FIC: GLEE: Blaine/Kurt - Put Your Hands on Me (and magic sparks) - (NC-17) - [WiP] 3/10?
Title: Put Your Hands on Me (and magic sparks) 3/10? [WiP]
Pairing: Blaine/Kurt
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,668 / 20,100 [so far]
Summary: AU. Faeries exist, but are a rarity. Slavery, and more specifically, sexual slavery, is a way of life for many people. || When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand. // When a half-Faerie boy is unlucky enough to be sold off in an auction to an ignorant human boy, he is sucked into a life he never wanted and forced to deal with an aspect of his species he didn't know existed.
Warnings/Contains: Non-explicit rape. Explicit dub-con. Slavery/sexual slavery. Fantasy-genre alternate universe. Dark!fic. Magic. Non-human species. PoV switches. General creepiness on Blaine's behalf. A fucked up society. Ear!porn? || More detailed warnings: ( skip) Magic-made-them-do-it, falling in love with your captor/Stockholm syndrome, mentions of torture.
Master Post / Previous Chapters
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.
presently
"You're looking pale," Blaine remarked too-casually, opening the shutters of his bedroom suite to let in some natural light. That was a horrific understatement. Kurt looked sickly, not simply pale. Blaine hadn't noticed earlier, downstairs in the commons where the light was softer, but under the bright lights of his room, the natural sunshine pouring in through the windows, it was obvious.
Kurt ignored his comment, already wandering around on his own, investigating the quarters without bothering to ask permission.
Blaine stared as Kurt walked around, tilting his head to one side to better look at a painting on the wall. He reminded Blaine of a cat, defiant and too curious by far.
It was going to get him into trouble some day, and Blaine might just let it happen. Kurt needed to learn boundaries.
Servants had already been in to unpack Blaine's things- that wasn't a chore he ever had to concern himself with- but to his irritation, he found a cot stored under his bed. He had no plans to let Kurt out of his bed at night. If he were to find out there was something else to accommodate him, who knew what Kurt would try in attempts to get away from him?
Not that Blaine would be angered or cajoled into having Kurt sleep on a cot. But that wouldn't stop Kurt from trying. No. Blaine would have to have it removed during dinner that evening.
"Your friends…."
Blaine looked up, jerked out of his trained of thought when Kurt spoke up. He stood on the other side of the bed, holding on to a bedpost.
"What about them?"
"They said. I mean, I remember your father mentioning before." Kurt looked down, appearing strangely shy. Blaine waited with what he felt was considerable patience for Kurt to continue.
"Just ask what it is you want to know," he prompted at last.
"You had another," Kurt said, then paused, thinking of what word he wanted to use, and concluded with, "pet." Distaste curled around the word like a heavy wisp of smoke.
"Sam." Blaine smiled toothily, amused when the sight of it caused Kurt to avert his eyes. "He had been a birthday present."
Blaine didn't miss the way Kurt's lips twisted into a sneer, no matter how brief an action it was. He felt a momentary desire to push Kurt down to his knees and have him put his mouth to a better use than the casual disrespect he continued to display. Blaine brushed the thought aside. For now.
"My father sold him to some family friends of ours before we'd even gotten you home."
"Is that all people are to you?" Kurt snapped. "And when something newer and prettier than me falls into your lap, are you just going to sell me off to the first person you can shove me onto, without even a second thought?"
His eyes widened as he snapped his mouth shut, looking shocked at his own outburst.
Blaine walked around the bed and cupped Kurt's cheek. He didn't speak, not even when Kurt made his escape by running off to the bathroom, frantically shutting the door behind himself.
Blaine looked down at his empty hand, not at the door Kurt had disappeared behind.
It took him a few moments, but he shook himself free from his thoughts and went back to setting his room to rights. It was one thing for it to be clean and tidy, but no one ever thought to hang up his robe above the radiator to keep it warm, or put his dinner jacket on the back of his desk chair. The bed was too neat, blankets and sheets tucked in firmly beneath the mattress.
Blaine was busy making his bed more comfortable, freeing the beddings from their confinement, when Kurt came out of the bathroom. His face was pink, but not in a hale and healthy way. His cheeks looked scrubbed raw and the skin around his eyes was puffy. And there were a few damp spots on his shirt.
It was obvious to Blaine that Kurt had been crying, then tried to cover it up by washing his face. It hadn't worked.
"I'm sorry," Kurt mumbled, resolutely looking anywhere but at Blaine.
"No you're not," said Blaine. He straightened out his comforter and turned towards Kurt, brow furrowed. "Well, you might be. But you're not sorry for what you said, or for saying it. You're sorry because you think I'm going to punish you."
"Aren't you?" Kurt asked. He sounded like was going to be sick. His voice was heavy with unhappiness and it wrapped around him like a dark storm cloud.
It was there again, that twisting to his words that made Blaine feel too much when Kurt spoke.
