Illicit, Part Four. Kurt/Blaine 5+1 pot-smoking fic.
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And One Time That Things Got a Little More Out of Hand:
It isn’t for another month, over the Columbus Day long weekend, that the two of them finally push past some of the unspoken limits and boundaries they’ve been working within.
By this point, the paperwork for Blaine’s transfer to McKinley has been finalized and enacted for over two weeks. It had come as a shock to Kurt, the first time Blaine had mentioned shedding the Dalton blazer in favour of a return to all the crassness and craziness of public school. But no matter how much Kurt pressed - how much he needled, or angled, or twisted Blaine’s words around as best he knew how - Blaine remained firm that he was not transferring for Kurt’s sake. He was finally facing his demons, and this just happened to be their chance to face them together.
They are walking through the McKinley parking lot toward Kurt’s SUV after glee practice - not holding hands, but walking so close their shoulders keep brushing - when the subject first gets broached. The weather is finally getting a bit colder, a chill starting to come out in the air that sneaks through fabric and steals up against skin. Kurt absolutely loves it. Autumn is his favourite season - for fashion, he always claims, citing scarves and light coats and hats and layers upon layers of beautiful clothing to drape himself in. That’s a part of it, certainly, but Kurt is aware that Blaine knows him better than that. Knows that Kurt loves the sharpness of autumn, and how deceptive it is. How it fools people with sun and clear skies, and instead delivers brusque sweeps of wind and deep, musky smells of colouring leaves that leave him tingling and melancholy in all the right ways.
By now, Blaine knows Kurt a whole lot better than almost anyone else in the world.
It is this fact - this simple, easy fact of their relationship; that Blaine has grown to know Kurt so very well, inside and out - that prompts Kurt to lean against the back window of his car when they reach it, key dangling idly between his fingers without making any motions to unlock the doors. Blaine looks at him questioningly; they’re supposed to be heading home soon to work on a French project together. At that familiar look (not one of expectancy, per se, just listening, willing to listen, Blaine is always so very willing to listen), Kurt opens his mouth and speaks the words that have been on his mind for the past few days.
“I want to go further with you.”
Blinking, Blaine freezes. A bewildered look steals over his face. “Pardon?” he asks, tilting his head sideways in that puppy-dog way of his, and oh, does Kurt love him. “With the assignment?”
“No,” murmurs Kurt, shaking his head. It makes the tiny tassels on his light scarf shake back and forth. “No, Blaine. I’ve been... thinking about this a lot, lately. And I want to go further with you. Let myself lose control in a way we haven’t done before.” He bites down on his lower lip, feeling suddenly anxious. “Would you... want that? With me?”
The confusion on Blaine’s face isn’t going anywhere, though; in fact, it seems to have deepened. Blaine pauses, looking around quickly, before leaning in a bit closer.
“Kurt, are you - are you talking about sex? Because. Um. I don’t know if you remember - I do, because it’s always sort of awesome, but. But we’ve kind of already -”
“No,” Kurt hisses back, feeling his face turn red-hot more with shocking speed. He goes over the words in his head and, oh, god. Oops. It’s quite possible that Kurt will never quite master the elusive beast that is the innuendo. He reaches out and gives the sleeve of Blaine’s long-sleeved shirt a tug. “No, I don’t mean - I mean, I remember that we...” Kurt reaches up to scrub a hand through his hair, but aborts the movement mid-way through. His hair is fabulous today, and there’s no point in ruining it over awkwardness. “Drugs, Blaine. I mean drugs.”
“Oh,” says Blaine stupidly, blinking up at him. After a moment’s pause, his thick brows furrow together in worry. “Wait, Kurt - are you wanting to try other... substances? Because I’m not sure I want to -”
“No, not other, just...” Kurt takes a deep breath, trying to articulate the vague notions and almost-ideas that have been spinning around his head for a while now. In the past, it would have felt difficult and irritating to voice his ideas to another person without having them fully figured-out first. Now, it’s just... being with Blaine. Blaine is the person he talks to when he can’t quite figure out why he’s feeling upset, or frustrated, or even when he can’t identify how he’s feeling at all. Breaking both of them from their I can figure it all out on my own habits had been one of their first major things to work through as a couple.
