Fic: "For Which I Have to Howl" Chapter Four (Part Two), Kurt/Blaine
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four (Part One)
It is raining when the night before the full moon finally comes.
Things haven’t been right among them since Santana’s explosion. The pack has been... off. Permeated with an almost-tangible tenseness and uncertainty, making them tread lightly around one another and keep to themselves in a way that it almost unheard of so close to the full moon. Nightly phone calls with Kurt have helped keep Blaine together, but only barely; it feels as though his family is literally crumbling down around him.
This was supposed to help. It was supposed to get rid of the problem, not make it worse than ever. Blaine still wants this; wants to mate with Kurt as badly as he wants air in his lungs and the moon in the sky. But Blaine was not around in the days when Kurt and Finn first joined the pack; was not there to witness the initial fit of outrage at bringing a human into their home. Blaine has seen his brothers and sisters catty, and frustrated, and spiteful, and cruel. But he has never seen them fracture like this before.
It all feels as helpless as the transformation, and that is terrifying.
He, Puck, and Finn find themselves waiting together in the front lobby for Kurt to arrive, all three of them vibrating with nervous tension and barely able to look at one another. Puck paces back and forth across the floor, and Finn is leaning anxiously against the window frame and tapping out an unknowable rhythm against the sill. They are three pairs of yellow-gold eyes in the dim light. The ticking of the clock above the check-in desk only emphasizes the slow passing of time. Rain pounds against the windows.
Blaine thinks that, if he stands up from his chair, he might just be violently ill. The wolf can feel his anticipation; it is straining at his skin, pulling at the edges of his mind. His hands rest on his knees, and he cannot bring himself to look either of the two boys in the eye.
Finally, finally, they feel Kurt’s old truck turning down the road to the motel. Blaine stands nervously, and Finn’s fingers still from their tap-tap-tap-tap against his leg. Puck takes a deep breath, and they wait. And listen. A car door opens, then shuts. Footsteps. When Kurt is practically at the door, Finn marches toward it and flings it open without a word.
The sight of Kurt standing in the doorway with a hand raised in the air to knock, looking tiny and rain-damp and fragile, so fragile is enough to send a shockwave of warring emotions through Blaine’s entire body. Hold him close, keep him safe, claw the skin and see what’s inside. He pushes it down, down, down and sends a reassuring smile in Kurt’s direction.
Kurt returns it and steps cautiously inside, placing his black overnight bag on the ground before turning to face his brother. He looks... paler than usual. Excited, yes. But also nervous.
“Hi,” he says to Finn, but the word is barely out of Kurt’s mouth before he's grabbed by his brother and pulled into an all-encompassing embrace. Blaine expects him to pull away, to make some snide comment at Finn’s expense - but to Blaine’s shock, he returns it. Buried under his brother’s body, squeezing so tight and standing on tip toe to remain on the ground. Blaine looks away awkwardly, wanting to give them their family moment but unable to pull his eyes away from Kurt for more than a few seconds at a time.
Going to be mine. Going to be mine tonight. Want it, want him, taste him, have him -
Eventually, both brothers pull away. Finn tilts his head to one side with a look on his face, and Kurt shakes his head and squeezes his brother’s forearm. After a long moment, Finn nods. He takes a deep breath, gives Kurt a shaky smile, and claps him on the shoulder. Then he turns on his heel and heads for the door.
Kurt stands alone in the doorway, clothes rumpled from the long drive hair dripping slightly from the short walk from his truck to the house. Blaine is already rushing toward him, unable to stop himself any longer. Before either of them know what is happening, Blaine’s hands have found either side of Kurt’s face and their lips are pressed together in a desperate, needy kiss. Kurt’s arms are around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and Blaine doesn’t need the incentive. He opens Kurt’s mouth with his own and slides his tongue inside; Kurt lets out a little shuddery breath and leans into it. He tastes of rainwater and peppermint gum, and he smells so good that it makes him growl against Kurt’s lips.
“Love you.” Kurt’s words ghost across Blaine’s lips, and Kurt’s lips trail deliciously over his. Barely touching. They are breathing the same air, warm and wet between them. Blaine leans in and kisses him again, pulling him close.
“Love you, too,” Blaine eventually manages, breaking away to nuzzle Kurt’s neck. The skin there is soft and rain-damp, and the way he smells...
“Come on, guys,” comes a blunt voice from off to one side and they startle apart, having both forgotten Puck’s presence. His lips are drawn into his usual smirk, but there is something serious there as well. The alpha reaches down and picks up Kurt’s overnight bag single-handedly, gesturing toward the stairs. “Two hours until moonrise; time to get started.”
