Title: Any Eden We Can Name

Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex and mild kink

Warning: Mild kink. If such things squick you, please do not read.

Summary: Kurt wants things. Blaine finds a way to provide them.

Gratitude: to Andie and Talya, because I was really deep in the weeds with this one until they pitched in.

Author’s notes: The fabulous and amazing AubreyLi requested Toppy!Blaine and Slutty!Bottom!Kurt. I don’t think this is quite the dynamic she had in mind, but it’s the one that happened, and I hope she’ll still like it.

Any Eden We Can Name

By Aristide

“Kurt?”

“Mmm?” Kurt settled his knees a bit closer to Blaine’s hips, and tugged Blaine’s collar aside a little to get better access to his neck.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm.” Blaine smelled amazing. Blaine always smelled amazing, but right… there, under his ear, it was like, super-concentrated Blaine smell. So good.

“Are you… bored with me?”

“What?” Kurt pulled back so fast he almost went toppling backwards off Blaine’s lap, and he had to grab the couch cushions on either side of Blaine’s head to steady himself. “Are you… no! Of course not!” He shifted, settling himself more firmly on Blaine’s knees. “How could you even ask me something like that?”

At least Blaine had the good grace to blush. He looked down, shrugging slightly, staring at where his hands rested on Kurt’s thighs. “I just… sometimes—not often, you know, but… sometimes, when we’re, uh… like this, you’ll just… all of a sudden it seems like you’re a million miles away.”

Kurt let his hands slip off the couch cushions, down to Blaine’s shoulders. “Oh. That.”

Blaine gave him a quick look. “Yes—that. What is that?”

Kurt squeezed Blaine’s shoulders a little. “Uh. It’s… um. It’s not boredom, I promise.”

“Kurt—”

“I’m not bored, Blaine,” Kurt said testily, pressing his knees into Blaine’s hips. “Although I might just get annoyed, if you don’t start making out with me again soon—”

Blaine stopped him with one implacable hand on his chest just as he was leaning down to pick up where they’d left off. “It’s important.”

Kurt sighed. “It’s not. It’s nothing, Blaine, it’s just… it’s nothing. It’s really, really nothing—”

“Then why won’t you tell me about it?”

“Because I… look, I just don’t want to, okay?”

“Kurt—”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “God—okay, Blaine, I’m… when that happens, I’m thinking about you.”

Blaine squinted a little. “About me.”

“Yes.”

“You’re thinking about me.”

“I just said that.”

“So when we’re making out, you stop being with me so you can go think about me—”

“Well don’t put it like that—”

“That’s the way you said it—I didn’t put it—you said—” Blaine broke off, blinking with his brows drawn down low, then turned back to Kurt. “What are you thinking? About me?”

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. “Mostly that I wish you’d shut up and kiss me—”

“Not now, Kurt. Then. When you go away.”

Kurt took a breath, and felt his face flush hot. He squirmed a little on Blaine’s lap. “Fine, Blaine. I’ll tell you. When I go away I’m thinking about you, about being with you, about what it might be like to be with you if you were, uh, more… dominant.” He’d said it. His face was on fire. His face was burning, and Blaine looked like a dog that was trying to understand human speech.

Blaine blinked. “More… dominant.”

Seriously, he could explain spontaneous human combustion—these were obviously individuals who confessed their naughty fantasies to their wonderful, amazing but fairly uptight boyfriends. “Yes.”

Blaine’s brow furrowed. “You mean like… ordering for you in restaurants?”

Kurt bit his lips. Hard. “Uh. No. Never mind—”

“You mean, like, defending your honor and getting in fights? Because I’d—”

“No, Blaine. I don’t want you to get in fights. I don’t want you to change a single thing you—”

“You don’t mean—”

“Blaine—”

“Oh. Oh, Kurt. You don’t… you mean, um—”

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt snapped. “I mean dominant, like—Kurt, get on your knees and suck my cock.”

Blaine looked cataclysmically, comically shocked. “Kurt Hummel—”

Kurt waved his finger in Blaine’s face. “Shut up, Blaine—you asked. You asked and you wouldn’t stop asking—”

“Because I thought you were bored with me!” Blaine said, catching his finger and squeezing it before letting it go. “Not because I thought you were… mentally betraying me with my badly-behaved doppelganger—”

Kurt covered his face with his hands. “It’s not—God, Blaine; it’s not like that, okay?”

“What happened to Mr. Fingertips-touching-is-as-romantic-as-it-gets?” Blaine sounded truly, tragically aggrieved.

Kurt dropped his hands back to Blaine’s shoulders. “He got incinerated, okay? He went up in smoke the first time you got on top of me and made me come so hard I forgot my own name.”

Blaine’s eyes went wide. “Oh.” He really was terribly pretty when he blushed. He looked away, blinking quickly, chewing his bottom lip a little in a way that made Kurt want to take over and do it for him, then turned back. “I… I could do that, I guess.”

