Umhi?
It's really kind of sad that I am just using this to post Glee!porn for Mandy and Mav. I apologize, flist.
Hi? I don't really use LJ anymore. I am on Facebook if anyone wants my name (email me if you'd like it at missbeizy @ gmail dot com) and on Twitter as missbeizy as well. I do read LJ but I honestly feel no urge to use it as a blog anymore. So if you'd like to read my occasional random crap on Twitter and Facebook, feel free! I don't see why anyone would give a flying monkey butt, but hey you never know.
So, porn! Because really, that is the point of me anyway. ;)
I STILL HAVE NO GLEE ICON WTFFF. Klaine 4eva.
It starts out with dumb little things that make him look, he is sure, mildly concussed; there's a lot of vacant staring and fumbling and on one occasion drooling and then there was that time he walked into a locker, and--okay, it's somewhat beyond dumb, but really Kurt Hummel is his boyfriend, his very very amazing boyfriend who is still amazing despite the fact that he has the sexual expression range of a goldfish but at the same time is so stupidly, effortlessly sexy and does Blaine really need to explain any farther than that?
It's just not fair. Blaine knows all about sexy because he has tried to be for so long that it almost hurts; he knows exactly what impresses people in that way and being possessed of generic good looks he can't deny that he has tried to do them justice by trying to be sexy on occasion. So, okay, he kind of sucks at it because he's a huge dork and because, well, sex is scary, but obviously not so badly that Kurt hadn't noticed him, and he has totally kissed, like, two other guys at least a few times.
The thing is Kurt wears these clothes, these ridiculously tight clothes, and Blaine approves, he really does; Kurt has excellent taste and always seems to be two steps ahead of the fashion trends, and that is very important in Blaine's opinion, but his clothes, oh god his clothes. Tight pants that cut across his hips, long form-fitting sweaters that show every inch of the curve of his back and waist, colors that make his eyes this shade of greenish blue that literally hypnotizes Blaine during weak moments. He will not even mention wrists, and knees, and long fingers, fuck, those--fingers, he just, they would feel--
He thinks that it is because Kurt is so comfortable in his own skin--he floats like a ballerina at the worst of times--that it isn't possible for him to be unaware of his body, of his--everything, even if it's unconscious, even if he doesn't have the confidence in or even awareness of it. And Blaine just doesn't have that. He wields himself well when he performs but outside of that he--he prefers to not notice his body, because then he'd have to pay attention to details, like the hair that makes him continuously self-conscious and what he'd look like with someone else naked, and, oh, nonono. He can be remarkably clueless, and meeting Kurt had made him aware of that tendency in the best way possible.
But then there's Kurt again, and Kurt makes his mouth water, and suddenly he has to notice his own body on purpose because he can't seem to keep his hands off of himself because Kurt makes him--god, Kurt makes him.
Has he mentioned the fingers?
It kind of makes him have to push Kurt against the lockers after everyone has left the changing room. It makes him have to kiss Kurt until they are panting and--
"To what do I owe this surprise make out session?" Kurt asks, glancing around nervously. Kurt thinks that sex in public is the epitome of trashy behavior and Blaine is surprised that he wasn't shut down straight out of the gate.
He almost says fingers which is the lesser of two evils (the greater being, I want to make out with your penis for a long time but I have no clue what I am doing let me try anyway?) but as per recent trends he just stares at Kurt's pink, wet mouth and his stupid, beautiful eyes and makes a noise that perhaps a goose would make if it were stepped on. And horny. A horny, stepped on goose.
So instead he says the lamest thing ever. "Do I need a reason?" He can practically feel his eyebrows waggle, his face contort into the stupidest possible expression ever, a mixture of indigestion and suggestive fifties husband innuendo. He wants to kill himself slowly with sticks. Blunt ones for extra pain and torment.
Kurt responds with a light-hearted, drawn out, "No. Of course not." And then he says something about an America's Top Model marathon on TiVo and Blaine would normally--but there's fingers, and wrists, and the slope of Kurt's throat and collarbone, and every time they get warmed up Kurt flutters away like an incredibly sexy but also incredibly nervous butterfly. Blaine doesn't even know what he'd do if that reaction didn't occur, and so he is just slightly comforted. Which doesn't mean that he wouldn't like to discover the alternative.
He follows and says, lamely, "I like your tongue way better than America's Top Model."
Kurt stares, and blushes, and smiles that smile that makes Blaine's insides do the mambo. "I do hope so, Blaine Anderson."
Making out with the door open and your boyfriend's father downstairs is supposed to be gross, but Blaine always has the most trouble with these particular times. There's just something about that lurking, heavy silence and the few inches of hallway showing through the doorway that makes his heart race and his--well, other things, rather difficult to ignore.