He thinks back to the awkwardness of that night in the car, all those months ago. Trying not to look naive, or say the wrong things, or look stupid in front of this boy. The thought makes Kurt smile with the wisdom that only time can bring.
“We’ve done marijuana with each other... what, five times?” asks Kurt, trying to explain himself again. A small part of him is horrified that he’s able to say the word aloud without wincing. He shrugs. “We always stop after one or two of whatever we’re doing. And I know you once said that you’ve never been any higher than we’ve got together. But... I don’t know. It feels as though we’re holding back. Like we’ve been right on the edge of something more every time we do it. I’ve seen parts of stoner movies, Blaine, and I know for sure that I’ve never got as... shameless as people do in those films. And... I kind of want to.”
“You do?” asks Blaine, lowering his voice and leaning in a little closer. Not out of fear of being heard, but out of the need for greater intimacy for this particular conversation.
“Yeah,” Kurt admits, letting out a little breath. “I want to feel... more, with you. More relaxed, more intense - whatever it feels like, I want to try to get there at least once. With you.”
And a big, beautiful smile begins to spread across Blaine’s face. “I’d love that,” he admits, reaching up to hook his fingers into the lapel of Kurt’s jacket. “It’s... something I’ve never wanted to do with the Warblers because, no matter what, I... I always need to keep something of myself back. Does that make sense? It... scared me. The idea of letting up control around other people like that.” Blaine lets out a tiny laugh. “But... you’re not other people, Kurt.”
“So... that’s a yes?” asks Kurt, semi-excited already and bouncing on his heels. Blaine lets out a small laugh, crinkling his nose.
“It’s a yes,” he admits, and Kurt can feel his whole face light up. “I’d love to try that with you, Kurt. I love you.”
“Yes, yes, I love you too. But now we have to plan!” exclaims Kurt, feeling giddy and nervous and happy in a wordless way. He presses the auto-unlock on his set of keys, nudging Blaine in the shoulder until the other boy finally throws up his hands in defeat and begins to head toward the passenger seat. “We’re going to have to figure out a place and time, of course, and a general outline of activities. Oh, and a supply, too! Blaine, get your phone and text Wes, I’m driving.”
The driver’s side door shuts with a slam, and a few seconds later the engine revs to life. When they leave the parking lot, it is with the confines of the vehicle full to the brim of excited chatter from one of its occupants and a long, warm gaze from the other.
--
Since Blaine’s parents go away every October long weekend, the issue of where and when doesn’t take very long to solve. All it takes is Blaine claiming that he won’t be able to go on their usual holiday to a ski resort out of state - seriously, Kurt, I’m not sad to miss it at all. It’s about six hours of driving for the barest bit of early-year powder, but mom and dad go nuts over it, I don’t even know - in favour of staying home and catching up on homework and assignments for his new school.
The Andersons really don’t need to know that Blaine could probably say random words for half an hour, write them down, and hand it in to receive a higher mark than the median of all McKinley students.
When Kurt arrives on Blaine’s doorstep several hours after Marita and William have left for somewhat colder climes, Blaine opens the door and smiles a soft, sweet smile at the sight of him. The sun is still high in the sky, although there is a crispness in the air that belies the brightness.
“Hey,” says Blaine, leaning his head against the rich wood doorframe. Kurt takes a step closer, leans down - and kisses his boyfriend on the lips.
“Hey,” he returns when he pulls away, sliding a hand down Blaine’s cheek. And slowly, his smile turns to something more excitable, more devious. “Let’s do this.”
--
Everything goes as it normally does for the first two joints.