“Blaine, no—it’s… I told you, I don’t want you to change a single—” He lost the rest in a breathless gasp when Blaine took him by the waist and flipped him sideways, pressing him down into the couch and settling on top of him.

“I could,” Blaine said, almost thoughtfully, catching Kurt’s wrists and stretching them up, up, pressing them hard against the arm of the couch. He looked up at them, then back down at Kurt. “Keep those there. Don’t move them.”

Kurt’s heart thumped hard in his chest, and he shifted a little because he suddenly needed more room. In his pants. “Okay,” he said, breathless, then, “what happens if I move?”

Bad question, because Blaine obviously, actually thought about it, staring off into the distance before he looked at Kurt with a pained expression on his face. “I’ll still love you!” he declared fervently, and Kurt broke up into helpless peals of laughter, giggling endlessly while Blaine banged his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “That was dumb, dumb, dumb—Kurt, sorry about that, I just—”

“Blaine,” Kurt wheezed when he could. “Seriously—you don’t have to, I mean, really, I love you just the way you—”

“Get on your knees,” Blaine said angrily, glaring at him. “I mean it, Kurt. Right now.”

Kurt hiccupped. “Okay,” he said, and then waited. And then waited some more. “Um. Blaine?”

“What?” Blaine snapped. “Why aren’t you on your knees yet?”

“Because you’re lying on top of me,” Kurt said slowly. “And I can’t move.”

“Oh, of course,” Blaine said at once, jumping up and then offering him a hand. “Terribly sorry. I didn’t think of that.”

Kurt took Blaine’s hand, but used it to pull Blaine back down rather than heave himself up. “Blaine Anderson, you are the most adorable, wonderful, amazing man on the planet, and I love you just the way you are.” He wrapped his legs around Blaine’s hips, just to make sure he didn’t get any more brilliant ideas. “Now, shut up and kiss me and roll around on top of me until you make me come so hard I forget my own name. I love it when you do that.”

***

That’s really where it should have ended, but of course Blaine was Blaine and so… it didn’t end there.

“Kurt?”

“Mmm?” he’d been daydreaming, drifting along with the music (Blaine’s ‘date night with Kurt’ playlist—he knew every single song on it, and all of the choices were impeccable and also very touching) while Blaine drove him home after the movie.

“Blow me.”

Kurt snapped his head around to look out the windshield—no, they weren’t about to get hit by a truck. So that meant… He looked back at Blaine. “Um.” He licked his lips. “Like… right now?”

“Right now,” Blaine said firmly, almost grimly, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “Do it.”

Kurt really did not need to be told twice. It was going to be awkward and uncomfortable working around the giant console between the front seats, but honestly he couldn’t have cared less—he put his hand between Blaine’s legs and Blaine was hard, already hard for him, and Kurt moaned a little. The car swerved, then straightened.

Blaine was salty and gorgeous and steel-hard and velvety and felt huge and hot in his mouth, and Kurt was kind of limited in how far down he could go, so he tried to make up for that with extra tongue and harder sucking.

“Fuck, Kurt—” That had to be a record, profanity from Blaine within the first fifteen seconds. “Your mouth is just…” Kurt grabbed onto Blaine’s thighs as the car swerved again. “God, easy—I don’t want to come yet or, or, or… kill us.”

Kurt didn’t want that either. He was hard and aching himself, and they rarely got to take their time at this because of nosy parents and other horrible but unavoidable obstacles. He backed off to sweet, slow, light suckling, no real rhythm but just a few bobs of his head followed by lots of licking, tracing the ridges and veins he could feel but not see with the tip of his tongue. Blaine gasped and sighed and pushed up towards his mouth whenever he could, and Kurt had to swallow and keep swallowing because the suspicions he’d formed during the few, agonizingly rushed times they’d done this had been right: it was fucking hot, he fucking loved it, and if Blaine would only grab the back of his head and push—

Blaine’s hand touched the back of his head, and Kurt heaved a little, but Blaine’s fingers only threaded gently into his hair. “Jesus, Kurt—that… yes. Oh fuck you are so fucking good at that—you—oh—”

It was dark, much darker than when they’d started on the highway, and Kurt figured they had to be getting close to his house. He so didn’t care. He took Blaine just a little deeper, more like regular strokes now but still gentle and slow, dragging it out. Blaine was groaning lushly, and the car felt like it was slowing down, weaving a bit, so Kurt snuck one hand down to his own cock because he was going to make Blaine come as soon as he parked—but not alone.