“Yeah,” says Blaine, rather breathlessly. “Yeah, okay.”
Puck begins to head up the stairs, and Kurt turns to look Blaine in the eyes. He smiles, and there is confidence there that makes Blaine both insanely proud and insanely jealous at once.
Kurt holds out his hand, and Blaine reaches up to take it. Together, they climb the stairs to face the night.
--
“Okay. Not going to lie, this is a little bit freaky,” admits Kurt, blue eyes wide as he stares down at the intimidating selection of items spread out on the coffee table.
A stack of folded off-white motel towels, three plain white kitchen bowls, two lengths of synthetic -looking cord, a tremendously sharp-looking knife, a roll of bandages, and a tube of antibiotic ointment are spread out over the shabby wooden table. All laid out like this, the objects look disarmingly sterile. Impassive.
They’ve chosen an unoccupied motel room for the ritual instead of Blaine’s own room; easier to arrange, and less of a trouble to clean up later. Its furniture has all been pushed against the wall, with the exception of the coffee table and a single chair that stand alone in the cleared space. The bedside lamp is the only source of light, and the rest of the room is swathed in half-shadows. Blaine can feel the tension building up in Kurt’s body beside him at the sight, and he immediately slips his hand into Kurt’s. Gives it a little reassuring squeeze.
“Sorry, Hummel,” says Puck, business-like and hard as he moves ahead of them into the room and picks up one of the bowls. He continues on into the bathroom and starts running the hot water. “Your whole lack of sharp bits makes this a little tricky. Plus, I really don’t trust Anderson around your arteries right now.” He fills the bowl with hot water and comes back into the main room. “Which one of you wants to go first?”
“I’ll do it,” says Blaine at once, seeing Kurt’s unsure expression as he continues to look down at the rag-tag table of medical equipment. Blaine isn’t entirely sure how much experience Puck has with anything resembling this procedure, but his boyfriend’s hesitation is enough to make him roll up his sleeve without further ado. Puck gestures to the chair, and Blaine takes a seat with his right arm outstretched and exposed.
With Kurt standing awkwardly off to one side, Puck uses one of the stretchy, synthetic cords and ties Blaine’s arm off just above the elbow. The alpha drapes one of the towels over Blaine’s knee, then picks up a bowl in one hand and the knife in the other, positioning the bowl just underneath Blaine’s elbow.
Blaine barely has enough time to wonder if this is really the most effective method before Puck presses the knife into the soft skin at the crook of his elbow, and Blaine cannot help but let out a small hiss of discomfort. The blade slices easily through his skin, and blood begins to well almost immediately. Blaine turns his arm on its side, and the bowl catches all but a few drips that roll off his elbow. They land on the towel, little pinpricks of red against the white.
He hears Kurt make a small noise; his boyfriend is standing with his back to the wall, arms crossed defensively over his chest and a distant look on his beautiful face. He doesn’t look disgusted or queasy, though. Just... uneasy. Blaine wonders if this process is similar enough to drawing blood to remind Kurt unpleasantly of all of the hospital trips he has had to endure in his young life. Blaine catches his eyes and smiles reassuringly.
“Doesn’t even hurt,” says Blaine, words full of forced cheer. Because even as Puck cleans the cut with a damp washcloth, presses it tight against the skin, and rubs antibiotic ointment over the pink skin, the fact that Kurt is about to bleed in a few minutes is almost too much to handle. Within a few minutes, the cut on his arm is wrapped up tight.
“Good stuff,” says Puck, giving Blaine an almost-imperceptible pat on the shoulder. Blaine stands, feeling the dull ache in the crook of his arm and barely able to care because Kurt is going to bleed right now. Puck looks up at Kurt. “Hummel?”
Kurt nods, straightens up - and it is an entirely new person standing there. His face smoothes into a cool expression, and his posture is completely different. Taller. Kurt brushes his fingers against Blaine’s as he walks past, then lowers himself into the chair with absolute composure. He does, however, wrinkle his nose in distaste as Puck gives the knife no more than an obligatory wipe down with the washcloth.
“Shouldn’t we be... sterilizing that, or something?”
Puck raises a dark eyebrow. “What for?”