Since they have the whole weekend for the house to air out, Blaine decides that they may as well take the opportunity to use the living room instead of the bedroom. Since Kurt wholeheartedly agrees - there’s something nice about open spaces when they smoke that they just don’t get to experience very often. It’s less claustrophobic, less oppressive.
They work their way through one joint, better rolled now with the little bit of practice they’ve got, and then another. Passing them back and forth idly, trying hard not to rush while the simultaneous sense of eagerness floats through both of them. At not knowing what will happen once they get past this point.
After the second - their usual stopping place, Kurt notes - they take a break. Kurt is stretched out on one of the couches, his hand dangling over the side to brush over Blaine’s arm where his boyfriend has taken to sprawling on the ground. They’re not too far gone yet, Kurt realizes, but they’re on the very edge. The border, he assumes, between buzzed and... more than that. The smoke has settled lightly over the large room, far too big for two joints to render it hazy. It feels as though Kurt’s body is floating through the air and sinking into the softness of the couch at the same time. He stares up at the speckled ceiling, willing his eyes to catch the secret patterns that form along the ridges.
“I feel... like I have a really big mouth sometimes,” Kurt hears himself saying, high and wavery in the silence, and after a moment he realizes he must have been speaking for a while. His sense of time and place is starting to go, he realizes absently. As though watching a film of someone else’s life instead of experiencing his own. They’re close, then. Close to the farthest they’ve been.
But the words are completely valid, actually. He opens and closes his mouth a few times to test this theory, and, yep. It’s big. “Like, reaaaaally big,” he continues, mouth open a bit wider than it should be. How wide does he keep his mouth, usually? “Like. Sometimes I can’t see my teeth when I smile, and it’s weird.”
“I like your mouth,” he hears Blaine say defensively, flicking at his dangling hand in chastisement. “And that it’s big. That’s, um. Nice.”
After a moment, Kurt snorts loudly into his own hand. The giggles keep coming, long and hard and uncontrollable. It’s funny, very funny, but he can’t remember exactly why. After a moment, it comes back to him.
“I bet you do,” chuckles Kurt, grabbing a throw pillow to muffle his laughter, because really. It’s funny.
“Oh, hush,” says Blaine, and Kurt can practically see him shaking his head in his mind’s eye. It makes him giggle harder. All at once, Kurt realizes that now is the time.
“We need to do a third,” says Kurt abruptly, turning to flip from the couch onto the floor before realizing that Blaine is currently occupying that space. Ow.
“Ow,” says Blaine, looking up at Kurt and blinking through the pain of having an elbow jammed into his upper arm.
“Sorry,” says Kurt, kind of petting along Blaine’s hair in apology. He wears a little less gel in it, now. It feels nice to touch, even if the world is spinning a bit too much with his tumble. “But we do. Need to. Do a third, I mean. It’s a good idea and so... we should do it.” He grinds his hips into Blaine’s to punctuate the sentiment, but that just makes Blaine groan and bite his lip, so Kurt rolls off of him.
Before they started, Kurt - not Blaine, who is bad at it and makes them too loose - had rolled out seven joints in preparation for the day. They honestly have no idea how many they’ll be wanting, which makes things a little bit difficult. How to calculate for time, or how much to split between them, or how much of an impact their previous smoking experiments will make on how strongly they feel it. All Kurt knows, right now, is that a third joint will put them over the wall; will be charging forward where they usually back down.
And Kurt doesn’t want to back down anymore.
Fingers only shaking a little bit, he lights the third joint and they begin to pass it back and forth between them. It’s harder than the second, somehow. Claws at their throats in a bad way, making them sting and cough and reach for water. They shotgun as much as possible, because it’s sexy and because it seems to make sense in terms of maximum smoke conservation, occasionally taking long breaks to slide their mouths together, to taste the burn along one another’s tongues.
When they’ve smoked that joint right down to the tiny amount of thick ash before the roach, it takes Kurt standing up to go use the bathroom down the hall to realize exactly why people use the term ‘high’.