"Haven't decided yet." Blaine decided to keep it at that for now. He wasn't angry with Kurt. Not really. But he couldn't allow Kurt to continue to act up like that, either. If he didn't do something about his disrespectful attitude soon, it would only get worse as he found he could get away with it without any repercussions.
He ignored the way Kurt looked away from him, fearful.
"Come here," he said, holding an arm out to his pet. Kurt's eyes darted over to Blaine momentarily before sliding off him and back towards the wall. Then to the floor. He walked over, movements stilted, unlike his usual, natural, graceful glide. Kurt stopped a foot away, but didn't offer up any resistance when Blaine dragged him in closer, pulling his body up against his own and held him close.
Kurt's arms hesitantly went around him, hands going to Blaine's waist.
"Sam was a gift picked out by my mother. He enjoyed belonging to me, and I'm certain he's enjoying belonging to Quinn Fabray right now. I had never planned on keeping him for too long, and he knew that."
Blaine felt a shiver run through Kurt's thin frame.
"If you're afraid I'm going to tire of you and dump you onto the next willing person I can find, don't be."
Blaine kissed him then, lips nudging against Kurt's. He didn't rush, he took his time with Kurt. Blaine plied him with sweet kisses, tender kisses, until Kurt's lips parted and his fingers dug into Blaine's sides. Blaine took this as an opening, and slid his tongue into Kurt's mouth, taking satisfaction in the soft whimper it elicited from him.
Kurt's eyes were closed, but Blaine kept his open, wanting to watch the expressions on Kurt's face as they kissed. And they were kissing. This time, it was not simply Blaine kissing Kurt and Kurt allowing it to happen without a fuss, but he was actively responding to kiss, tongue making cautious sweeps against Blaine's.
Blaine decided to help himself along and lifted a hand to cup Kurt's face. He rubbed his thumb against his cheek before sweeping his hand back to trace the outline of Kurt's curved and pointed ear.
The resulting cry from Kurt went straight to Blaine's cock. He deepened the kiss and spun them around so that Kurt's back was now to the bed. He walked them both towards it until the backs of Kurt's legs bumped against the mattress.
Taking advantage of the fact that Kurt was still clinging to him, Blaine tucked his hands under Kurt's ass and pulled at his thighs to lift him up. He held up Kurt long enough to climb onto the bed, then tossed his pet onto it beneath him.
Kurt finally broke free from the kiss, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide and fearful, and Blaine took the time to think about how he'd miss that look one day.
"No, please," begged Kurt.
Though, he wouldn't miss dealing with his reluctance.
Blaine ran his hands down Kurt's chest, untucking his shirt from the pants he wore, ignoring the ways Kurt flinched at his touch.
"We don't have time for anything fancy," Blaine said in what he felt was a comforting tone. "You're starting to look worn down."
"I'm fine," said Kurt, though his protest was weak.
"You're too pale is what you are," Blaine said, voice firm.
"Please. Please, Blaine." Kurt sat up and wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist. He opened his eyes wide and adopted an exaggerated pout.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
"Can't we put this off until tonight?" Kurt asked of him, leaning in to leave a feather-light kiss on Blaine's lips before pulling back again. "I promise, I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want."
"Kurt…" Blaine said warningly.
"Please?"
Blaine looked at the pleading expression on Kurt's face and took stock of his options. Really, Kurt would do what Blaine wanted, one way or another. But the thought of having a night where Kurt didn't cry or constantly ask him to stop sounded appealing.
Making up his mind, Blaine moved to the head of the bed, tugging Kurt along with him, and sat with his back against the headboard. He had Kurt kneeling beside him, worry evident in his face.
Blaine picked up one of Kurt's hands and pressed his palm against the bulge in Blaine's pants. Kurt tried to jerk his hand away, but Blaine's fingers clung tight around his wrist, holding him in place.
"Use your hand on me," ordered Blaine. When Kurt tried to protest, he squeezed his wrist a little harder. "Use your hand on me," he reiterated, "and tonight you will behave yourself. No crying, no complaining."
Kurt was silent for a moment that felt like an eternity to Blaine, but then he looked Blaine in the eye.
"I can't help it if I cry," he bit out. Blaine couldn't help but find his constant defiance almost cute, which was not a good sign. "But I promise. No complaining."
"We're bargaining now?" Blaine was annoyed, but his amusement over Kurt's audacity was winning out. And, well, the annoyance was more at the fact that he was hard and not getting any satisfaction than anything else.
If he hadn't gotten rid of Sam, he would have had his cock expertly sucked and been out the door by now.
"Yes." Kurt's tone was firm. It was also all bravado.
"This better be a good hand job." Blaine sighed and leaned back, letting go of Kurt's wrist.
Kurt's relief was heavy in such close proximity. He took the time to rub his newly freed wrist like it hurt him, looking down and away from Blaine entirely.
"Did I hurt you?" Blaine asked him, reaching over to inspect the possible damage, but Kurt jerked his arm out of reach, holding it close to his chest.