Kurt opens his mouth to respond, hesitates, and gives a tiny nod that concedes the point. Even if he and Blaine hadn’t been having unprotected sex for ages, the wolf’s need to restore its carrier to complete good health after every transformations renders the issue of sexually transmitted diseases rather moot. Puck ties off Kurt’s arm, prepares the bowl -
And then the knife is cutting into the pale, pale skin of Kurt’s underarm and nothing else matters anymore. Because Jesus, the way his face twists up so prettily at the sting of the blade, the tiny inhale of breath - it is so fucking beautiful that Blaine could die happily right now. Blaine knows he is staring but he can’t help it, can’t stop himself because the contrast of the bright red ribbon of blood against Kurt’s (so pale, so fucking pale) skin is just too much. It almost makes Blaine snarl in jealousy that Puck is the one who gets to break Kurt’s skin, to gather the gorgeous liquid up. To make Kurt hiss in pain.
Somewhere inside of him, the human part of Blaine is completely horrified that the sight of his boyfriend bleeding is making him so hard it hurts.
The rest of him just wants more.
“That should be enough,” says Puck at last, and then he’s cleaning the cut and covering it up with bandages, and why would anyone want to hide something so beautiful? It is a good thing, though, because as soon as the cut is hidden behind a layer of bandages, Blaine’s head begins to clear. The fog begins to lift, and he is able to think straight again. He lets out an unsteady breath.
“Sorry,” says Blaine, running a hand through his curls. There is a sick guilt growing in his stomach.
“It’s fine,” Kurt replies airily, standing up and walking over to Blaine. There is a softness in his eyes, though, when he reaches up and brushes the backs of his knuckles over Blaine’s cheek. The touch makes him shiver. “I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“Last chance to back out,” says Blaine, and even though there is a joking lilt to it he has never been more serious. Because this is Kurt’s choice - always has been - and if he changes his mind now they’ll just have to find another way to make this work. He wants Kurt - wants to mate with Kurt - more badly than he has ever wanted anything. But if Kurt says stop, they stop.
Kurt glances over at Puck, who is determinedly not looking their way and fussing with folding towels. He turns back with a look of steely resolve in his eyes. Then he leans in and kisses him. The soft press of Kurt’s lips against his own is sweet, chaste, and Kurt pulls away after only a few moments. His gorgeous blue eyes are full of determination.
“Let’s do this,” says Kurt, voice high and clear in the darkened room. Blaine’s whole body tightens with anticipation.
Puck sets out both full bowls on the ground, and they sit themselves down on the beige motel carpet to drink. This is the part that Blaine has been both dreading and daydreaming about, and the fact that he is about to take part of Kurt inside himself like this... he shudders, cupping the white porcelain bowl full of blood Kurt’s blood red warm smells so good in his hands.
Sitting across from him in a graceful kneeling position, Kurt picks up the bowl of Blaine’s blood and wrinkles his nose in distaste.
“Oh, god, this is going to be difficult,” says Kurt, before scrunching up his face and tipping the contents of the bowl back into his mouth. He makes it through about half before gagging and spluttering slightly, mouth bright red and a tiny trickle of it running down his chin. “Ugh, that’s vile. Sorry, Blaine, still a human. And this is just gross.” He wipes a hand across his mouth before drinking the rest of the blood in one gulp, apparently determined to get the experience over as quickly as possible.
Blaine can’t wait any longer. He grabs the bowl of Kurt’s blood with trembling fingers and raises it to his lips, drinking greedily. And oh, god, it’s good. The wolf howls inside him at the taste; familiar and animal and warm, but better. It tastes as good as Kurt smells, and the wolf has wanted this for so long. Has wanted to claw Kurt open, drink him deep, flay the skin. And this is even better, because Kurt is letting him have this. Blaine doesn’t pause for breath and can’t force himself to savour the taste, swallowing in large gulps with his eyes shut in ecstasy. He finishes off the contents of the bowl with a shuddering breath, gasping as he licks every trace of Kurt’s blood from his lips.
After taking a few shaky moments to fully appreciate the aftertaste, Blaine manages to look up at Kurt. The slender boy is still sitting in front of him, clutching his head with one hand and looking fixedly at some point in the room. He looks so beautiful like that, a flush creeping up his neck and posture loosening, and Blaine feels a twinge of something hard and wanting and hungry beginning to grow in his stomach. He wants Kurt, more badly than he has ever wanted anything in his life. Wants to dig in his claws and fuck Kurt raw. To take him. To make Kurt his, and no one else’s.
The blood is affecting both of them. Blaine feels a growl building deep in his throat, and Kurt looks up at him through fogged eyes.
“Blaine,” breathes Kurt, and Blaine sees that his pupils are almost totally dilated. He’s breathing heavily, swaying where he sits. “Blaine, h-honey. I... I feel so strange.” Kurt’s hand trails distractedly down his own chest, fingertips catching on the opened collar and revealing more of his boyfriend’s pale collarbone.