He floats down the hallway, sliding his hands against the wall where necessary to keep himself up and marvelling at the coolness against his palms. His head is swimming, spinning hard, and he has to pee so badly it feels as though he’s about to burst. It isn’t sloshy, like being too drunk. But drifting. He drifts through his trip to the washroom, careful to make sure the toilet seat is clean simply because he knows that he’ll care when this feeling wears off. Drifts through washing his hands, drifts back down the hallway to Blaine.
His boyfriend is sitting slumped in one of the wing-backed armchairs, his bare feet raised in front of him like a small child, wiggling his toes with a look of delight on his face.
“Feet are so weird,” says Blaine excitedly, smiling hard and giving his toes another wiggle. He can’t seem to manage to do them both at the same time, so the wiggling takes place one foot after the other. Right foot, wiggle. Left foot, wiggle. “Kurt, you have to see this. When was the last time you looked at your feet? They’re so weird.”
“I don’t really like feet,” admits Kurt, shrugging his shoulders and wrapping his sweater around himself. “They look funny. I like them better with shoes. They’re like a shoe reptile-icle.” He blinks, furrowing his brow. “Receptacle? That sounds wrong.”
“Kurt, I want food,” says Blaine all of a sudden, sounding very serious. “We should eat food, or - ohmygod. We could cook food! When you cook food it’s better because you get whatever food you want, right? Kurt?”
Even in his altered state of mind, a mental image of the last time he let Blaine try to help him in the kitchen flashes before Kurt’s eyelids: Blaine, frantically fanning at the flames engulfing their French toast as he apologized profusely and blamed every other possible factor in the cooking practice other than the chef. Kurt winces, resolving to keep reminding himself to keep Blaine away from the kitchen - at least until he’s aware of himself enough to stop Blaine from doing something stupid.
“We should go out,” Kurt hears himself saying in response, sounding certain and convicted. And... yeah, actually. That does sound nice. Through the living room window, Kurt can see that there is sun shining through the clouds, warm for this time of year, and it probably smells good, and Blaine doesn’t live too far from uptown Westerville. “We can go for a walk into town, and wander for a bit.”
“I like outside,” says Blaine, a big grin on his face. “We can get food outside, too!”
“We can,” says Kurt triumphantly, feeling very proud of himself for the idea. He blinks, and realizes that his boyfriend is crawling across the floor to get to him.
“You’re so smart!” exclaims Blaine when he gets to Kurt, wrapping his arms around the backs of Kurt’s legs and pressing his face into Kurt’s stomach. “Sooooo smart and I love you.”
Kurt slides to his knees before his mind even fully acknowledges making the decision to do so, pressing a kiss to Blaine’s forehead before pressing their foreheads together. “I love you too, Blaine Warbler,” he hears himself say impishly, tongue twisting happily around the old endearment. Blaine grins back at him, looking flushed and excited and his lips are so red.
They kiss, sloppy and languid. All tongues and lips, teeth clacking occasionally, and that should be embarrassing but it really, really isn’t. There’s a tight pressure growing between Kurt’s legs and oh, fuck, he’s horny. But they can’t have sex yet. They really, really can’t or else they won’t get anything to eat or go outside into the fresh air and Kurt kinda really wants to.
He kisses Blaine one more time, then stands up - and the world doesn’t swing around him quite has hard as it has been. That fact is somehow... disappointing? A grin twists over his face as he pulls Blaine onto his feet, nearly falling over in the process himself.
“Half a joint, and then we go?” asks Kurt, raising his eyebrows in the direction of the little metal box on the ground in the middle of the living room. With a smile that lights up the room, Blaine nods back happily.
--
They’re outside, walking along the suburban street that Kurt recognizes as the one that Blaine’s house is on, and oh, wow, Kurt honestly does not remember how they got here.