They usually sit on the floor because Kurt's dad stares a little too hard at them when they sit on the bed, and Kurt has so many throws and pillows that the floor is a comfortable substitute. The problem with the floor is that it's horizontal and Kurt is very, very tall. Blaine's head swims as Kurt rolls over on top of him and kisses him. It's amazing the way that Kurt can do this and still keep their more private areas apart. The separation is more of a temptation than the thought of being closer, though, and Blaine finds himself rocking and whimpering into long, wet kisses, an unnameable and hungry want clawing at his insides.
Kurt's tongue is a miracle, the warm curve of his body a gift, and sometimes Blaine can't even fathom that he's allowed to touch Kurt at all.
"Kurt," he says, warm and close into Kurt's cheek, and god, they are so close, so--it's so hot, Blaine can feel sweat beading at his temples and the small of his back, and there is this subtle writhing motion between them, and his head is floating and he will quite literally lose it if they don't stop for a second. "Kurt."
"Mm--yes, sorry?"
He breathes heavily against Kurt's jaw, feeling a throbbing count of unbearable arousal pooling in his belly and under his skin, like being short of breath or overheating in an enclosed space.
"I--I need a minute," he admits, looking into Kurt's eyes--god there are like, a million shades of the same color there, and his skin, jesus, his skin--
Kurt is staring at him as if he'd spoken in Mandarin. A moment passes, hot and full, and then Kurt breathes, "We're going too fast, aren't we? We're--once you get going it's--"
"I--know. I'm--yeah."
"You," Kurt starts, then blushes, "you feel so--good."
"You, too." He can't breathe, can't think, with Kurt pressing him into the floor.
"No, I mean--like this, it's--weird, I never thought I'd be--"
Eyebrows raised, he watches the confusion chase arousal across Kurt's sharp, pale features. He waits, because he has nothing constructive to say. Because he has been holding his breath waiting for Kurt to say something about this for months. Because he wants Kurt to say it, to need it, to give the knowledge to him because something in Kurt mirrors something in him and it's already there and it just needs to be said aloud but not by Blaine.
When the silence goes on too long, though, he presses his lips to Kurt's ear and lets one arm snake around his waist. He doesn't want to lose the moment. "It's okay. Whatever we feel, it's natural. It's okay. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
"Blaine," Kurt sighs, all the want and frustration in the world in his voice. "I thought I was--my idea of sexy was showing a little knee, I mean I am that ridiculous."
"Hey," he says, concern rising above lust. "Hey, don't. You are amazing and perfect just the way you are. Don't push yourself. Please, don't."
And he is totally cool with stopping, because now there is guilt. Kurt tries to reassure him and eventually he supposes it's not his fault; they do spend a lot of time wanting each other in various ways, and it's not as if he pushes himself on Kurt (or, well, continues to push after he's been told not now), so.
It would be so much easier if he didn't crave Kurt, all the fucking time, but he does. It takes all of his energy to avoid PDA, because Kurt hates it and he is only just learning that people look and it makes him uncomfortable and he doesn't want Kurt to know that he is a coward and so it's easier to just avoid it entirely. But when they are singing and dancing, or passing notes in class, or studying in his room, he can't help staring, just staring, at Kurt's body and the way he moves and the way he looks in his clothes and his fingers itch and his mouth goes wet and fuck, he just wants. He used to have such a handle on this, before they started making out for real. He remembers laughing off Kurt's queries about lustful thoughts as if he had supernatural control over his baser urges. Now Kurt is the skittish one and he is stuck gazing, fantasizing, dying when they touch.
Blaine's parents are slightly less concerned about them than Kurt's. It's not that they don't care, it's just that they are easier to convince, and one night they go out and Kurt comes over and he had sort of not mentioned the lack of parents, woops, but it's the first thing he says anyway because he feels guilty. Kurt can totally leave now if he is uncomfortable with that.
Kurt goes pink and says, "Oh. Okay. That's--okay."
And something inside Blaine explodes, cartwheels, and explodes again.
"Closed door; quite the novelty," Kurt says, smiling nervously, and Blaine backs him into said door and swallows his next breath as the wood rattles hollow in the frame. He can't help it; it's like some lust-crazed puppeteer is driving his wooden limbs. "Blaine--"
"I can't--stop thinking about you," he admits, and it's simple truth, as simple as he can make it without more words and please, god, less words, less words are good. He kisses Kurt's jaw, Kurt's ear, Kurt's neck, breathing faster as Kurt's arms come around his neck. "Let me--" He stifles a sound as Kurt's body brushes his. "Let me do something for you." His face burns, and his fingers gently settle on Kurt's hips. "I need to--please." He can feel the protest, the embarrassment, coil in Kurt's chest, and before it spills over he grasps Kurt's hips, smooths his fingers over the sharp curve of bone on either side, then gently grazes his stomach. "It's driving me nuts. Let me--show you how much I--" He takes a breath, tries to calm down. "This isn't just--that. Kurt, I am crazy about you, and I need to show you, I need you to know, not just from words or--gestures--but from--this, too."
Kurt stares at him, wide-eyed, and then kisses him, softly, once, twice. He doesn't say anything, or even nod, but he cups one hand in Blaine's hair--wild, not gelled at all--and guides them over toward the bed.