Blaine growls, tries to lunge forward - he wants to pull Kurt on top of him and into a searing, claiming kiss - but is stopped by a large, firm hand on his shoulder. A sound, practically a yelp, escapes Blaine’s throat. He wants to claw at it, to get to Kurt now. But he can’t move. He turns, and realizes that it is Puck who has stopped him; Blaine had almost forgotten he was here.
Puck crouches down next to him, his hand still on Blaine’s shoulder and a resigned expression on his face.
“I’m sorry, Blaine,” says Puck, and the use of his given name startles Blaine to his core. To Puck, he has always, always been ‘Anderson’. The use of his first name now is... jarring. It means something. Puck looks right into his eyes, yellow meeting yellow, and holds his gaze. “I’m invoking the rights.”
“What?” Blaine asks stupidly. “Why -?”
“You know why,” Puck says softly.
And Blaine does. The pack in tatters, straining at the edges. Furious at Kurt for being the exception, for mattering, for being different. A way to show acceptance, to bring Kurt into the fold. To connect him instinctually to the rest of the pack in a way that no one could possibly deny.
There is a war going on inside Blaine’s mind. His human side is roiling, swollen with jealousy and anger and hatred. Wanting to resist, to fight and scream and wail in protest. Because Kurt belongs to him; has done since the day they first met years ago. Because it feels like such a betrayal to let another person have Kurt like this, to agree to this without protest. Because they love each other, damnit, and why can’t that just be enough?
He’s mine, he’s mine. Can’t touch him, you have no right. Please just leave. Go away and let this be ours. Don’t do this.
But the wolf, so close to the moon and strung out on the sweet taste of human blood, is already submitting to its alpha. In his mind, the wolf is rolling onto its belly, expositing its weakness and surrendering completely.
This was always a possibility, after all.
Blaine breaks Puck’s gaze and lowers his head, staring down at the floor. Obedient to the very end.
Alpha. Knows what to do. Have to obey. Knows what to do.
He feels a broad hand reach out and cradle his face, a large thumb swiping over his cheek. Blaine leans into the touch, still looking down at the ground.
“You don’t have to stay,” says Puck, voice sympathetic and gentle. “You can wait outside, if you want. I can come get you when it’s done.”
“No,” insists Blaine, looking up into his alpha’s face. Puck’s expression is hard, but there is kindness there as well. He is still cradling Blaine’s face, touch warm and comforting. “No, I want to stay. Can I please stay?”
“All right,” says Puck, and he leans forward and presses a kiss to Blaine’s forehead.
They sit there, unspeaking, for a long moment. And then Puck is pulling away, crawling across the floor to Kurt. During their conversation, Kurt seems to have fallen into a slumped position on the ground, lying on his back, staring into nothing as he pulls absently at the bandages on his arm. He has worked several long white threads free. Puck reaches forward and gently pushes Kurt’s hand away.
“You’ll unravel it if you keep playing with it,” says Puck, but his words are gentle despite their reprimand. Kurt stares up at Puck as though he is something incomprehensible in response, fingers twitching to make their way back to the bandage. Puck sighs and pulls Kurt into a sitting position one-handed. The alpha has to keep his hand in the small of Kurt’s back in order to keep him upright: the smaller boy is loose-limbed and dazed.
Blaine’s fingers twitch at the sight. It’s so wrong, seeing someone hold Kurt like this. Kurt, whose blood is warm in Blaine’s stomach and tasted so good, so intoxicating. He wants desperately to be jealous, but the emotion just won’t come.
Puck would never do this if it wasn’t necessary.
“Don’t worry, Hummel,” murmurs Puck, brushing a strand of hair out of Kurt’s eyes. “We’ll get you back to your boy soon.”
And with that, Puck begins to unbutton Kurt’s shirt.
The touch makes Kurt gasp, loud and dramatic, as Puck’s thick fingers begin to work the small round buttons undone and the green fabric of Kurt’s shirt begins to fall open. More and more of his pale chest is showing with every button.
“Blaine,” gasps Kurt, licking his lips and staring with uncomprehending confusion down at his own chest. “W-what? I don’t... what’s...?”
“Shhh,” says Puck, leaning in to kiss Kurt’s neck, still unbuttoning his shirt all the while. Kurt gasps, and gasps again when Puck trails his lips up and kisses Kurt’s cheek. “Shhhh, it’s okay.” And with that, Puck kisses Kurt right on the mouth.