“You don’t?” asks Blaine, quirking his head and smiling too much as he always does when they smoke, and it’s nice to know that some things stay consistent after such a period of time. Kurt blinks, and after a moment’s confusion he realizes that he must have said that part about forgetting things out loud.
“No,” Kurt replies, shaking his head doubtfully and looking down at their interlocked hands. Dangling between them, back and forth. Back and forth, like a pendulum. He screws up his face in concentration, wracking his brain. “I mean, if I force myself to think about it, I do know how we got here. We smoked half, put on our shoes, you grabbed some of our stuff, we walked down your front path and now we’re here, but.” Everything around them is swimming in the most delightful way, and focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and talking at the same time is getting very complicated. “But I can’t actually remember doing those things. Does that make sense? I don’t think I’m sense.”
“I don’t know if it’s normal, but you’re sense to me,” says Blaine sweetly, reaching over with his free hand to poke Kurt on the nose. The touch is startling, and Kurt can’t quite figure out what’s wrong with Blaine’s sentence. He’s fairly sure something’s off about it, at least. “You keep losing track of time, and it’s cute, because I don’t do that and I like that you do.” Blaine gives his hand a squeeze and tugs Kurt in a bit closer, humming happily. And -
“Hang on, wait, not here,” Kurt blurts, disentangling Blaine’s fingers from his own. Blaine makes a soft noise of protest. “It’s... not safe. Or something. I know.”
“Oh,” says Blaine, straightening up his posture and nodding seriously. He smoothes a hand through his hair ineffectually, clearly attempting to make himself look orderly. “You’re right, it isn’t. Or something. We’re going into town, right? For food?”
“Yes,” says Kurt in response, waiting for Blaine to walk ahead of him a bit because he actually has no idea at all where they are right now. Each house they walk past looks identical to the ones before and after it - little boxes made of ticky tacky, little boxes all the same - and if Kurt is being completely honest with himself, he probably couldn’t find his way back to Blaine’s house from here even if he absolutely had to.
And something very, very strange is happening. Because he and Blaine have smoked together a few times before, and even as the marijuana had twinged along Kurt’s brain and made things strange and vague, it has never felt as overpowering as this. He isn’t in control anymore, not really; everything in his line of sight is swaying and funnel-visioned, sunny and clouds and green and yellow leaves and houses along the road feeling so strange it makes his stomach clench. He can barely feel his feet moving beneath him, and all of the outdoors is humming.
It should be scary, he knows. This should feel powerless, and helpless, and frightening.
You took drugs, the rational part of his brain snaps at him, sounding bitchy. A lot of drugs all at once. What exactly were you expecting?
In the past, Kurt has never been very good at letting go of control. He clings to responsibilities and tasks because they make his life make sense. Holding on tight and doing his best to keep control of situations is how he looked out for his dad all these years, how he’s managed to survive everything that’s been thrown at him over the course of his life. He controls how much he eats, and how moisturized his skin is, how he walks and talks and sits and laughs and sings. Letting down that veneer is not only scary; generally, he finds the notion completely unthinkable.
But somehow, here - with the cool, crisp air cooling down the heat and sweat of his body, and with Blaine beside him... it’s all right. They’re together, and they’ll be okay, and they’re going to ride this out just fine. Kurt trusts Blaine to get them through, and he knows that Blaine is trusting him to do the exact same in return.
They’ll hold one another up through this.
His boyfriend is chattering happily beside him about - something, god, Kurt has no idea what - and the sound of him speaking is something for Kurt to cling to in the swirl of his surroundings.
They continue to float their way to town, Kurt following the hum of Blaine’s voice as it bounces and swings in the air.
--
They go everywhere.
At least, it feels like everywhere. All of it blurs together by the end of the day: a mish-mash of places and times that Kurt finds difficult to sort out and label. After a long walk of an indeterminate length of time, they head into uptown Westerville first. Walking along its fairly quaint little roads, past shops and restaurants, Blaine becomes completely enraptured with watching people walk.