But Blaine didn’t park, and Kurt was puzzled until he felt them take a turn and thought—circling the block, of course. Brilliant. He kept it up and kept sucking and really—he didn’t need to touch himself much at all to be right on the edge, because the ache in his jaw and the slide of Blaine’s cock over his tongue and Blaine’s raw-sounding, endless groans were really… they were really… he was…

“Kurt—” the car slowed, jerked, shuddered and then stalled. Kurt had just enough time to hope they weren’t stuck in the middle of an intersection before Blaine jerked, shuddered, and then came down his throat—there was tearing fabric somewhere, but Kurt couldn’t bring himself to care because it only took one rough slide of his own palm down the fly of his jeans before he came himself, sighing and sucking and trying to catch all of the salt-bitter come he could before he had to pull back for air, had to breathe.

“Oh, God,” he heard Blaine say faintly, dull thumps of one fist against the interior of the door. “Kurt, you just came, didn’t you? That’s… fuck, that’s so hot—”

He touched Blaine’s stomach gently, warming his palm against it, then drew back because—Blaine had been fully clothed, last time he’d checked. “Uh. Blaine? Why is your… what happened to your shirt?”

“Casualty of war,” Blaine breathed quietly, pulling him up and kissing him deeply. “Didn’t want to… um, be pushy, so I grabbed my shirt so I wouldn’t, uh—”

His boyfriend was really the kindest, most thoughtful idiot ever. “Oh.” He kissed Blaine back, sucking hard on his tongue while Blaine shivered. “For the record, you don’t have to destroy your wardrobe when I do that—you can… you know, get a little pushy.” He kissed Blaine one last time, then slid back into his own seat.

Which was when he realized that no, they weren’t in the middle of an intersection. They were in the middle of… nothing. Nowhere. The headlights illuminated a poorly-paved, abandoned-looking road and some trees, and that was all—everything else around them was black. Pitch-black. “Blaine. Where are we?”

“I have no idea,” Blaine said calmly. “I got off the highway when you… uh. It was hard to… I didn’t want to, you know, endanger anyone, so I just… drove. Here.”

“That’s… good, but. Where are we?”

Thankfully, Blaine’s car had all the bells and whistles, including GPS. Tragically, the damn thing seemed to think they were in the middle of downtown Lima, and not halfway to wherever they filmed Deliverance.

“I’ll just turn around and head back,” Blaine said, and Kurt was happy to go along with that plan. It was a good plan for about half a mile, which was when Blaine’s car ran out of gas.

“It can’t,” Blaine said irritably, thumping the dashboard lightly with one fist. “There are warning bells—it beeps at me when, when it’s—”

It seemed like they both realized the awful truth at the exact same moment, because Kurt saw Blaine looking at him in the tiny bit of light from the headlamps, his mouth open, dismayed. “I thought you were just pushing random buttons,” Kurt said slowly. “Because there was this beeping but the car kept going, and I…”

“Didn’t even hear it,” Blaine said, hushed and solemn. Then he went for his pocket. “I hope at least one of our phones gets service out here—”

They didn’t.

In the end, Kurt got home a full two hours past his appointed curfew time, and his dad was in the driveway with his arms crossed, glaring at both of them, and then glaring only at Blaine when Kurt tumbled out of the car issuing apologies and talking about how they’d driven out to look at the stars—car trouble—no cell service—and he looked back at the car to figure out why his dad was glaring (other than the obvious) in time to see Blaine quickly zipping his light jacket closed to hide the fact that his shirt had been torn open.

“It’s not what you think,” Kurt said, even though, yeah, okay, it kind of was exactly what his dad probably thought.

“Don’t wanna hear it,” his dad said sternly. “Get in the house and get to bed.”

Kurt went in the house, and went to bed.

***

After that, Blaine brought him home early after dates, pulling right up into the driveway, which meant they only got to kiss a little—politely—before Kurt had to go. And maybe he could have handled that, more or less, for a while, maybe, until the Wrath of Dad subsided. But the fact that this new, sad state of affairs coincided with the fact that Blaine called him less often, texted him less often, and mostly seemed distracted whenever they were together—that was… unacceptable.

Kurt needed to say something. But it was hard, because he was fully aware that it was his own damn fault. He never should have told Blaine about his stupid fantasies, because Blaine took things—everything—so seriously, because, because…

Because despite his confidence and his ability to admit, with the utmost casualness, that he was in love, Blaine worked at being a good boyfriend like someone was going to grade him on it sooner or later.

***

One more date-night spent in the company of quiet, distracted Blaine was enough for Kurt. “Don’t park in the driveway,” he said, once Blaine turned onto his street at the end of the evening. Blaine looked at him curiously for a moment, then obediently pulled to the curb about half a block away from the house, next to a tall privacy hedge they’d been known to take advantage of. When Blaine turned off the engine Kurt took a deep breath and then ran his hands down his lap, squeezing his knees.

“Blaine, I’m sorry,” he said, because, well, he was. “I never should have… I shouldn’t have told you what I told you, because even though I never meant it to I think it gave you some idea that you’re… that I don’t like you just the way you are and that’s… God. Not true.” He took another breath, reaching for more because Blaine had looked away from him, staring out the windshield with a set, careful look on his face. “It’s so not true because I love you exactly the way you are, Blaine—you’re, you’re really sweet and wonderful and a nice guy and I’m so… glad of that, grateful for that, I love it, I love you, I love—”

“Shut up, Kurt,” Blaine said mildly, still staring out the windshield. Kurt rocked a little.