"It's fine," he said, lifting his head to stare straight into Blaine's eyes.
Kurt's looked like they were on fire.
"I'm fine," he amended.
It was painfully obvious that he wasn't fine at all.
Blaine frowned, but leaned back, accepting Kurt's words. He didn't believe them, but he didn't feel like arguing.
"Then stop procrastinating."
Kurt sighed in disgust, but he reached out to Blaine, unbuttoning his pants with deft fingers.
Thankfully, Blaine's arousal had waned very little during Kurt's poor attempts at deflection. As Kurt's fingers freed him from the confines of his clothing, he allowed himself to sit back and enjoy the attention.
Kurt pulled his underwear down along with his trousers, not taking the time to be careful as he tugged the pants down to Blaine's knees.
"No need to be so rough," Blaine complained half-heartedly. Kurt stared at him with a strange look in his eyes, but he didn't speak. He simply wrapped his fingers, thick and sturdy, around Blaine's penis.
There weren't words for how it felt.
Blaine was sure that Kurt had no idea the effect he had on him. And, truth be told, Blaine didn't actually want Kurt to know. He let Kurt get away with far too much as it was. He didn't need Kurt holding any more leverage over him.
"Tighter," he instructed, settling back against his pillows.
Kurt scowled, but complied. A little too well.
Blaine hissed in discomfort and shifted his hips. "I can have you beaten, if I wish," he said, not entirely meaning the threat implicit in his words. Because, yes, he certainly could have Kurt beaten. He could have Kurt thrashed, or flogged, or whipped. He could throw Kurt out into the snow and tie him to a tree for the night if he wished. Blaine could loan him to the Warblers to play with. Take a blade to his porcelain skin. Or a branding iron.
Really, his choices were endless, assuming he didn't kill the fae boy.
Not that it was illegal or anything, just frowned upon. Also, his father would be furious at the loss of such a fine asset.
But he couldn't imagine ever doing any of those things. He'd always been a soft touch, but Kurt brought out the absolute worst in him. Blaine wanted to cosset Kurt, pamper him, please him until he purred in happiness.
Every time Kurt cried because of him, it hurt. Somewhere deep in his chest, there was an ache. Only when Kurt was pleased did the hurt lessen.
And the very last thing Blaine ever wanted was for anyone to find out about it. Even Kurt. Especially Kurt.
"Sorry," Kurt apologized in a too-pleasant tone of voice that wasn't fooling Blaine at all. Fingers loosened enough that his grip was no longer painful, Kurt pumped his fist up and down over Blaine's flesh, gaze focused down on his task.
His eyes were darkening, pupils widening as he stared at the effect he was having on Blaine's dick. His breath was getting shallower, and he was slowly leaning in closer.
Blaine wasn't sure what, precisely, was happening, but the air in the room felt like it was growing warmer. Or maybe that was just him. It was hard to tell. Kurt's grip was powerful and sure, his rhythm steady.
He was not prepared for Kurt to lean down and lap at the small amount of fluid gathering at the tip of his erection.
One dainty flick of the tongue, then two more broad strokes to remove all traces of it from the head. Kurt then placed his lips to the glans and pushed his tongue to Blaine's slit, stroking it fervently, seeking out whatever he could gain.
Blaine wasn't prepared for this and cried out in surprised pleasure, his toes curling at the added spark of pain from Kurt's over-enthusiasm. His hands pushed their way down and he buried his fingers in Kurt's silky hair.
He did not push or guide with his hands, he didn't even go for his secret weapon of Kurt's too-sensitive ears to try and encourage him. He just needed something to hold onto under this sudden onslaught by Kurt's mouth.
Even without direction, Kurt pressed his mouth down a little farther and began to suck, fierce, noisy sucking with his lips tight around the head. His hand was still moving, but now his actions were jerky and unsteady, hasty and needy.
Blaine had the impression that Kurt was begging him to come, without a single word being spoken between the two of them.
And Blaine had no problem granting this particular request. He didn't hold back. He relaxed into his pillows, head flopping to the side, hair dragging against the headboard. He couldn't watch any more. It was too much: Kurt's sunken cheeks; his mussed hair with Blaine's fingers threaded through; the red flush that ran from his neck to the tips of his ears; his strong fingers toying his the base of Blaine's cock, his balls.
With a gasping cry, Blaine came. His eyes rolled back into his head, the muscles in his legs spasmed, his back arched.
He was seeing stars in the backs of his eyelids.
Blaine came to realize that his knuckles had gone white from how tightly he was gripping Kurt's hair. Shakily, he forced himself to loosen his fists, petting down the now spectacularly messed strands, weakly attempting to fix the mess he made.
Kurt, strangely, didn't even seem to notice. He had swallowed down all of Blaine's release and was now busy licking him clean, tongue making neat swipes over too-sensitive skin. When Blaine pushed him away, not unkindly, but out of necessity, Kurt made a surprising whine of disappointment in the back of his throat.