(“Kurt. Kurt, I’ve forgotten how to walk like a real person. Is this normal? It feels weird.”
“Oh my god, Blaine, stop, you’re. Like. Shuffling. Just walk like you normally do.”
“I can’t remember how to walk like I normally do!”)
Eventually, they go to get Blaine something to eat at a local burger place; once they’re seated, his boyfriend becomes absolutely resolute that Kurt must order something as well. This turns out to be a blessing, because even though Kurt doesn’t feel hungry in the same way Blaine obviously does the food winds up being unbelievably delicious. Flavours are exciting and tactile and vibrant on Kurt’s tongue, and he’s fairly sure he groans out loud when he takes his first bite what should be a fairly standard cheeseburger. It tastes, everything tastes in the most incredible way, and Blaine shovels back fries as though they’re going out of style as they talk and buzz and taste the food on their tongues.
It feels as though they just get their full plates before they’re empty, and Blaine is reaching across the table and wiping mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth, and Kurt can barely remember the food except that it was beyond incredible, and why doesn’t food always taste this way? Blaine pays for them with his credit card, and it takes Kurt way too long to protest that he can actually pay for his own food. This suggestion gets swiftly shot down by Blaine’s superior logic. (“I swear to god, Kurt, I cannot do math right now. I can’t, don’t make me, just let me do this.”)
Blaine pops into a corner store after that for a minute, but fortunately Kurt is able to entertain himself by sitting on the bench outside and looking at his feet, because Blaine was right and they really are quite amazing. His boots drag in the air, and it’s incredible, because he’s never been able to feel the air around his limbs before. Before he knows it, Blaine’s back, and Kurt’s spent at least - maybe more than? - five minutes watching his feet sway back and forth.
They walk a little way out of town, then, to a large bridge with graffiti spray painted on the underside. The pictures are pretty but it’s all a bit dirty, and Kurt doesn’t understand why they’re there until Blaine pulls out a lighter - the purchase at the corner store, oh - and another one of the joints. They’re coming down, Kurt realizes, blinking up at the treetops. Things are evening out a little bit around the edges, and his isn’t ready for the day to be over yet. Plus, the hint of that smell as Blaine pulls out the little white stick makes his mouth water and his throat hurt in the best way possible.
They light up under the bridge like delinquents, passing the joint back and forth until Blaine burns his fingers on the last hit and drops it onto the ground to be crushed underfoot.
After that, Kurt is able to realize retroactively, they are officially high out of their minds.
Time swirls around Kurt in a mockery of making sense, and Blaine chats happily beside him about something as they walk along a road back into town. He thinks. It’s hard to tell, especially when Blaine’s skin looks so weird. Like it’s made out of clay and shaped into a person and painted overtop, and Kurt spends most of the walk staring at Blaine’s forearms.
There is no resisting the fog of it, not anymore. Kurt actually feels a little bit sick, now, as the smoke swirls in his stomach like a physical force. His body feels full with it, overwhelmed, but everything is cool and lovely and soft as the a few yellow leaves spin along their ankles. Plus, he has Blaine beside him; chatting and smiling about one thing or another.
Kurt isn’t entirely sure if Blaine knows what Blaine is talking about, as a matter of fact. Whenever Kurt tunes in, he seems to switch from topic to topic with no proper lead-in either way, and he has no idea if Blaine’s actually making sense or if Blaine is just as addled as he is. He rather suspects the latter.
They’re walking through town, now, and Kurt can recall how they got here even if he can’t quite remember all the parts in the right order, and Blaine is still happily yammering beside him.
“- the curriculum is a little bit easier, for sure, but it’s nice to have some more spare time now and I was actually really surprised when you first did this at Wes’s house, you know? Did I ever tell you? I don’t think I did. Because I didn’t get high on my first time, not at all, and I thought that no one did, but I think you did, Kurt, so yay! You’re a winner, and just over there is a coffee shop, we should totally go get biscotti oh my god -”
“Blaine? Blaine Anderson?”