He kind of almost hyperventilates. It's like a panic attack and then it's just blinding, like bright light or undiluted happiness. Kurt sits, primly, and then tries to relax a little, shifting back until his legs dangle, and before Blaine even has time to think about it--don't think don't think really really not right now--he sinks to his knees and puts his hands lightly on Kurt's legs.
"Can you--stay like that?"
"Um," Kurt breathes, lips working.
Kurt stares down at him and he stares up at Kurt, and his fingers crawl, begging for permission, along Kurt's thighs. He's wearing simple clothing for Kurt--tight jeans, light sweater, only two or three layers by the look of it. Blaine shifts forward on his knees and Kurt's legs kind of just part, and his body shifts, and suddenly Blaine is right there between his legs, staring at his stomach, and he is literally two seconds away from actually hyperventilating when Kurt's hand touches his cheek.
"I want to kiss you now," he breathes, and his fingers are trembling against Blaine's skin.
Blaine surges upwards on his knees, cupping Kurt's face in his hands. He lets his fingers card through Kurt's hair and a moan escapes his lips when Kurt breaks for air. His chest won't stop hitching and his skin is blazing hot, and god, he just wants, he wants everything, he wants to make Kurt fall apart, he can't stop running his fingers along every inch of exposed skin he can find.
"Should I, um?" and Kurt tugs at his own shirt, and Blaine's brain literally fractures, the idea of Kurt taking off even a single article of clothing makes his body ache.
"You--you don't have to. I--do you want to?"
"Not--not really, I'm--this is a lot."
"Then don't. Don't. I just--is it weird for us to do something with our clothes on, I mean, does that make us like deviants or is there like a fetish for clothingsex or something, I don't know?"
Kurt laughs, softly, a kind of tortured overwhelmed little noise that's so him that it makes Blaine instantly relax. They stare at each other, and then Blaine swipes his fingers across Kurt's thighs and the front of his pants. Kurt's face goes blank and then red, and it's suddenly serious again. Blaine does it again, only stops to rub this time when he finds what he expects to find. Kurt's eyes flutter closed. Blaine can see the veins across his eyelids. It's remarkably sexy. They breathe together, nervousnervousnervousohgod what am I doing, and then he leans up and kisses Kurt's parted lips.
He wants to say, you feel amazing. He wants to say, I love the way you feel already and I've only been touching you for three minutes. But he doesn't because he's afraid that words will break this, break him, and it feels ridiculous, so he just keeps kissing Kurt and fingertips become fingers become a partially closed fist as he strokes Kurt through his pants. Kurt gets harder and harder despite his obvious embarrassment, and then he starts to breathe out these little desperate hissing gasps that make Blaine's brain melt.
He stops all at once and stares, wanting to look at Kurt hard there just for him, and Kurt opens his eyes and looks away and pants. "This is not going to last very long."
"Do you want to stop?"
"Only for a minute to--Blaine, I can't even remember the last time I did this alone."
Blaine stares at him and says, without thinking, "Let me take your pants off?"
Kurt squeaks, "Okay."
It is weird. It is so much weirder than he ever imagined it, and it's awkward, jesus, but it is also the hottest thing ever. It takes like twenty minutes to get those damned tight pants off without squashing or bending important things, and Kurt's wearing these underwear that aren't boxers and aren't briefs and Blaine's eyes go wide at the sight. Kurt seems smaller sitting there half-naked, thin and pale and mostly hairless, but jesus christ there is nothing diminutive about what he has in those underwear.
It's dark except for a very dim desk lamp across the room and Blaine is glad that Kurt can't see his face because he knows he's doing something ridiculous with his eyebrows and mouth again, and then Kurt is breathing heavily and he says, "You can--"
And Blaine kisses him, and wraps his fingers around the bulge between his legs, earns a whimper against his mouth and then settles into it, picking up a vague rhythm that is set by Kurt's hips rocking just a little and their combined breathing. Kurt puts a hand in his hair and his nerves fire everyfuckingwhere all at once. Kurt is big, and hard, and hot, and fucking god he makes these noises and rolls his body and--Blaine breathes deeply, trying to calm down, but it's uncomfortable kneeling on the floor and he is stretching oddly to both kiss Kurt and touch Kurt, and--
Combined, it makes him so hard that he can't think. He could come from rubbing against the edge of the bed without a thought. He never really imagined what it would be like, moving and thrusting and squeezing with Kurt, a bodily honesty that has nothing to do with sentiment or words no matter how much sentiment they've shared and talking they've done.
"Blaine," Kurt moans, and fuckfuckfuck that is, that is amazing--
"Can I take these off?"
"Yes, yes."
Kurt strips off his shirts, first, and before he's done with that Blaine is rolling his underwear off. It's awkward again, and sticky, and sweaty, and really they only make it as far as Kurt's knees before Blaine loses interest in them and jesus, is that silk? He doesn't look down because he knows that Kurt will close up if he just stares, but fuck that is Kurt's beautiful, hard cock in his hand and it feels fucking amazing. He strokes, finds the shape with his palm, and Kurt is breathing heavily against his hair, clutching him, shaking. Kurt is aroused and almost naked and bending on his bed, responding to him, and it doesn't matter how many times they do this; it will always be amazing.
