad boy. For—for hurting you."
And it begins to make sense, then, this sudden need—the thing that's been bugging them both has been culminating, growing worse and worse. Kurt sees it, now, in the lines of Blaine's face, the flex of his arms and abdominals and in the heave of his chest. It's been eating at Blaine, and he needs something Kurt's rarely given him—punishment.
Kurt's hands slide from Blaine's hips down to the swell of his ass. He can feel the flex as Blaine works himself on Kurt's cock, feels the slight ripple as their skin smacks together when Blaine bottoms out. He squeezes and Blaine groans, both hands on the headboard now. His body arches forward, thighs trembling, and Kurt doesn't give any warning when the first smack rings hard and stinging in the room.
"Ohh—" Blaine gasps, body tightening around Kurt's cock. He grinds his hips, presses down so his cock rubs along Kurt's abdomen. Kurt lets another smack fall, just as hard, then another. His palms sting as Blaine gasps.
He doesn't say anything, doesn't really know what to say—and it's a little terrifying, because Kurt's never been at a loss for words in a scene before—but Blaine makes up for it, gasping after every smack, "I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, please—"
So Kurt says the only thing that he can: "I forgive you," he whispers, running a hand down Blaine's back, down sweat-slicked skin and shifting muscle. "I forgive you, baby."
Blaine tenses, arching backward, and he comes without a hand on his cock, thick white spurting warm and slick between them as his body shudders and his hole tightens sporadically around Kurt's cock. He groans, trembles and slumps down when his cock stops twitching, and it only takes Kurt a few thrusts up into his lax body before he's coming, burying his face in the crook of Blaine's neck as his hips twitch up
Blain leans forward and cups Kurt's jaw, kisses him slow and deep and passionate in a way that makes Kurt's toes curl and his heart to beat hard. He sucks on Kurt's lower lip, cradles the back of his head with his other hand. When they pull back, he's smiling, sated and loose-limbed and like a mountain of stress and worry has been lifted off of him.
"Thank you," he whispers.
"For what?" Kurt asks, then, "Here, let me pull out—fuck, why is that always so weird?"
Blaine laughs, falls back to the bed. Kurt carefully slides the condom off, ties it, and grabs a few tissues from the nightstand, wrapping it up in one and hand the others to Blaine. "For showing me that you still love me," Blaine says, biting his lip as he wipes off his stomach. "And for…you know…punishing your bad little boy." He says it on a embarrassed whisper, and Kurt can't help but smile as he crawls back onto the bed and lets Blaine wipe off his chest.
"Oh, sweetie," he says, curling close to Blaine despite the late-summer heat. "I never stopped loving you. I don't think I ever could. You didn't need to be punished."
Blaine ducks his head, rubs his hand over Kurt's chest. "I felt like I did."
"Then that's your call." Kurt takes his hand, tangles their fingers together and kisses the knuckles. "You're always going to be my perfect little boy, okay?"
Blaine blushes, but Kurt can see his cheeks stretch out into a smile. "Okay."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
Blaine shifts, then hisses when his ass comes in contact with the sheets. Kurt has to bite back his smile as he says, "Lotion. Later. That'll help."
"It better," Blaine says, but there's no heat in his voice as he curls closer to Kurt and rests his head on his chest. Kurt runs his hands absently over Blaine's bare shoulder, looks out the window, and smiles.