Kurt tenses at the touch at first, grabbing onto Puck’s forearms and clenching into the fabric of his shirt. The alpha keeps at it, though, care and caution evident in the touch. The tender press of Puck’s lips against Kurt’s; the way Puck’s tongue swipes across Kurt’s bottom lip. Until finally Kurt begins to relax into it, responding with sloppy, open-mouth kisses and shuddering deep breaths. Kurt’s eyes flutter closed, and his whole body seems to be trembling.
Blaine groans at the sight, his erection straining once more at the fabric of his jeans. He can feel sweat begin to break out across his forehead. It had never seemed important, before, how much bigger Puck is compared to Kurt. But it is all he can think about now, as Puck slides the shirt off Kurt’s shoulders. Puck’s hands are so much larger, so much rougher-looking against Kurt’s delicate pale skin than his own tend to appear. It looks as though Puck is completely encompassing Kurt, all wrapped around him and keeping him safe. He is broader, and darker, and the contrast is making Blaine whimper and palm his cock through his pants.
The shirt now off, Puck guides Kurt into a lying position and begins to unbutton his jeans. Kurt makes a noise in the back of his throat, head lolling back and hands coming up to tangle in his own hair. The jeans are snug, but Puck has strength on his side; with a minimal amount of trouble, they too are discarded on the floor. A quick tug is all it takes to rid Kurt of his designer black briefs, and then Kurt is lying naked on the motel room floor.
Blaine has seen Kurt naked many times, is familiar with the sight. The flatness of his stomach, the sharp jut of his hipbones, his long pale legs, the way the hair between his legs is always immaculately trimmed in a way that leaves his cock and balls on glorious display. But there is something about how wanton he looks like this, splayed out and flushed underneath another man, that makes heat in the pit of Blaine’s stomach flare up hard and leave him whimpering like a puppy.
The alpha leans down to kiss Kurt again, hand trailing down his pale chest to trail his fingers over Kurt’s nipple. Kurt moans into Puck’s mouth, leaning into the touch and panting against the larger boy’s mouth. When Puck’s hand finds Kurt’s cock - sure and determined, not hesitant in the slightest - Kurt throws back his head and arches up into Puck’s hand, his beautiful mouth open and panting.
He doesn’t notice Puck’s hand reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the small bottle of lube; doesn’t even acknowledge when Puck’s hand leaves his rosy cock, just keeps twisting up into a non-existent touch. It’s only when Puck’s lube-slicked finger begins to press at his entrance that Kurt gasps and tenses up, fingers clenching into the cheap beige of the motel carpet and eyes darting around for someone who isn’t there.
And Blaine simply cannot do this anymore. Cannot sit here on the sidelines, helpless to watch the boy he loves get taken. He moves without thought, words bubbling up in his throat before he can stop them.
“It’s okay,” says Blaine, voice sounding choked and raw to his own ears. The moon is pounding in his veins and he is so hard it hurts, but none of that matters. Kurt needs him. His Kurt needs him. He starts crawling over toward Kurt and Puck on the floor, speaking all the while. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just relax, all right? I’m here.”
“Blaine,” breathes Kurt, and Blaine almost purrs at the sound of his own name coming out of Kurt’s kiss-swollen lips. Kurt’s voice is so beautiful, just like the rest of him. High and pretty, almost musical. Blaine positions himself behind Kurt and pulls the slender boy into his arms so that Kurt’s back is pressed against Blaine’s chest.
“Just relax,” whispers Blaine, stroking Kurt’s sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes.
After a moment, Kurt does. His body goes loose in Blaine’s arms, and Puck’s finger is able to slide inside with only a small inhalation from Kurt. They lie there together on the floor, Blaine cradling Kurt in his arms as Puck’s fingers work him open. Stretching him wider, scissoring inside with precision that speaks of long experience. Kurt mewls in pleasure every time Puck’s fingers brush against his prostate, arching up into Blaine’s hold.
“That’s it,” Blaine coos as Puck adds a third finger, making Kurt gasp and his bright blue eyes fly wide open in shock at the sensation. “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so good.” Blaine kisses Kurt’s forehead and holds him tight as Puck’s fingers stretch him wide.
Puck looks up, and their eyes meet over Kurt’s writhing body between them. Puck raises both eyebrows, and Blaine nods in confirmation. Slowly, Puck begins to draw his fingers out. Kurt groans in protest, clamping down around them, and Blaine knows that he must feel so empty without the fingers to fill him up. Cold and slick and wanting at their absence.
But the feeling won’t last long, because Puck is unbuttoning his pants, unzipping, and pulling them down over his hips. He’s big; hard and flushed and jutting out from a sea of brown curls. The alpha squeezes more lube onto his fingers, spreading it generously over his cock. He hesitates, running a hand down Kurt’s stomach in a gentle, caring way.