Just as unsteady, Blaine arches up and kisses at Kurt's wobbly mouth, and whispers, "Want to taste you," and Kurt's cock literally jumps in his hand, and Kurt mutters his name and he doesn't think about it he just bends over Kurt's lap and places an open-mouthed kiss at the head and then licks with his tongue--it is the weirdest thing ever, spongy soft yet hard underneath at the same time, and it tastes like nothing, really, just skin, but that is Kurt, and he is hard, and--
He truly has no idea how to do this, but he takes Kurt in his mouth anyway and something twists in his belly, something that says I have been waiting to do this since forever, jesus why did we wait so long to do this? and Kurt is whining and twisting Blaine's hair and leaning back, fuck fuck he is so long, his beautiful white torso stretches for miles. Kurt settles with one hand bracing his own weight against the bed and the other holding Blaine's neck like a lifeline.
He can feel Kurt watching his dark head of curls bob as he gives sucking a go. It's mostly a disaster, though he tries to keep his teeth out of it, but it feels so odd just...sucking, like Kurt's cock is an object not connected to the rest of him, and it's too quiet in the room, and christ but sucking is loud and drippy, and not in that sexy way but in that slurping a drink and getting it everywhere kind of way, and it's--how do people do this without sounding and looking ridiculous and why does porn make it look so easy?
And then Kurt stills his hips and gently tugs. "Wait--wait. You're--kind of freaking out, this is not--you don't have to."
"I want to. So badly. You have no idea."
"Then--slow down. Hey. Slow down. It'll be perfect if you just--slow down a little. Let me--" And he tugs Blaine's hair and guides his mouth a little, and Blaine slows down, closes his lips over his teeth and Kurt's cock slides deep into his mouth and oh--oh that's--
"I haven't, I don't want you to think I," Kurt gasps, thighs spreading. "It's just I have looked into it, you know, since we--ohgod, yes, like that--"
It's not really possible to converse with a cock in your mouth. That is more or less where the communication stops, and he's rising and falling slowly but steadily and with firm pressure around Kurt's cock, and the slurping goes from slurping to something more like consuming, and Kurt's cock is pulsing, jesus, he always thought that was bullshit but it's not, and his balls get kind of tight, and he goes very quiet and then he starts making these desperate huffy gasps, and Blaine switches to his hand for a moment, and it's wet, so fucking wet, god, he has drooled literally everywhere and it is still sexy, what the hell? Kurt is rocking up into his fist, fucking christ his hips, churning, his belly flexing, and he is red everywhere, and he is shaking, christ, Blaine did that to him, made him so desperate and bendy and--oh, godohgod he is going to come in his pants--
"Don't--don'tstop," Kurt gasps.
"I--will you--in my mouth?"
"Jesus. Jesus, yesyes."
He sinks down and takes Kurt deep again, and that seems to do it; all at once Kurt tenses and twists up and rocks in short little jerks as he fills Blaine's mouth with come. It doesn't taste like anything, either, at least not much, not bad like he'd read about, and it's not disgustingly thick or anything, so he swallows thoughtlessly, feeling his heart make a bid for freedom as he pants against Kurt's thigh and thinks, this will be so much better when I am not freaking out.
After several minutes Kurt asks, "Was it gross? Am I gross?"
"No. No, it was--not gross. Not gross at all."
"Did you--"
"Um. N-no."
"Would you?"
"Uh."
"For me?"
His heart gives a pitiful lurch at that, and his cock throbs. He reaches down and presses himself, and it's the keenest relief he's ever felt; the pressure is like a miracle. "Like, like this?"
"Yes. For me, just like that. Please."
"Kurt," he whimpers, bending. His elbows and arms spread across Kurt's lap and Kurt is holding him by his shoulders and kissing his lips, his neck, his hair, and he feels like the most precious thing in the world in this boy's arms, Kurt loves him so much and he can feel it like a physical touch, all around him, and he is so so fucking hard, and he can still taste Kurt in his mouth and throat, sticky at the back of his tongue, and thinking about that and Kurt coming and Kurt's everything, he just--he strokes himself harder, faster, whisper of skin on fabric and his uneven breathing and Kurt's lips at his ear.
"I'm right here," Kurt whispers, ohgod he is watching and listening and Blaine has never ever done this and oh god Kurt, KurtKurt yes pleaseplease--he comes, jerking in Kurt's arms and gasping, again and again, as he comes down the leg of his jeans.
Kurt kisses him, and kisses him, and it's quiet for a long time before the sweat begins to cool and their position becomes uncomfortable. Blaine realizes that he is smiling, and Kurt is relaxed against him, smiling as well, against his hair.
"It's a good thing those weren't designer jeans," Kurt sighs, obviously relieved.