Sulky expression affixed to his face, Kurt sat back on his heels, sucking each of his own fingers clean in succession.
The sight of it was too much. Too, too much.
Blaine groaned, slipping further down onto the bed to press his face into a pillow.
He was sweaty, his pants still around his knees. His hair was likely a wreck, and he was felt completely wrung out and exhausted. He closed his eyes, remembering the way Kurt looked.
Kurt had looked like the cat that got the cream.
"C'mere," Blaine said, muffled by his pillows, but unwilling to move. There was silence as Kurt froze and ceased slurping on his fingers. For a moment, Blaine thought that Kurt had come to his senses, was going to run off to the bathroom and hide away from him in shame.
The mattress shifted beneath him, and then warm hands started to tug at his pants. He was surprised that Kurt was taking the time to help him back into his underwear, and expended what precious little energy he had in raising his hips to make it easier.
"Kurt?" he asked, but was met by silence as his trousers were drawn down his legs, his shoes being carefully removed from his feet.
It made him feel strangely vulnerable, allowing Kurt to take care of him like this. He knew that it shouldn't, that this should be an expected behavior from his pet, but this was Kurt. Belligerent Kurt, cold Kurt, distant Kurt who gave him angry, hurt looks without provocation.
He felt the bed move again, but didn't hear the expected clatter of shoes being tossed to the floor or the clink of his belt buckle hitting the hardwood. No, instead, he peeked out and Kurt was folding his pants over a chair and setting his shoes neatly next to his desk.
Kurt removed his own shoes and placed them beside Blaine's own, then looked around. Blaine buried his face back down, not wanting, for some reason, Kurt to catch him staring.
He heard the rustle of clothing, and then he was being crowded on the bed, another body curling up into his space behind him. He was tempted to turn around and gather Kurt into his arms, but he didn't want to startle him.
The air was still warm, even though it should have been cold and drafty. It was still early, and no one had been in to build up a fire in the hearth. It wasn't only that it felt warm, though. That, Blaine could have contributed to his exertion, even though by now he should have been feeling a chill from his pantslessness.
It wasn't just the strange warmth that was off about the room, either. The air smelled sweet, like fresh-cut grass after a spring rain, and ozone, and the way pure water from a spring tasted on your tongue.
Blaine was beginning to think there was something more to the way he thought Kurt spoke strangely, or the way his mood seemed to be contagious. A good mood couldn't make him taste sunshine.
Could it?
Kurt squirmed in closer, pressing himself up against Blaine's back, tucking his knees up under Blaine's.
"Are you cold?" Blaine asked, voice thick from how tired he felt. He wasn't about to fall asleep, but his limbs were heavy and his body uncooperative.
"No," Kurt whispered into his hairline, breath tickling the nape of his neck.
He didn't offer up any insight to how he actually felt, until they had been lying there for several minutes. Blaine's breath had evened out, he was relaxed, and his eyes were closed. It was easy to mistake him for being asleep.
The room was rapidly cooling, the scents Blaine had smelled before were fading like an old, distant memory.
"What are you doing to me?" Kurt whispered, lips brushing Blaine's neck as he spoke.
Blaine didn't move, didn't say that he had been wondering the same thing. He didn't move a single inch, waiting until Kurt's breathing deepened. He waited longer, waited until he felt Kurt's head lay heavy on the pillow they shared. He waited until he heard Kurt mumbling as he was wont to do as he slept, and Blaine very, very carefully rolled to face him.
No longer pale and sickly looking, Kurt had a healthy glow about him. His cheeks were pink and the rest of his skin was no longer close to translucent and near-jaundiced.
It was a shock to see the difference.
"What am I doing to you?" he asked himself.
Blaine swallowed down his fear and surprise and slowly slid out of his bed, eyes never leaving Kurt's body. Tenderly, he shimmied a blanket down from under the Faerie's long legs and drew it up over him with care, tucking it around him.
He told himself it was to keep Kurt warm, to keep him from getting sick, or from waking up with a chill. He told himself that he was being practical, that there was nothing sentimental about tucking a blanket around another person, that he wasn't cherishing Kurt with the way he attended to his needs.
A tumultuous twist in his insides begged to differ, but he valiantly ignored it, brushing Kurt's hair off to one side of his face. His fingers trailed down his cheek, sleep-warm, and moved further down to the jeweled collar around Kurt's neck.
He touched it with reverence, and then withdrew his fingers like he'd been bitten by it.
"What are you doing to me?"
NEXT
Comments/questions/'you-missed-a-word's/con-crit are always welcome and always appreciated.
This IS a work in progress, and I can only work on this when inspiration strikes. So far, I've had to be in really good moods to write this particular fic, which is why it's taken me this long to get this far through it.
At the moment, I'm hoping like hell this is halfway to being complete, but I have a bad feeling it might end up being a lot longer than that. We'll see.