Then Puck positions himself, grips Kurt’s thighs in either hand, and begins to slowly push inside.
“Ah!” Kurt cries at the sensation, but Blaine is quick to press reassuring kisses against his sweat-damp hair. To hold him close and trail loving hands over that beautiful chest.
“You can take it Kurt, I promise,” mutters Blaine into Kurt’s hair, trailing endearments along his skin. Kurt is shaking in his arms as Puck enters him, big and blunt and ever-so-slow. “Sweetheart, angel. It’s all right. Just breathe.”
Kurt groans and hides his face in Blaine’s arms as Puck fills him up, sliding in maddeningly slowly until he is buried in Kurt to the hilt. Blaine looks up to see Puck shuddering as Kurt squeezes around him.
“All right, Hummel?” asks Puck, rocking gently forward. Kurt can only keen in response, rocking back into the movement. Kurt tilts his head back and gives Blaine a beseeching look, eyes still glazed over - but this time with desire as well as the effects of the blood.
“Please,” Kurt whimpers in his arms, looking right up at Blaine the whole time. “So good, please...”
The last word strangles off into a moan, sweet and high and innocent. And fuck, Kurt’s voice. It hits Blaine right in the gut. Musical and soft, wrapping around the syllables and turning them into something perfect and needy and right.
“He’s fine,” murmurs Blaine, stroking a hand down Kurt’s chest.
Puck begins to move - and all Kurt can do is cling to Blaine and moan, arching up into the sensation as best he can. His head is lolling against Blaine’s chest, clearly lost in the sensation and addled by the blood; Blaine holds him tight, keeps him steady. Having Kurt in his arms like this, writhing in pleasure and himself completely untouched... it feels so strange, but Blaine can’t think about that right now. Can only hold his lover tight as he gets fucked by another man, the stench of sex so thick around the three of them that Blaine can barely stand it.
Sweat is beginning to bead on Puck’s chest, his face screwed up with restrained pleasure as he pushes in and out of Kurt’s body, hands clenched firmly on his slender thighs. Kurt shudders and lets out a choked noise, and Blaine looks down at him only to realizes that he’s been playing with Kurt’s nipples. Rolling the sensitive skin between his fingers, and Kurt’s whole body tenses and his breath catches. His orgasm begins to roll over him without even being properly touched - before Puck reaches forward and clamps his hand firmly around the base of Kurt’s cock.
Kurt wails at the denial, voice high and clear and desperate, and Blaine pulls his hands away to avoid taunting him further. He kisses Kurt on the neck as his boyfriend attempts to thrust up into the hand, but both Puck’s resolve and his grip remain firm.
“Save that - for y-your boyfriend, Hummel...” says Puck, his hips beginning to snap harder and harder until his whole body begins to tense. He slams into Kurt one last time, a choked groan escaping from his lips as he stills, buried in Kurt’s body as he comes. Puck stays there, riding out the aftershocks and clenching Kurt’s thighs so tightly that Blaine knows they will be bruised in the morning.
And all at once, Blaine feels something strange. It is as though there is something twisting deep in his stomach, clenching down and making him gasp. It hurts - but in a good way, like a band-aid being pulled off. The sensation is gone in an instant, but its shadow remains.
“Fuck,” hisses Puck, panting, his hand still circled tight around the base of Kurt’s cock. There is a pause where their heavy breathing is the only sound to disturb the silence. Then Puck begins to pull back, sliding out of Kurt’s body out torturously slowly. Kurt whines in frustration, still hard and wanting in Puck’s hand. Unfulfilled and still wound tight. He twists in Blaine’s grip but doesn’t truly try to free himself. Instead, Kurt balls his fists up into the fabric of Blaine’s shirt and shakes with want. There is a small amount of pearly white liquid beginning to dribble down Kurt’s thighs and onto the carpet.
“Is it...?” Blaine begins tentatively, holding Kurt as though he is the most precious thing in the world. Because he is. Kurt is everything, everything that matters.
“Yeah,” breathes Puck, finally letting go of Kurt’s straining erection and beginning to hitch his pants back up on his hips. Kurt stays there on the floor, panting and rolling his hips. Still nestled in Blaine’s arms.
His alpha moves forward, claps a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. They lock eyes like that, holding the gaze for a long moment. It feels as though Puck is looking inside of him, splitting him open and seeing what he’s made of.
“He’s ours now, Anderson, as much as he is yours,” says Puck at last, and there is a slight hitch of emotion in his voice. Sweat runs down his shaved head, and his hands are visibly unsteady. Blaine feels such utter trust toward this man that it is practically a physical sensation.