Blaine laughs, and it's like champagne bubbles in his chest.
Hi? I don't really use LJ anymore. I am on Facebook if anyone wants my name (email me if you'd like it at missbeizy @ gmail dot com) and on Twitter as missbeizy as well. I do read LJ but I honestly feel no urge to use it as a blog anymore. So if you'd like to read my occasional random crap on Twitter and Facebook, feel free! I don't see why anyone would give a flying monkey butt, but hey you never know.
So, porn! Because really, that is the point of me anyway. ;)
I STILL HAVE NO GLEE ICON WTFFF. Klaine 4eva.
It starts out with dumb little things that make him look, he is sure, mildly concussed; there's a lot of vacant staring and fumbling and on one occasion drooling and then there was that time he walked into a locker, and--okay, it's somewhat beyond dumb, but really Kurt Hummel is his boyfriend, his very very amazing boyfriend who is still amazing despite the fact that he has the sexual expression range of a goldfish but at the same time is so stupidly, effortlessly sexy and does Blaine really need to explain any farther than that?
It's just not fair. Blaine knows all about sexy because he has tried to be for so long that it almost hurts; he knows exactly what impresses people in that way and being possessed of generic good looks he can't deny that he has tried to do them justice by trying to be sexy on occasion. So, okay, he kind of sucks at it because he's a huge dork and because, well, sex is scary, but obviously not so badly that Kurt hadn't noticed him, and he has totally kissed, like, two other guys at least a few times.
The thing is Kurt wears these clothes, these ridiculously tight clothes, and Blaine approves, he really does; Kurt has excellent taste and always seems to be two steps ahead of the fashion trends, and that is very important in Blaine's opinion, but his clothes, oh god his clothes. Tight pants that cut across his hips, long form-fitting sweaters that show every inch of the curve of his back and waist, colors that make his eyes this shade of greenish blue that literally hypnotizes Blaine during weak moments. He will not even mention wrists, and knees, and long fingers, fuck, those--fingers, he just, they would feel--
He thinks that it is because Kurt is so comfortable in his own skin--he floats like a ballerina at the worst of times--that it isn't possible for him to be unaware of his body, of his--everything, even if it's unconscious, even if he doesn't have the confidence in or even awareness of it. And Blaine just doesn't have that. He wields himself well when he performs but outside of that he--he prefers to not notice his body, because then he'd have to pay attention to details, like the hair that makes him continuously self-conscious and what he'd look like with someone else naked, and, oh, nonono. He can be remarkably clueless, and meeting Kurt had made him aware of that tendency in the best way possible.
But then there's Kurt again, and Kurt makes his mouth water, and suddenly he has to notice his own body on purpose because he can't seem to keep his hands off of himself because Kurt makes him--god, Kurt makes him.
Has he mentioned the fingers?
It kind of makes him have to push Kurt against the lockers after everyone has left the changing room. It makes him have to kiss Kurt until they are panting and--
"To what do I owe this surprise make out session?" Kurt asks, glancing around nervously. Kurt thinks that sex in public is the epitome of trashy behavior and Blaine is surprised that he wasn't shut down straight out of the gate.
He almost says fingers which is the lesser of two evils (the greater being, I want to make out with your penis for a long time but I have no clue what I am doing let me try anyway?) but as per recent trends he just stares at Kurt's pink, wet mouth and his stupid, beautiful eyes and makes a noise that perhaps a goose would make if it were stepped on. And horny. A horny, stepped on goose.
So instead he says the lamest thing ever. "Do I need a reason?" He can practically feel his eyebrows waggle, his face contort into the stupidest possible expression ever, a mixture of indigestion and suggestive fifties husband innuendo. He wants to kill himself slowly with sticks. Blunt ones for extra pain and torment.
Kurt responds with a light-hearted, drawn out, "No. Of course not." And then he says something about an America's Top Model marathon on TiVo and Blaine would normally--but there's fingers, and wrists, and the slope of Kurt's throat and collarbone, and every time they get warmed up Kurt flutters away like an incredibly sexy but also incredibly nervous butterfly. Blaine doesn't even know what he'd do if that reaction didn't occur, and so he is just slightly comforted. Which doesn't mean that he wouldn't like to discover the alternative.
He follows and says, lamely, "I like your tongue way better than America's Top Model."
Kurt stares, and blushes, and smiles that smile that makes Blaine's insides do the mambo. "I do hope so, Blaine Anderson."
Making out with the door open and your boyfriend's father downstairs is supposed to be gross, but Blaine always has the most trouble with these particular times. There's just something about that lurking, heavy silence and the few inches of hallway showing through the doorway that makes his heart race and his--well, other things, rather difficult to ignore.
They usually sit on the floor because Kurt's dad stares a little too hard at them when they sit on the bed, and Kurt has so many throws and pillows that the floor is a comfortable substitute. The problem with the floor is that it's horizontal and Kurt is very, very tall. Blaine's head swims as Kurt rolls over on top of him and kisses him. It's amazing the way that Kurt can do this and still keep their more private areas apart. The separation is more of a temptation than the thought of being closer, though, and Blaine finds himself rocking and whimpering into long, wet kisses, an unnameable and hungry want clawing at his insides.