“Sorry, I’m… I’m probably saying this wrong, I don’t… I’m not sure how else to say it, okay? I love the fact that you’re charming. I love the fact that you’re polite. I love the fact that you’re you—”

Blaine looked at him then, finally, and to Kurt’s amazement, he was smiling—his usual, affectionate, fond smile. “Kurt. Shut. Up.”

Kurt shut up.

“Kurt, look. I know I’ve been, uh, kind of off in my own world lately, but I needed to… there were some things I needed to think about, and find out about, and then I had to think about the things I found out about—”

Kurt tugged on his own hair forlornly. “Oh, God, I gave you a complex, didn’t I?”

“Kurt.”

“Shutting up now. Please tell me you’re not neurotic.”

“No. I’m not neurotic.” Blaine took a deep breath, looking Kurt over, blatantly eyeing him in a way Blaine never ever did, and Kurt swallowed, hard. “There’s… I need you to understand something.” Kurt nodded, unwilling to speak. “I don’t… it’s not my, uh, politeness, or niceness, that got in my way when I tried to… you know. When I tried.”

“Oh.” Blaine’s eyes were dark, so dark, dark and frankly appraising, and just looking at them made Kurt shiver a little inside.

Blaine reached out and touched Kurt’s temple; softly, the barest barely-there brush of fingers, and then Kurt shivered on the outside. “It wasn’t politeness, okay?” Blaine continued quietly, calmly. “It was love. It was how much I love you. Which is… a lot, Kurt. A whole lot.”

Kurt’s heart thudded hard in his chest, and he swallowed again. “I love you t—”

“Shut up,” Blaine repeated, still smiling. “I just didn’t know how… how to love you, and square that up with the thought of doing these things that seemed so… unloving.” Blaine’s fingers dropped to his ear, and then his neck, and Kurt bit his lip. “But that was just because I didn’t know, because I’d honestly never looked into it before and so… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” Kurt whispered before he could stop himself, but Blaine just smiled wider, shaking his head.

Blaine’s thumb traced under Kurt’s jaw, tilting his head back a little. “I didn’t know that it’s… not unloving, not at all; that they’re not mutually exclusive, love and… and these other things.” Blaine’s dark eyes seemed to fill the whole world, and his voice had weight, texture—it slipped over Kurt’s skin like a caress. “And once I got that—that I didn’t need to be someone I wasn’t, that I didn’t need to feel differently about you, or feel less—once I got that I could take how I feel about you, and then… give in to it—” Blaine licked his lips, staring at Kurt’s mouth. “After that, it was like… flipping a switch.”

“Flipping a switch…” Kurt echoed without knowing what the hell he was saying. He was tingling. Everywhere, but especially where Blaine was touching him, rubbing him, right at the curve of his jaw.

“In fact,” Blaine continued softly, so quiet but there was no other sound, Kurt couldn’t hear anything else. “It’s actually kind of the whole point, that I can… love you,” his thumb slid over Kurt’s lips, and Kurt gasped. “Adore you, treasure you, absolutely cherish every single amazing bit of you—” tiny scrape of Blaine’s thumbnail at the supersensitive corner of his mouth, and Kurt squeaked softly. He couldn’t help it. “And really enjoy doing this.”

Blaine grabbed the back of Kurt’s head and pulled him into a kiss—but it was nothing at all like Blaine’s usual sweet, seductive, flickery-teasing kisses that always made Kurt squirm around like he was sitting on a hot stove. This was a full-on mouth invasion, all of Kurt’s muscles stretched tight because Blaine had dragged him half out of his seat, and he couldn’t breathe because Blaine’s tongue was fucking his mouth like he owned it, and in two seconds Kurt was so turned on his toes were curling inside his boots.

“Oh,” Kurt panted softly when Blaine finally let him up for air, his grip on Kurt’s hair steady, holding their faces a few scant inches apart. “I… oh wow.”

“Are you hard right now?” Blaine asked him in a low, intimate tone that made Kurt’s stomach do cartwheels.

“God, yes. I’m—”

He cut off abruptly with a loud gasp because Blaine held him, kept him right where he was with one hand while reaching into his lap with the other, groping him with a lazy, casual assurance, rubbing up against where Kurt was torturously trapped in his jeans and so hard, hard and aching and… “Good,” Blaine said softly, happily, his voice as dark and sweet as chocolate. He squeezed, lightly, then a little harder, and when Kurt moaned helplessly, hips twitching, Blaine let go. Kurt was about to protest, because somebody had to and really, under the circumstances he thought it probably should be him—but he had no time because Blaine went right for his neck after that, biting him softly just above the collar, then sliding up to his ear. “Don’t jerk off tonight,” Blaine told him, and Kurt’s whole body flushed supernova-hot. “Don’t jerk off and don’t come, until I tell you. Hold it for me. You can do that, right?”