I'm beyond nervous about posting this particular fic, so, uh, I hope you all like it.
Pairing: Blaine/Kurt
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,668 / 20,100 [so far]
Summary: AU. Faeries exist, but are a rarity. Slavery, and more specifically, sexual slavery, is a way of life for many people. || When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand. // When a half-Faerie boy is unlucky enough to be sold off in an auction to an ignorant human boy, he is sucked into a life he never wanted and forced to deal with an aspect of his species he didn't know existed.
Warnings/Contains: Non-explicit rape. Explicit dub-con. Slavery/sexual slavery. Fantasy-genre alternate universe. Dark!fic. Magic. Non-human species. PoV switches. General creepiness on Blaine's behalf. A fucked up society. Ear!porn? || More detailed warnings: ( skip) Magic-made-them-do-it, falling in love with your captor/Stockholm syndrome, mentions of torture.
Master Post / Previous Chapters
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.
presently
"You're looking pale," Blaine remarked too-casually, opening the shutters of his bedroom suite to let in some natural light. That was a horrific understatement. Kurt looked sickly, not simply pale. Blaine hadn't noticed earlier, downstairs in the commons where the light was softer, but under the bright lights of his room, the natural sunshine pouring in through the windows, it was obvious.
Kurt ignored his comment, already wandering around on his own, investigating the quarters without bothering to ask permission.
Blaine stared as Kurt walked around, tilting his head to one side to better look at a painting on the wall. He reminded Blaine of a cat, defiant and too curious by far.
It was going to get him into trouble some day, and Blaine might just let it happen. Kurt needed to learn boundaries.
Servants had already been in to unpack Blaine's things- that wasn't a chore he ever had to concern himself with- but to his irritation, he found a cot stored under his bed. He had no plans to let Kurt out of his bed at night. If he were to find out there was something else to accommodate him, who knew what Kurt would try in attempts to get away from him?
Not that Blaine would be angered or cajoled into having Kurt sleep on a cot. But that wouldn't stop Kurt from trying. No. Blaine would have to have it removed during dinner that evening.
"Your friends…."
Blaine looked up, jerked out of his trained of thought when Kurt spoke up. He stood on the other side of the bed, holding on to a bedpost.
"What about them?"
"They said. I mean, I remember your father mentioning before." Kurt looked down, appearing strangely shy. Blaine waited with what he felt was considerable patience for Kurt to continue.
"Just ask what it is you want to know," he prompted at last.
"You had another," Kurt said, then paused, thinking of what word he wanted to use, and concluded with, "pet." Distaste curled around the word like a heavy wisp of smoke.
"Sam." Blaine smiled toothily, amused when the sight of it caused Kurt to avert his eyes. "He had been a birthday present."
Blaine didn't miss the way Kurt's lips twisted into a sneer, no matter how brief an action it was. He felt a momentary desire to push Kurt down to his knees and have him put his mouth to a better use than the casual disrespect he continued to display. Blaine brushed the thought aside. For now.
"My father sold him to some family friends of ours before we'd even gotten you home."
"Is that all people are to you?" Kurt snapped. "And when something newer and prettier than me falls into your lap, are you just going to sell me off to the first person you can shove me onto, without even a second thought?"
His eyes widened as he snapped his mouth shut, looking shocked at his own outburst.
Blaine walked around the bed and cupped Kurt's cheek. He didn't speak, not even when Kurt made his escape by running off to the bathroom, frantically shutting the door behind himself.
Blaine looked down at his empty hand, not at the door Kurt had disappeared behind.
It took him a few moments, but he shook himself free from his thoughts and went back to setting his room to rights. It was one thing for it to be clean and tidy, but no one ever thought to hang up his robe above the radiator to keep it warm, or put his dinner jacket on the back of his desk chair. The bed was too neat, blankets and sheets tucked in firmly beneath the mattress.
Blaine was busy making his bed more comfortable, freeing the beddings from their confinement, when Kurt came out of the bathroom. His face was pink, but not in a hale and healthy way. His cheeks looked scrubbed raw and the skin around his eyes was puffy. And there were a few damp spots on his shirt.
It was obvious to Blaine that Kurt had been crying, then tried to cover it up by washing his face. It hadn't worked.
"I'm sorry," Kurt mumbled, resolutely looking anywhere but at Blaine.
"No you're not," said Blaine. He straightened out his comforter and turned towards Kurt, brow furrowed. "Well, you might be. But you're not sorry for what you said, or for saying it. You're sorry because you think I'm going to punish you."
"Aren't you?" Kurt asked. He sounded like was going to be sick. His voice was heavy with unhappiness and it wrapped around him like a dark storm cloud.
It was there again, that twisting to his words that made Blaine feel too much when Kurt spoke.
"Haven't decided yet." Blaine decided to keep it at that for now. He wasn't angry with Kurt. Not really. But he couldn't allow Kurt to continue to act up like that, either. If he didn't do something about his disrespectful attitude soon, it would only get worse as he found he could get away with it without any repercussions.