Kurt's tongue is a miracle, the warm curve of his body a gift, and sometimes Blaine can't even fathom that he's allowed to touch Kurt at all.
"Kurt," he says, warm and close into Kurt's cheek, and god, they are so close, so--it's so hot, Blaine can feel sweat beading at his temples and the small of his back, and there is this subtle writhing motion between them, and his head is floating and he will quite literally lose it if they don't stop for a second. "Kurt."
"Mm--yes, sorry?"
He breathes heavily against Kurt's jaw, feeling a throbbing count of unbearable arousal pooling in his belly and under his skin, like being short of breath or overheating in an enclosed space.
"I--I need a minute," he admits, looking into Kurt's eyes--god there are like, a million shades of the same color there, and his skin, jesus, his skin--
Kurt is staring at him as if he'd spoken in Mandarin. A moment passes, hot and full, and then Kurt breathes, "We're going too fast, aren't we? We're--once you get going it's--"
"I--know. I'm--yeah."
"You," Kurt starts, then blushes, "you feel so--good."
"You, too." He can't breathe, can't think, with Kurt pressing him into the floor.
"No, I mean--like this, it's--weird, I never thought I'd be--"
Eyebrows raised, he watches the confusion chase arousal across Kurt's sharp, pale features. He waits, because he has nothing constructive to say. Because he has been holding his breath waiting for Kurt to say something about this for months. Because he wants Kurt to say it, to need it, to give the knowledge to him because something in Kurt mirrors something in him and it's already there and it just needs to be said aloud but not by Blaine.
When the silence goes on too long, though, he presses his lips to Kurt's ear and lets one arm snake around his waist. He doesn't want to lose the moment. "It's okay. Whatever we feel, it's natural. It's okay. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
"Blaine," Kurt sighs, all the want and frustration in the world in his voice. "I thought I was--my idea of sexy was showing a little knee, I mean I am that ridiculous."
"Hey," he says, concern rising above lust. "Hey, don't. You are amazing and perfect just the way you are. Don't push yourself. Please, don't."
And he is totally cool with stopping, because now there is guilt. Kurt tries to reassure him and eventually he supposes it's not his fault; they do spend a lot of time wanting each other in various ways, and it's not as if he pushes himself on Kurt (or, well, continues to push after he's been told not now), so.
It would be so much easier if he didn't crave Kurt, all the fucking time, but he does. It takes all of his energy to avoid PDA, because Kurt hates it and he is only just learning that people look and it makes him uncomfortable and he doesn't want Kurt to know that he is a coward and so it's easier to just avoid it entirely. But when they are singing and dancing, or passing notes in class, or studying in his room, he can't help staring, just staring, at Kurt's body and the way he moves and the way he looks in his clothes and his fingers itch and his mouth goes wet and fuck, he just wants. He used to have such a handle on this, before they started making out for real. He remembers laughing off Kurt's queries about lustful thoughts as if he had supernatural control over his baser urges. Now Kurt is the skittish one and he is stuck gazing, fantasizing, dying when they touch.
Blaine's parents are slightly less concerned about them than Kurt's. It's not that they don't care, it's just that they are easier to convince, and one night they go out and Kurt comes over and he had sort of not mentioned the lack of parents, woops, but it's the first thing he says anyway because he feels guilty. Kurt can totally leave now if he is uncomfortable with that.
Kurt goes pink and says, "Oh. Okay. That's--okay."
And something inside Blaine explodes, cartwheels, and explodes again.
"Closed door; quite the novelty," Kurt says, smiling nervously, and Blaine backs him into said door and swallows his next breath as the wood rattles hollow in the frame. He can't help it; it's like some lust-crazed puppeteer is driving his wooden limbs. "Blaine--"
"I can't--stop thinking about you," he admits, and it's simple truth, as simple as he can make it without more words and please, god, less words, less words are good. He kisses Kurt's jaw, Kurt's ear, Kurt's neck, breathing faster as Kurt's arms come around his neck. "Let me--" He stifles a sound as Kurt's body brushes his. "Let me do something for you." His face burns, and his fingers gently settle on Kurt's hips. "I need to--please." He can feel the protest, the embarrassment, coil in Kurt's chest, and before it spills over he grasps Kurt's hips, smooths his fingers over the sharp curve of bone on either side, then gently grazes his stomach. "It's driving me nuts. Let me--show you how much I--" He takes a breath, tries to calm down. "This isn't just--that. Kurt, I am crazy about you, and I need to show you, I need you to know, not just from words or--gestures--but from--this, too."
Kurt stares at him, wide-eyed, and then kisses him, softly, once, twice. He doesn't say anything, or even nod, but he cups one hand in Blaine's hair--wild, not gelled at all--and guides them over toward the bed.