Kurt almost came in his pants. “Nrrrr.”

Blaine giggled. Actually giggled, and kissed his earlobe softly. “Is that aroused-Kurt-speak for ‘yes, Blaine’?”

“I… oh. I—yes, I… please. Blaine—”

“Thank you, Kurt,” Blaine told him, his voice polite and gracious and gratified and so, so sexy. He grinned. “I think I’ll let you out here—I figure you might need the walk to your house to, um, compose yourself.”

“Oh God—you mean it,” Kurt whimpered, his knees rubbing together helplessly because—fuck. Blaine meant it.

“Sweet dreams,” Blaine told him, kissing him again with lazy, lascivious enjoyment. “Love you.”

Kurt moaned when Blaine finished with him. “Hey,” Kurt said, his breathing rushed and hectic and out of control, every inch of him buzzing. “Did I ever tell you about the fantasies I have where you keep me in a constant state of sexual fulfillment?”

Blaine cracked up. And the bastard had the nerve to be devastatingly handsome while he did it, too.

***

In his dream everything was an amazing shade of rosy-gold that he really had no name for, light everywhere, so much light like brilliant sunshine filtering through his closed eyelids. He had Blaine’s curls caught in his fingers and the light came through them, light that had weight, that pressed him down—only it wasn’t the light pressing him down but Blaine, and suddenly there was a slow, deliriously-unfolding realization that they were fucking—that Blaine was fucking him, moving in him with powerful, exquisite strokes.

His dream-brain turned out to be just as curious as his waking brain, because he immediately seized on it, tried to analyze it—what it felt like (something he’d been wondering about since that first time Blaine made him come, leaving him shaking and shaken and suddenly, desperately curious about a whole lot more than fingertips). But it was… maddeningly amorphous, just fullness and pleasure and connectedness, and there was no time to analyze anything because it was just… so good, because Blaine was fucking him and Blaine was going to make him come and… oh. He was there, he was right there, couldn’t get away and couldn’t stop and had to just take it and take it and shiver on the ecstatic, delicious edge of everything, and then he—

—woke up, fishtailing with the sheets tangled between his thighs, gasping. Two quick shoves with his hips or one quick squeeze with his hand would have done it, would have sent him over, but instead he bit his pillow hard, half-growling and half-sobbing, and backed down one grudging inch at a time until he was curled up in his bed around his raging, throbbing erection, wondering exactly when his stupid, stupid subconscious had decided to be in league with his stupid, stupid boyfriend.

***

“Hey,” he said, looking over his shoulder as Blaine took a turn. “Isn’t the… the restaurant’s the other way, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Blaine said, smiling. “But we’re not going there.”

“Where are we going?”

“My place. My parents are out for the evening.”

“Oh thank God,” Kurt said, because he’d hit the point where he was afraid to walk fast because he didn’t trust his thighs not to burst into flames.

Blaine glanced at him. “Unless you’d rather go to dinner…?”

“Blaine. Can you drive faster?”

Blaine cracked up. “Kurt—I just… God, I love you so much—”

“If you drive faster, you can love a lot more of me a lot sooner.”

“Oh,” Blaine said happily, smiling at him, smiling at everything. “I think I can love pretty much all of you even while taking my time.” He arched one eyebrow. “At least, I plan to try.” Blaine reached over and caught his hand, pulling it up and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

Kurt shivered.

***

This had been his idea—his fantasy. Kurt kept reminding himself of that. Blaine was just… giving him what he wanted. The fact that Blaine had chosen to do it by not giving him what he wanted was… incidental. And probably karma, or something.

There was a haze of kisses—not hot and demanding like the one last night, but soft and constant and somehow sweetly solemn. Blaine kissed him nonstop while working him slowly out of his clothes, then kept kissing him while restlessly stripping out of his own. Then they were naked and stretched on Blaine’s soft, cool bed and Kurt had almost no time to appreciate the amazing wonder of that before Blaine pulled back from him, seemingly impossibly far above him up on his knees, looking at him with dark, hungry eyes.

Kurt reached up for him. “Blaine—”

“I’ve never gotten to really look at you,” Blaine said softly, just looking, his hands flexing gently like he couldn’t decide where to touch first. “You’re so gorgeous. I could just stare at you for hours.”

“Couldn’t you take a picture and stare at it later?” Kurt whispered, bunching the duvet in his fists so he didn’t try to cover himself with his hands. “I mean, I feel kind of… exposed.”