He ignored the way Kurt looked away from him, fearful.
"Come here," he said, holding an arm out to his pet. Kurt's eyes darted over to Blaine momentarily before sliding off him and back towards the wall. Then to the floor. He walked over, movements stilted, unlike his usual, natural, graceful glide. Kurt stopped a foot away, but didn't offer up any resistance when Blaine dragged him in closer, pulling his body up against his own and held him close.
Kurt's arms hesitantly went around him, hands going to Blaine's waist.
"Sam was a gift picked out by my mother. He enjoyed belonging to me, and I'm certain he's enjoying belonging to Quinn Fabray right now. I had never planned on keeping him for too long, and he knew that."
Blaine felt a shiver run through Kurt's thin frame.
"If you're afraid I'm going to tire of you and dump you onto the next willing person I can find, don't be."
Blaine kissed him then, lips nudging against Kurt's. He didn't rush, he took his time with Kurt. Blaine plied him with sweet kisses, tender kisses, until Kurt's lips parted and his fingers dug into Blaine's sides. Blaine took this as an opening, and slid his tongue into Kurt's mouth, taking satisfaction in the soft whimper it elicited from him.
Kurt's eyes were closed, but Blaine kept his open, wanting to watch the expressions on Kurt's face as they kissed. And they were kissing. This time, it was not simply Blaine kissing Kurt and Kurt allowing it to happen without a fuss, but he was actively responding to kiss, tongue making cautious sweeps against Blaine's.
Blaine decided to help himself along and lifted a hand to cup Kurt's face. He rubbed his thumb against his cheek before sweeping his hand back to trace the outline of Kurt's curved and pointed ear.
The resulting cry from Kurt went straight to Blaine's cock. He deepened the kiss and spun them around so that Kurt's back was now to the bed. He walked them both towards it until the backs of Kurt's legs bumped against the mattress.
Taking advantage of the fact that Kurt was still clinging to him, Blaine tucked his hands under Kurt's ass and pulled at his thighs to lift him up. He held up Kurt long enough to climb onto the bed, then tossed his pet onto it beneath him.
Kurt finally broke free from the kiss, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide and fearful, and Blaine took the time to think about how he'd miss that look one day.
"No, please," begged Kurt.
Though, he wouldn't miss dealing with his reluctance.
Blaine ran his hands down Kurt's chest, untucking his shirt from the pants he wore, ignoring the ways Kurt flinched at his touch.
"We don't have time for anything fancy," Blaine said in what he felt was a comforting tone. "You're starting to look worn down."
"I'm fine," said Kurt, though his protest was weak.
"You're too pale is what you are," Blaine said, voice firm.
"Please. Please, Blaine." Kurt sat up and wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist. He opened his eyes wide and adopted an exaggerated pout.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
"Can't we put this off until tonight?" Kurt asked of him, leaning in to leave a feather-light kiss on Blaine's lips before pulling back again. "I promise, I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want."
"Kurt…" Blaine said warningly.
"Please?"
Blaine looked at the pleading expression on Kurt's face and took stock of his options. Really, Kurt would do what Blaine wanted, one way or another. But the thought of having a night where Kurt didn't cry or constantly ask him to stop sounded appealing.
Making up his mind, Blaine moved to the head of the bed, tugging Kurt along with him, and sat with his back against the headboard. He had Kurt kneeling beside him, worry evident in his face.
Blaine picked up one of Kurt's hands and pressed his palm against the bulge in Blaine's pants. Kurt tried to jerk his hand away, but Blaine's fingers clung tight around his wrist, holding him in place.
"Use your hand on me," ordered Blaine. When Kurt tried to protest, he squeezed his wrist a little harder. "Use your hand on me," he reiterated, "and tonight you will behave yourself. No crying, no complaining."
Kurt was silent for a moment that felt like an eternity to Blaine, but then he looked Blaine in the eye.
"I can't help it if I cry," he bit out. Blaine couldn't help but find his constant defiance almost cute, which was not a good sign. "But I promise. No complaining."
"We're bargaining now?" Blaine was annoyed, but his amusement over Kurt's audacity was winning out. And, well, the annoyance was more at the fact that he was hard and not getting any satisfaction than anything else.
If he hadn't gotten rid of Sam, he would have had his cock expertly sucked and been out the door by now.
"Yes." Kurt's tone was firm. It was also all bravado.
"This better be a good hand job." Blaine sighed and leaned back, letting go of Kurt's wrist.
Kurt's relief was heavy in such close proximity. He took the time to rub his newly freed wrist like it hurt him, looking down and away from Blaine entirely.
"Did I hurt you?" Blaine asked him, reaching over to inspect the possible damage, but Kurt jerked his arm out of reach, holding it close to his chest.
"It's fine," he said, lifting his head to stare straight into Blaine's eyes.