“I know,” says Blaine, and Puck gives him one more pat on the shoulder before turning and walking to the edge of the room.
He still has to stay, realizes Blaine with a small shock. He has to make sure this stays safe.
But it almost doesn’t matter, in the end; the boy in his arms is so much more important than anything or anyone else in the room. Blaine leans down to kiss Kurt on the cheek, but Kurt responds by twisting in his hold, practically climbing on top of him until his arms are wrapped around Blaine’s shoulders, his face buried in Blaine’s neck. He’s shaking, but not with fear - Blaine could smell Kurt’s fear from miles away, he’s sure. It is want - frantic, hysterical want that makes Kurt squeeze him tight and cling as though his life depends on it.
Blaine’s skin is burning up, so hot with the moon and with wanttakehave thrumming through his veins. It is all he can do to hold Kurt close, to gently smooth down his sweat-soaked hair and not act on the growing urge.
“You did so well, sweetheart,” he manages, rubbing his boyfriend’s shoulders. “My Kurt.”
“I’m so hard, Blaine, please. I need it, I need to come, please.”
The words hit Blaine deep in the core of his stomach, but he still manages to hold on. He shakes his head, curls shaking out.
“Need to get you cleaned up. C’mon, up we go...” With that, Blaine clasps Kurt snugly to his chest and rises to his feet, his boyfriend’s weight feeling like nothing in his arms. Kurt doesn’t usually like being picked up very much; they’ve talked about it many times. How inconsequential it makes him feel, how useless. But tonight is an exception; he holds on tight as Blaine walks across the room and deposits Kurt onto the pushed-aside bed, lying him down as gently as possible. When Blaine leaves his side to take one of the washcloths from the pile of towels and soak it in now-lukewarm water, he groans in frustration and arches his hips into the air, hands fisting into the sheets. Blaine’s hands shake as he wrings out the cloth.
Kurt spreads his legs when Blaine returns, and whines in frustration when the only contact he receives is the cloth. The sounds he makes as Blaine wipes the sensitive skin clean - wipes every trace of Puck away - are practically torturous.
Never again. Never letting anyone touch you like this again. Clean it all, make you mine again.
“B-Blaine, please. Please fuck me, I can’t stand it.”
Want to slam into him, make him gasp, make him forget anyone but me exists.
“I promise I want this. Don’t hold back, Blaine, please I need it I need it I need it -”
And that’s all Blaine can take. Kurt looks so fucking gorgeous like this, sprawled out and fucked out on the bed, actually begging Blaine to take him. There are tears in his eyes, too. Catching in the thick lashes and making them looks so fucking pretty. In one smooth movement he stands, moves to grab the discarded container of lube from the floor, and returns to the bed. He uncaps the bottle, squeezes some lube on his fingers, and doesn’t wait to slide two fingers smoothly into Kurt’s stretched entrance. Kurt groans, hands flying to cover his eyes and clenching around him, lifting his hips into the touch as Blaine roughly pumps his fingers in an out.
“You like that?” growls Blaine, Kurt’s whole body squeezing around him. He intentionally drags his fingers over Kurt’s prostate with every thrust.
“Yes,” says Kurt. “God, yes, please.”
Kurt practically screams when Blaine adds another finger, mouth falling open in a wordless cry as Blaine keeps up the hard rhythm. Kurt is already stretched, so it doesn’t take much, and after a few minutes he’s shaking so hard that Blaine knows that nothing will be able to stop him from coming if they keep this up.
His fingers are sticky and slick when he yanks them out of Kurt’s body, but Blaine ignores that. Tearing at his own clothes is made more difficult by Kurt, who crawls up the length of the bed at begins to mouth at Blaine cock through his pants, pressing sloppy kisses along Blaine’s belly once it is exposed. Soon enough, Blaine’s clothes are strewn across the floor and his hard, straining cock is drenched in more lube. He easily picks Kurt up, too desperate to be gentle, and positions them so that he is sitting on the edge of the bed and Kurt is straddling his hips, facing one another. Kurt’s chest is flushed.
When Kurt leans down to kiss him, Blaine quickly takes control; grabbing the back of Kurt’s neck, dragging his teeth over Kurt’s lips and breathing in the small needy noises Kurt keeps making into his mouth. It’s hard and ruthless, a claim. He grabs Kurt’s hips as they kiss, hands wide enough to stretch around and knead into Kurt’s ass, and pulls the slender boy down onto his cock.
“Fucking yes,” hisses Kurt as Blaine pulls him down, and god it feels good. Burying himself in Kurt, losing himself in Kurt.