He kind of almost hyperventilates. It's like a panic attack and then it's just blinding, like bright light or undiluted happiness. Kurt sits, primly, and then tries to relax a little, shifting back until his legs dangle, and before Blaine even has time to think about it--don't think don't think really really not right now--he sinks to his knees and puts his hands lightly on Kurt's legs.
"Can you--stay like that?"
"Um," Kurt breathes, lips working.
Kurt stares down at him and he stares up at Kurt, and his fingers crawl, begging for permission, along Kurt's thighs. He's wearing simple clothing for Kurt--tight jeans, light sweater, only two or three layers by the look of it. Blaine shifts forward on his knees and Kurt's legs kind of just part, and his body shifts, and suddenly Blaine is right there between his legs, staring at his stomach, and he is literally two seconds away from actually hyperventilating when Kurt's hand touches his cheek.
"I want to kiss you now," he breathes, and his fingers are trembling against Blaine's skin.
Blaine surges upwards on his knees, cupping Kurt's face in his hands. He lets his fingers card through Kurt's hair and a moan escapes his lips when Kurt breaks for air. His chest won't stop hitching and his skin is blazing hot, and god, he just wants, he wants everything, he wants to make Kurt fall apart, he can't stop running his fingers along every inch of exposed skin he can find.
"Should I, um?" and Kurt tugs at his own shirt, and Blaine's brain literally fractures, the idea of Kurt taking off even a single article of clothing makes his body ache.
"You--you don't have to. I--do you want to?"
"Not--not really, I'm--this is a lot."
"Then don't. Don't. I just--is it weird for us to do something with our clothes on, I mean, does that make us like deviants or is there like a fetish for clothingsex or something, I don't know?"
Kurt laughs, softly, a kind of tortured overwhelmed little noise that's so him that it makes Blaine instantly relax. They stare at each other, and then Blaine swipes his fingers across Kurt's thighs and the front of his pants. Kurt's face goes blank and then red, and it's suddenly serious again. Blaine does it again, only stops to rub this time when he finds what he expects to find. Kurt's eyes flutter closed. Blaine can see the veins across his eyelids. It's remarkably sexy. They breathe together, nervousnervousnervousohgod what am I doing, and then he leans up and kisses Kurt's parted lips.
He wants to say, you feel amazing. He wants to say, I love the way you feel already and I've only been touching you for three minutes. But he doesn't because he's afraid that words will break this, break him, and it feels ridiculous, so he just keeps kissing Kurt and fingertips become fingers become a partially closed fist as he strokes Kurt through his pants. Kurt gets harder and harder despite his obvious embarrassment, and then he starts to breathe out these little desperate hissing gasps that make Blaine's brain melt.
He stops all at once and stares, wanting to look at Kurt hard there just for him, and Kurt opens his eyes and looks away and pants. "This is not going to last very long."
"Do you want to stop?"
"Only for a minute to--Blaine, I can't even remember the last time I did this alone."
Blaine stares at him and says, without thinking, "Let me take your pants off?"
Kurt squeaks, "Okay."
It is weird. It is so much weirder than he ever imagined it, and it's awkward, jesus, but it is also the hottest thing ever. It takes like twenty minutes to get those damned tight pants off without squashing or bending important things, and Kurt's wearing these underwear that aren't boxers and aren't briefs and Blaine's eyes go wide at the sight. Kurt seems smaller sitting there half-naked, thin and pale and mostly hairless, but jesus christ there is nothing diminutive about what he has in those underwear.
It's dark except for a very dim desk lamp across the room and Blaine is glad that Kurt can't see his face because he knows he's doing something ridiculous with his eyebrows and mouth again, and then Kurt is breathing heavily and he says, "You can--"
And Blaine kisses him, and wraps his fingers around the bulge between his legs, earns a whimper against his mouth and then settles into it, picking up a vague rhythm that is set by Kurt's hips rocking just a little and their combined breathing. Kurt puts a hand in his hair and his nerves fire everyfuckingwhere all at once. Kurt is big, and hard, and hot, and fucking god he makes these noises and rolls his body and--Blaine breathes deeply, trying to calm down, but it's uncomfortable kneeling on the floor and he is stretching oddly to both kiss Kurt and touch Kurt, and--
Combined, it makes him so hard that he can't think. He could come from rubbing against the edge of the bed without a thought. He never really imagined what it would be like, moving and thrusting and squeezing with Kurt, a bodily honesty that has nothing to do with sentiment or words no matter how much sentiment they've shared and talking they've done.
"Blaine," Kurt moans, and fuckfuckfuck that is, that is amazing--
"Can I take these off?"
"Yes, yes."
Kurt strips off his shirts, first, and before he's done with that Blaine is rolling his underwear off. It's awkward again, and sticky, and sweaty, and really they only make it as far as Kurt's knees before Blaine loses interest in them and jesus, is that silk? He doesn't look down because he knows that Kurt will close up if he just stares, but fuck that is Kurt's beautiful, hard cock in his hand and it feels fucking amazing. He strokes, finds the shape with his palm, and Kurt is breathing heavily against his hair, clutching him, shaking. Kurt is aroused and almost naked and bending on his bed, responding to him, and it doesn't matter how many times they do this; it will always be amazing.