Kurt's looked like they were on fire.
"I'm fine," he amended.
It was painfully obvious that he wasn't fine at all.
Blaine frowned, but leaned back, accepting Kurt's words. He didn't believe them, but he didn't feel like arguing.
"Then stop procrastinating."
Kurt sighed in disgust, but he reached out to Blaine, unbuttoning his pants with deft fingers.
Thankfully, Blaine's arousal had waned very little during Kurt's poor attempts at deflection. As Kurt's fingers freed him from the confines of his clothing, he allowed himself to sit back and enjoy the attention.
Kurt pulled his underwear down along with his trousers, not taking the time to be careful as he tugged the pants down to Blaine's knees.
"No need to be so rough," Blaine complained half-heartedly. Kurt stared at him with a strange look in his eyes, but he didn't speak. He simply wrapped his fingers, thick and sturdy, around Blaine's penis.
There weren't words for how it felt.
Blaine was sure that Kurt had no idea the effect he had on him. And, truth be told, Blaine didn't actually want Kurt to know. He let Kurt get away with far too much as it was. He didn't need Kurt holding any more leverage over him.
"Tighter," he instructed, settling back against his pillows.
Kurt scowled, but complied. A little too well.
Blaine hissed in discomfort and shifted his hips. "I can have you beaten, if I wish," he said, not entirely meaning the threat implicit in his words. Because, yes, he certainly could have Kurt beaten. He could have Kurt thrashed, or flogged, or whipped. He could throw Kurt out into the snow and tie him to a tree for the night if he wished. Blaine could loan him to the Warblers to play with. Take a blade to his porcelain skin. Or a branding iron.
Really, his choices were endless, assuming he didn't kill the fae boy.
Not that it was illegal or anything, just frowned upon. Also, his father would be furious at the loss of such a fine asset.
But he couldn't imagine ever doing any of those things. He'd always been a soft touch, but Kurt brought out the absolute worst in him. Blaine wanted to cosset Kurt, pamper him, please him until he purred in happiness.
Every time Kurt cried because of him, it hurt. Somewhere deep in his chest, there was an ache. Only when Kurt was pleased did the hurt lessen.
And the very last thing Blaine ever wanted was for anyone to find out about it. Even Kurt. Especially Kurt.
"Sorry," Kurt apologized in a too-pleasant tone of voice that wasn't fooling Blaine at all. Fingers loosened enough that his grip was no longer painful, Kurt pumped his fist up and down over Blaine's flesh, gaze focused down on his task.
His eyes were darkening, pupils widening as he stared at the effect he was having on Blaine's dick. His breath was getting shallower, and he was slowly leaning in closer.
Blaine wasn't sure what, precisely, was happening, but the air in the room felt like it was growing warmer. Or maybe that was just him. It was hard to tell. Kurt's grip was powerful and sure, his rhythm steady.
He was not prepared for Kurt to lean down and lap at the small amount of fluid gathering at the tip of his erection.
One dainty flick of the tongue, then two more broad strokes to remove all traces of it from the head. Kurt then placed his lips to the glans and pushed his tongue to Blaine's slit, stroking it fervently, seeking out whatever he could gain.
Blaine wasn't prepared for this and cried out in surprised pleasure, his toes curling at the added spark of pain from Kurt's over-enthusiasm. His hands pushed their way down and he buried his fingers in Kurt's silky hair.
He did not push or guide with his hands, he didn't even go for his secret weapon of Kurt's too-sensitive ears to try and encourage him. He just needed something to hold onto under this sudden onslaught by Kurt's mouth.
Even without direction, Kurt pressed his mouth down a little farther and began to suck, fierce, noisy sucking with his lips tight around the head. His hand was still moving, but now his actions were jerky and unsteady, hasty and needy.
Blaine had the impression that Kurt was begging him to come, without a single word being spoken between the two of them.
And Blaine had no problem granting this particular request. He didn't hold back. He relaxed into his pillows, head flopping to the side, hair dragging against the headboard. He couldn't watch any more. It was too much: Kurt's sunken cheeks; his mussed hair with Blaine's fingers threaded through; the red flush that ran from his neck to the tips of his ears; his strong fingers toying his the base of Blaine's cock, his balls.
With a gasping cry, Blaine came. His eyes rolled back into his head, the muscles in his legs spasmed, his back arched.
He was seeing stars in the backs of his eyelids.
Blaine came to realize that his knuckles had gone white from how tightly he was gripping Kurt's hair. Shakily, he forced himself to loosen his fists, petting down the now spectacularly messed strands, weakly attempting to fix the mess he made.
Kurt, strangely, didn't even seem to notice. He had swallowed down all of Blaine's release and was now busy licking him clean, tongue making neat swipes over too-sensitive skin. When Blaine pushed him away, not unkindly, but out of necessity, Kurt made a surprising whine of disappointment in the back of his throat.