“No one else again, ever.” Guiding Kurt down until Blaine is fully inside of him, Kurt’s arms wrapped around his neck and his whole body shaking. He knows his boyfriend is too boneless and overwhelmed to move, so Blaine grips his hips and moves Kurt’s whole body up and downs as he pushes up into Kurt’s body in tandem. Kurt throws his head back and groans as Blaine uses his strength to slide Kurt’s body onto his cock over and over, and the hot stretch of Kurt’s body around him feeling so good it’s unreal.
“Never,” gasps Kurt, clinging to him frantically.
“Only mine.”
“Only... o-only yours, fuck, Blaine, please.”
Kurt reaches down and begins to desperately touch himself, hand trapped between their bodies as he frantically pulls himself off. The sight of Kurt unable to help himself any longer is too much, too much, and Blaine tightens his grip and pounds up into him. Kurt is panting, tensing - beautiful and strong, and completely his - and as he cries out and spasms in orgasm, Blaine cannot stop himself, cannot stop the wolf inside from leaning forward and biting down hard on Kurt’s shoulder.
A growl from the edge of the room stops him from going farther, but there is already blood flowing down Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt shouts as he comes, splattering both of their chests, and whines as Blaine leans forward and laps at the wound.
It tastes so good, even better than before when it’s hot and fresh and taken in the midst of passion. Blood streaks across Blaine’s tongue and he laps it up, still thrusting up into Kurt’s body as the slender boy groans and clings to him. Kurt is trembling as Blaine fucks him through the aftershocks, fucks him through the growing sensitivity. Harder and harder, and it tastes so good, as good as Kurt so tight around him, crying out and grinding down on his cock. Blaine’s right on the edge, white heat flashing behind his eyes and so close, so close -
Blaine drags Kurt down hard on his cock; once, twice, and he’s gone. Lost in the pleasure of Kurt’s body, practically blacking out as he clutches Kurt tight and comes deep inside of him. There is another growl filling the air, and after a moment Blaine realizes that it’s him. Snarling as the last of his orgasm hits him, still buried balls-deep in Kurt’s ass, shaking and sweating with satisfaction.
After a few moments, he comes back to himself. Kurt is spent and trembling on top of him, arms wrapped around his neck and body gone limp like a rag doll. For a second Blaine worries that he has managed to hurt him - until he feels the sweet press of Kurt’s lips against his throat, a dozen little kisses that make Blaine release an unsteady breath.
Need to finish it. So close, so close, almost done.
The tension of needing to come, of needing Kurt to finally find the crest of his pleasure is gone - replaced with sweet relief and a hot itch beneath his skin. They’re so close, so close and Blaine needs to finish this now.
Kurt makes a small noise of protest as Blaine leans in and re-opens the bite wound on his shoulder, but doesn’t try to move away as he laps at the blood that trickles out. He doesn’t even object when Blaine slides him off his cock, picking Kurt up and draping him back onto the bed. Kurt’s eyes are fluttering shut, whole body relaxed, and Blaine knows he is about to fall asleep. Blaine focuses on his hand until the nails are long and sharp, then draws his index nail across his own wrist.
“Drink,” murmurs Blaine, and Kurt opens his mouth to let Blaine’s blood drip into his mouth. He swallows, shuddering, before rolling onto his side. His breath evens out and his chest begins to rise and fall in a slow rhythm.
Behind them, a door closes.
Blaine’s eyes are slamming shut, body on the brink of collapse, but the feeling of completion that floods through him is enough to make him inhale sharply. This is it. This is everything.
The duelling halves of himself - the wolf and the human, two sides of the same coin, constantly struggling and fighting and straining against each other - still. Something seems to meld together in his chest. A warm rush of feeling rolls over him, and Blaine can practically feel his mind begin to rearrange itself into a new pattern. Neurons firing, creating new paths and meanings and sensations.
Realization, beautiful and clear, begins to dawn. He belongs to this boy - this strange, brave, beautiful boy. And Kurt belongs to him.
“Mate,” Blaine says aloud, the word sounding shocked and reverent in the air.
Mate, murmurs the wolf from deep inside his chest.
A new awareness is growing inside of him, a shifting of thoughts and feelings and perception that he can practically feel. But it’s too much to consider right now, with their slick and worn-out bodies desperate for sleep.
Blaine only has enough energy remaining to crawl onto the bed and lie down next to his mate, to wrap his arms around Kurt’s stomach and holding him close. His eyes close, and he drifts into unconsciousness with the slender solidity of Kurt’s body pressed against his chest.
Close to him, the way Kurt is always going to be from now on.
Epilogue