Blaine’s eyes flicked up to his face, a wry smile twisting his mouth. “Don’t tempt me,” he muttered dryly. Then he looked back down, staring right at Kurt’s cock, which, brainless idiot that it was, twitched a little from the attention, bouncing against his stomach and leaving behind a thread of clear, sticky fluid. “Besides,” Blaine added gently, “this isn’t really ‘exposed’.”

Kurt was hot, he could feel the blush inching down his neck, down his chest. “I think lying here buck-naked and fully erect while you ogle me is kind of exposed, Blaine.”

Blaine picked Kurt’s legs up beneath each knee and lifted, pushing his legs open and folding them back until Kurt’s knees were tight against his chest. “Now this,” Blaine said cheerfully. “This is exposed.”

“…fuck…” Kurt managed. He didn’t even object when Blaine captured both of his hands and tucked them under his knees.

Blaine squeezed his wrists gently. “Just hold your legs up like that—stay like that, okay?”

“What, what—what if I don’t?”

Blaine smiled. “I own a lot of ties, Kurt,” he said mildly, and Kurt was about to say something about how this was hardly the time for a wardrobe discussion when he realized what Blaine was talking about and he kind of thrashed a little on the bed, because his brain might be freaking out but his hips (okay, his dick, honestly) thought that was a fine idea. Just peachy.

Blaine stroked the very tips of his fingers down the exposed undersides of Kurt’s thighs, and Kurt made a noise that undoubtedly brought shame and dishonor upon several generations of his ancestors. He was still shivering from that when Blaine slid down, then further down, and Kurt’s cock flexed upwards so hard towards Blaine’s mouth that he felt the ache of it in his stomach muscles—but Blaine didn’t even pause there, he just kept sliding down until he grabbed Kurt’s hips hard with both hands and started softly, teasingly licking his ass.

Something Kurt had never even thought of before.

But obviously, Blaine had.

Because Blaine was a fucking genius.

“Blaine—”

Blaine pulled back. “Is it too—”

“Oh God—don’t stop!”

“’kay.” Blaine went back to being a genius, and Kurt rocked his hips into Blaine’s strong, hot hands and rode his tongue. He had to turn his head to the side, panting and moaning at the same time, which sounded pretty ridiculous but he couldn’t fucking control himself because Blaine was licking and flicking and swirling his tongue and pushing inside him and Kurt thought he might be actually melting, sweat trickling down his sides as he shuddered and writhed and pulled hard under his knees to spread wider, to get more.

“I’m pretty sure I’m gonna come now,” he said softly, his voice high and faint and far away to his own ears. But it turned out to be a cataclysmically stupid thing to say, because Blaine stopped, pulling back a little.

“Not yet, Kurt—be patient,” and that was a horrible thing to say, and he would have told Blaine so if Blaine hadn’t immediately gone back and started gently sucking on Kurt’s balls, then licking up to the tip of his cock, sucking lightly and then back down and the whole thing was fucking insane, Blaine moving from his cock to his balls to his ass and back again with his amazing, dangerous, succulent mouth. Things started to blur a little, and Kurt couldn’t even be certain what he wanted any more except—more, more of everything, more of Blaine’s silky, wicked tongue everywhere, undoing him, making him ache and shiver and writhe.

He was so far gone that the next time Blaine pulled back Kurt only sighed, shuddering. “You are just… ridiculously hot,” Blaine said in a throaty whisper, and Kurt lost his grip on his knees when Blaine crawled up between his legs and kissed him hard, everything so hot and wet and humid that they might as well have been making out in a sauna. They rolled over and Kurt almost went right off the bed—he would have if Blaine hadn’t grabbed him, hauling Kurt back up with a strength that made him gasp. Blaine shifted his grip from Kurt’s shoulders to Kurt’s hair, kissed him until his toes curled, then guided him down, with no hesitation, right down to Blaine’s hard, flushed, sticky cock.

Kurt was already moaning when Blaine thrust into his mouth, and Blaine didn’t give him much of a chance to adjust—he just went for it, fucking Kurt’s mouth like he’d been waiting for hours to do it. He kept one hand tight in Kurt’s hair and wrapped the other around the base of his own dick, lifting his hips fast and hard while Kurt sucked and swallowed and shoved himself desperately into the wadded-up duvet under his hips. Blaine groaned and Kurt humped the bed, shaking, until Blaine tugged his head up, holding him still.

“You can’t come yet, Kurt,” Blaine said in that raw, husky voice that Kurt could feel like a caress.

“When… when… I need—fuck. Blaine…”

“I promise, I’ll let you know.” Blaine held him where he was, and used the hand that wasn’t clamped into Kurt’s hair to rub the wet tip of his cock over Kurt’s lips. “Keep your mouth open,” he murmured, “Like that. Good.”

Kurt closed his eyes and panted, the sensitive skin of his lips burning as Blaine traced around them. Then Blaine tugged his head down and fucked his mouth some more, slower this time: deep, luxurious strokes that Kurt felt everywhere, so turned on his teeth were tingling. Blaine went slowly, and then faster—moaned softly, and then louder and Kurt was going to lose his fucking mind if it didn’t stop, except he kind of never wanted it to stop.