Sulky expression affixed to his face, Kurt sat back on his heels, sucking each of his own fingers clean in succession.
The sight of it was too much. Too, too much.
Blaine groaned, slipping further down onto the bed to press his face into a pillow.
He was sweaty, his pants still around his knees. His hair was likely a wreck, and he was felt completely wrung out and exhausted. He closed his eyes, remembering the way Kurt looked.
Kurt had looked like the cat that got the cream.
"C'mere," Blaine said, muffled by his pillows, but unwilling to move. There was silence as Kurt froze and ceased slurping on his fingers. For a moment, Blaine thought that Kurt had come to his senses, was going to run off to the bathroom and hide away from him in shame.
The mattress shifted beneath him, and then warm hands started to tug at his pants. He was surprised that Kurt was taking the time to help him back into his underwear, and expended what precious little energy he had in raising his hips to make it easier.
"Kurt?" he asked, but was met by silence as his trousers were drawn down his legs, his shoes being carefully removed from his feet.
It made him feel strangely vulnerable, allowing Kurt to take care of him like this. He knew that it shouldn't, that this should be an expected behavior from his pet, but this was Kurt. Belligerent Kurt, cold Kurt, distant Kurt who gave him angry, hurt looks without provocation.
He felt the bed move again, but didn't hear the expected clatter of shoes being tossed to the floor or the clink of his belt buckle hitting the hardwood. No, instead, he peeked out and Kurt was folding his pants over a chair and setting his shoes neatly next to his desk.
Kurt removed his own shoes and placed them beside Blaine's own, then looked around. Blaine buried his face back down, not wanting, for some reason, Kurt to catch him staring.
He heard the rustle of clothing, and then he was being crowded on the bed, another body curling up into his space behind him. He was tempted to turn around and gather Kurt into his arms, but he didn't want to startle him.
The air was still warm, even though it should have been cold and drafty. It was still early, and no one had been in to build up a fire in the hearth. It wasn't only that it felt warm, though. That, Blaine could have contributed to his exertion, even though by now he should have been feeling a chill from his pantslessness.
It wasn't just the strange warmth that was off about the room, either. The air smelled sweet, like fresh-cut grass after a spring rain, and ozone, and the way pure water from a spring tasted on your tongue.
Blaine was beginning to think there was something more to the way he thought Kurt spoke strangely, or the way his mood seemed to be contagious. A good mood couldn't make him taste sunshine.
Could it?
Kurt squirmed in closer, pressing himself up against Blaine's back, tucking his knees up under Blaine's.
"Are you cold?" Blaine asked, voice thick from how tired he felt. He wasn't about to fall asleep, but his limbs were heavy and his body uncooperative.
"No," Kurt whispered into his hairline, breath tickling the nape of his neck.
He didn't offer up any insight to how he actually felt, until they had been lying there for several minutes. Blaine's breath had evened out, he was relaxed, and his eyes were closed. It was easy to mistake him for being asleep.
The room was rapidly cooling, the scents Blaine had smelled before were fading like an old, distant memory.
"What are you doing to me?" Kurt whispered, lips brushing Blaine's neck as he spoke.
Blaine didn't move, didn't say that he had been wondering the same thing. He didn't move a single inch, waiting until Kurt's breathing deepened. He waited longer, waited until he felt Kurt's head lay heavy on the pillow they shared. He waited until he heard Kurt mumbling as he was wont to do as he slept, and Blaine very, very carefully rolled to face him.
No longer pale and sickly looking, Kurt had a healthy glow about him. His cheeks were pink and the rest of his skin was no longer close to translucent and near-jaundiced.
It was a shock to see the difference.
"What am I doing to you?" he asked himself.
Blaine swallowed down his fear and surprise and slowly slid out of his bed, eyes never leaving Kurt's body. Tenderly, he shimmied a blanket down from under the Faerie's long legs and drew it up over him with care, tucking it around him.
He told himself it was to keep Kurt warm, to keep him from getting sick, or from waking up with a chill. He told himself that he was being practical, that there was nothing sentimental about tucking a blanket around another person, that he wasn't cherishing Kurt with the way he attended to his needs.
A tumultuous twist in his insides begged to differ, but he valiantly ignored it, brushing Kurt's hair off to one side of his face. His fingers trailed down his cheek, sleep-warm, and moved further down to the jeweled collar around Kurt's neck.
He touched it with reverence, and then withdrew his fingers like he'd been bitten by it.
"What are you doing to me?"
NEXT
Comments/questions/'you-missed-a-word's/con-crit are always welcome and always appreciated.
This IS a work in progress, and I can only work on this when inspiration strikes. So far, I've had to be in really good moods to write this particular fic, which is why it's taken me this long to get this far through it.
At the moment, I'm hoping like hell this is halfway to being complete, but I have a bad feeling it might end up being a lot longer than that. We'll see.
I'm beyond nervous about posting this particular fic, so, uh, I hope you all like it.