Just as unsteady, Blaine arches up and kisses at Kurt's wobbly mouth, and whispers, "Want to taste you," and Kurt's cock literally jumps in his hand, and Kurt mutters his name and he doesn't think about it he just bends over Kurt's lap and places an open-mouthed kiss at the head and then licks with his tongue--it is the weirdest thing ever, spongy soft yet hard underneath at the same time, and it tastes like nothing, really, just skin, but that is Kurt, and he is hard, and--
He truly has no idea how to do this, but he takes Kurt in his mouth anyway and something twists in his belly, something that says I have been waiting to do this since forever, jesus why did we wait so long to do this? and Kurt is whining and twisting Blaine's hair and leaning back, fuck fuck he is so long, his beautiful white torso stretches for miles. Kurt settles with one hand bracing his own weight against the bed and the other holding Blaine's neck like a lifeline.
He can feel Kurt watching his dark head of curls bob as he gives sucking a go. It's mostly a disaster, though he tries to keep his teeth out of it, but it feels so odd just...sucking, like Kurt's cock is an object not connected to the rest of him, and it's too quiet in the room, and christ but sucking is loud and drippy, and not in that sexy way but in that slurping a drink and getting it everywhere kind of way, and it's--how do people do this without sounding and looking ridiculous and why does porn make it look so easy?
And then Kurt stills his hips and gently tugs. "Wait--wait. You're--kind of freaking out, this is not--you don't have to."
"I want to. So badly. You have no idea."
"Then--slow down. Hey. Slow down. It'll be perfect if you just--slow down a little. Let me--" And he tugs Blaine's hair and guides his mouth a little, and Blaine slows down, closes his lips over his teeth and Kurt's cock slides deep into his mouth and oh--oh that's--
"I haven't, I don't want you to think I," Kurt gasps, thighs spreading. "It's just I have looked into it, you know, since we--ohgod, yes, like that--"
It's not really possible to converse with a cock in your mouth. That is more or less where the communication stops, and he's rising and falling slowly but steadily and with firm pressure around Kurt's cock, and the slurping goes from slurping to something more like consuming, and Kurt's cock is pulsing, jesus, he always thought that was bullshit but it's not, and his balls get kind of tight, and he goes very quiet and then he starts making these desperate huffy gasps, and Blaine switches to his hand for a moment, and it's wet, so fucking wet, god, he has drooled literally everywhere and it is still sexy, what the hell? Kurt is rocking up into his fist, fucking christ his hips, churning, his belly flexing, and he is red everywhere, and he is shaking, christ, Blaine did that to him, made him so desperate and bendy and--oh, godohgod he is going to come in his pants--
"Don't--don'tstop," Kurt gasps.
"I--will you--in my mouth?"
"Jesus. Jesus, yesyes."
He sinks down and takes Kurt deep again, and that seems to do it; all at once Kurt tenses and twists up and rocks in short little jerks as he fills Blaine's mouth with come. It doesn't taste like anything, either, at least not much, not bad like he'd read about, and it's not disgustingly thick or anything, so he swallows thoughtlessly, feeling his heart make a bid for freedom as he pants against Kurt's thigh and thinks, this will be so much better when I am not freaking out.
After several minutes Kurt asks, "Was it gross? Am I gross?"
"No. No, it was--not gross. Not gross at all."
"Did you--"
"Um. N-no."
"Would you?"
"Uh."
"For me?"
His heart gives a pitiful lurch at that, and his cock throbs. He reaches down and presses himself, and it's the keenest relief he's ever felt; the pressure is like a miracle. "Like, like this?"
"Yes. For me, just like that. Please."
"Kurt," he whimpers, bending. His elbows and arms spread across Kurt's lap and Kurt is holding him by his shoulders and kissing his lips, his neck, his hair, and he feels like the most precious thing in the world in this boy's arms, Kurt loves him so much and he can feel it like a physical touch, all around him, and he is so so fucking hard, and he can still taste Kurt in his mouth and throat, sticky at the back of his tongue, and thinking about that and Kurt coming and Kurt's everything, he just--he strokes himself harder, faster, whisper of skin on fabric and his uneven breathing and Kurt's lips at his ear.
"I'm right here," Kurt whispers, ohgod he is watching and listening and Blaine has never ever done this and oh god Kurt, KurtKurt yes pleaseplease--he comes, jerking in Kurt's arms and gasping, again and again, as he comes down the leg of his jeans.
Kurt kisses him, and kisses him, and it's quiet for a long time before the sweat begins to cool and their position becomes uncomfortable. Blaine realizes that he is smiling, and Kurt is relaxed against him, smiling as well, against his hair.
"It's a good thing those weren't designer jeans," Kurt sighs, obviously relieved.
Blaine laughs, and it's like champagne bubbles in his chest.