“Mouth open, Kurt,” Blaine reminded him in a shaky whisper, holding him up again, holding him still, rubbing just the tip of his cock just the smallest bit over the tip of Kurt’s tongue, just a tiny caress that felt absolutely, incredibly huge. “Your mouth makes me crazy,” Blaine told him softly, panting. “So sexy, and soft and pretty and… God.” Down again, and Kurt sucked wetly, swallowing when Blaine hit the back of his throat. Blaine moaned once, twice, and then pulled him off. “Okay, mouth open, eyes closed,” Blaine gritted through his teeth, and before his fluttering eyes closed Kurt saw Blaine jerking himself off roughly, his hand a blur.

Kurt gasped when Blaine shot into his mouth, hot wetness streaking over his lips, tongue, a little on his cheeks and chin. Blaine groaned and Kurt cried out quietly, burning everywhere, random muscles jumping in his legs, his arms, his back. He didn’t resist when Blaine gathered him in, kissing him deeply, gratefully—he just shivered and let Blaine hold him up, feeling Blaine’s heartbeat race under the sweat-slick skin of his chest.

“That was amazing—you—you’re amazing,” Blaine told him breathlessly, both hands cupping his face with his thumbs tracing lightly across Kurt’s cheekbones—and fuck, even that made the ache worse.

“Blaine, please,” he whispered, his voice raw and soft and desperate.

“Soon, Kurt; I… you’ve been so good, and I know it’s hard for you. I just… I’d really like to be inside you when you come, if that’s… if it’s something you want.”

Kurt very nearly showed him how much by coming all over him right then and there. “Yes, yeah, yes,” he breathed, shaking hard. “I… what do I—”

“Just try to be patient,” Blaine told him. “We’ll get there, I promise.”

Kurt reminded himself once again that he’d wanted Blaine to take charge—although maybe he would have thought twice about that if he’d known Blaine’s idea of taking charge meant being very polite and compassionate while going for the gold in the Cocktease Olympics. “I… I’ll try.”

Blaine smiled at him, sweaty and starry-eyed and rumpled and so fucking sexy it made his mouth water. “Thank you, Kurt.”

Kurt got lost in kisses again, straddling Blaine’s waist while Blaine feasted on his mouth and touched him everywhere, stroking and squeezing, sometimes light and sometimes hard and heavy, and he didn’t even bother trying not to twitch and moan when Blaine’s fingers brushed his cock or his ass or his thighs or his tight, aching nipples. “Sensitive,” Blaine said softly, brushing them with his thumbs until Kurt arched his back and shivered.

“Yes,” Kurt gasped.

“More sensitive than mine, I think.”

“Uh… don’t know. Oh. Maybe?”

Blaine looked at him speculatively from under his lashes. “Want to find out?”

“How?”

Blaine stretched sideways, rummaging in his bedside drawer. He tossed a bottle of lube on the bed (Kurt stayed quiet, but his breath caught in his throat like fine-mesh fabric snagged on a thorn), then pulled out something else, something small and wooden and… a pair of clothespins.

“Oh. Oh. Oh, Blaine, I—”

“We don’t have to, Kurt—it was just an—”

“No, no, no—I mean yes—I mean… no, don’t put them away. I want… yes.” He closed his own hand over Blaine’s before Blaine could dump them back in the drawer, his heart hammering, audible in his voice.

Blaine blinked at him. “So… I’m sorry, Kurt, but I need to be really clear on this. That’s a yes?”

Kurt swallowed. “Yes. Please. I’ve… I’d like to try it.”

He watched Blaine’s face rather than looking down at his chest when Blaine put the first clothespin on—Blaine’s expression absorbed, careful, almost studious. Kurt felt a quick, sharp spike of intense sensation that made him gasp, followed by a low throb. Blaine glanced up at him. “Too much?”

 “No,” Kurt said faintly, feeling his cheeks burn. “Feels good, actually.”

And it did, until Blaine clipped the second one on—then it felt fucking amazing, like somehow having both of his nipples clamped at once had completed a kind of circuit and he thought—ridiculously, but helplessly—of jumper cables, because it felt electric, like bolts of melted heat were arcing through both of his nipples and right down into his balls.

He came to a sudden realization that he was moaning, loudly and continuously, and that Blaine’s hands around his waist were the only things holding him up. His dick twitched rhythmically, his hips jerking a little each time.

“Not yet, Kurt,” Blaine told him. “Just… hold on. You’re so, so good, so beautiful, so fucking hot—just hold on for me, okay?”

“Fuck me,” Kurt whispered, and started shaking.

Blaine swallowed audibly. “Yeah, I will, I… just hold on.”

Kurt held on, leaning his hot face into the curve of Blaine’s neck while Blaine slowly worked him open with his fingers, adding a new counterpoint beat to the rhythm Kurt could feel everywhere, throbbing right down to his toes. When Blaine finally grabbed his hips with shaking hands and pushed into him, Kurt’s head fell back and he had to trust Blaine to keep him upright because fingers were one thing but Blaine’s cock was… something else entirely, something that spoke body-to-body in a language his speaking brain would never be able to understand.

“Blaine… I… what do I do?” he was airless, breathless, babbling. He couldn’t stop. His hands moved like restless birds, lighting and then flying, place to place.

“You’re—fuck, Kurt—you’re so fucking hot inside,” Blaine said, holding his hips and twisting, lifting up into him. “Just… let me. Just take it. Can you—?”

“Yeah, yes, I—” Kurt nodded, then arched helplessly when just that tiny movement made him throb from his nipples right down to his aching, stretched-full ass. “Please.”

Blaine fucked him slowly, holding Kurt steady and lifting up to push into him over and over until Blaine was glittered with sweat and gasping softly, his stomach muscles fluttering visibly under his skin. “Kurt—”

“Yes?”

“Touch yourself for me.”

He’d thought he couldn’t feel any more vulnerable, any more exposed.

He’d been wrong about that. “I—”

“Show me.” Blaine’s eyes were wide and dark and hot. “I want to watch you get yourself off.”

Kurt held out for a few moments, despite the fact that he’d been waiting for fucking forever, because Blaine’s gaze was like heat on his skin and his lungs somehow couldn’t get enough air and his body was… twisting, suspended between desire and the keen awareness that Blaine was watching him, that Blaine wanted to watch him, wanted to watch him jerk off… Kurt let out a moan that sounded more like a sob, covered his face with one hand and wrapped the other one around his cock. His hips twitched hard. “Oh God—”

“Don’t cover your face,” Blaine whispered, and Kurt let his hand drop, pressing hard against Blaine’s chest, fingers curling helplessly while he stroked himself. He tried to keep still and failed, arching into his own fist and then sinking back onto Blaine’s cock, need eclipsing everything else little by little until he was riding hard and fast, his skin burning-hot everywhere.

“Blaine—”

“Yeah. Yes. Kurt. Do it.” Blaine let go of his hips, skimming on sweat up the curve of his waist to his chest. Both clothespins came off at once and there was just cool, achy numbness there until Blaine gently pinched his nipples, twisting a little, and then it went white-hot and it was like everything fucking exploded. Kurt dropped his head back and uttered one low, throat-cracking groan before he came so hard his muscles locked up, hard enough that it felt like every cell in his body was getting off, hard enough that his vision went dark and his hearing cut out and then back in and he wondered, vaguely, if he was maybe going to pass out.

He didn’t, but he was dizzy and boneless and lax and floaty and… “Kurt,” Blaine moaned, curling up around him, strong arms around his chest crushing what little air he had left in him right out again. Blaine kissed him and pulled him down hard and came, and Kurt could feel every pulse inside him distinct and clear like an aftershock, tingling through his oversensitive cock and nipples and ass while he cried out softly, shivering in Blaine’s arms.

***

“Love you.” Kiss. “Love you so, so much.” Kiss. “Love you, Blaine—”

Blaine rolled on top of him, laughing, his eyes bright. “Okay, so, I guess I finally figured out what it takes.”

Kurt wrapped his legs around Blaine’s waist and his arms around Blaine’s neck, and kissed him a few more times before the words sank in. “Wait—what, what it takes to… what?”

Blaine kissed him sweetly, solemnly. “To make you like this.” One more kiss. “You know. Mushy.”

Kurt unwound his arms and batted Blaine’s shoulders lightly. “You—I’ll have you know I’m… I’m a very romantic person!” Blaine snorted faintly. “I am! When I’m not… driven to madness by orgasm deprivation—”

Blaine started giggling. Kurt thumped him softly on the head. “Sadist. Now shut up and snuggle me some more—we don’t have much time left.”

 “Mmm,” Blaine hummed, grinning, brushing Kurt’s hair back from his forehead. “You know how I love it when you get all bossy—oh wait, no; that’s you.”

Kurt snickered helplessly. “You love it.”

Blaine kissed his temple. “Apparently, we both do.”

~End~

Author’s endnotes: So, I’d written a dark kinky Klaine story, and then I wrote an angsty kinky Klaine story, and then I wondered: could I write a silly/schmoopy kinky Klaine story? AubreyLi’s lovely prompt seemed the perfect opportunity for me to find out, so I gave it a shot. A great deal of inspiration for this tale was drawn from a conversation I had with my fellow Toppishly-natured friend Ariadne, who told me that she repressed her instincts for years because she considered them to be essentially unloving—until she realized otherwise, after which she let it rip. I love a story with a happy ending, don’t you?

Title is from Reginald Shepherd’s poem ‘You, Therefore’.