In complete synchronization, the two of them freeze mid-step as they’re walking along the street. Kurt blinks, hard, trying to focus his attention on the older man waving and coming down the street toward them. He’s greying slightly at the temples, wearing a pair of slacks and a nicely pressed shirt, and Jesus Christ who is he what if he can tell oh my god -
Kurt glances over in distress to look at Blaine - and cannot believe his eyes. Because the droopy, too-happy boy he’s been spending the afternoon with is suddenly and completely gone. Blaine is straightening up, eyes seeming to clear and sharpen into utter comprehension. Something hard and composed falls over his features.
“You’re William Anderson’s son, aren’t you?” asks the man, smiling and extending his hand. “I’m Ed Wright, one of your dad’s business associates. It’s been a few years, you probably don’t remember me.”
Blaine takes the hand in a firm grip and shakes it, smiling in a small, contained way. “It’s lovely to meet you again,” he says, back straight and seemingly in complete possession of his senses. And over the course of the next three minutes the two men in front of Kurt proceed to have a completely normal conversation in front of him.
Oh my god, thinks Kurt in horror, feeling as though he’s watching a train crash about to happen. A few hours ago, he couldn’t tell if he was walking right.
But Blaine doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate. The two of them talk, in a completely usual manner, until the older man excuses himself and heads on his way. Blaine holds himself stiff and upright for about a minute after he leaves - before giggling and leaning hard into Kurt’s shoulder, making them both stumble.
“Oh my god, that way funny,” chuckles Blaine, and suddenly he’s back again. He blinks as Kurt continues to stare down at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” says Kurt, but Blaine blinks at him convincingly. There is an almost-realization uncoiling around the edges of his stomach, but it isn’t fully formed yet. He begins to speak anyways. “It’s just... hitting me for the first time. How very, very good you are at hiding your inner lunatic.” Kurt shakes his head in disbelief. “How did you stay so composed when you’re such a... such a... goober, underneath it all?”
“Practice,” Blaine hums happily into Kurt’s shoulder, before gesturing vaguely down the road. “Do you think we should head home now?”
The beating of his heart inside his chest is so much more noticeable than it usually is; a fast-paced thumping that Kurt can feel through his ribcage, through his skin. Blaine is smiling at him broadly, too broadly, the muscles in his face must be strained from sustaining such an unbelievably bright smile. Kurt thinks of the composed boy who just appeared, and of the boy in front of him; absurd and ridiculous, with everything exposed for Kurt to see.
It occurs to Kurt that, yes, Blaine knows him better than practically anyone else in the world. But Blaine has also allowed Kurt the privilege - the joy - of knowing Blaine better than anyone else does, as well. His boyfriend splays himself open for Kurt to see every day; lets that somewhat-rigid and formal wall fall down around his ears and allows Kurt to experience the person inside.
And doing this together - making the world spin, and time stutter, and tasting things in an impossible way - for them, it’s about trust. It’s about trusting one another to see them at their most vulnerable, their most exposed. Trust that they’ll be able to still figure each other out even as the world is edged in blaze, fogged around the edges and swaying in the wind.
All at once and very, very badly, Kurt wants to trust Blaine with something else while they’re like this. Something private, and intimate, and scary and amazing. Wants to be made vulnerable for Blaine in that oh-so physical way, and to know that Blaine will catch him if he falls. Anticipation flutters in his stomach and tightness nudges between his legs as Kurt leans in close over Blaine’s shoulder.
“I want you to fuck me high,” Kurt whispers quietly, ghosting the words over the shell of Blaine’s ear.
His boyfriend stills, turning to look at him with a tentatively thrilled expression on his face. As though Kurt is promising him a gift, and he’s scared to get excited in case he decides to take it away. Blaine licks his lips, raises his eyebrows - and Kurt nods. He wants this, he knows now. Need is simmering beneath his skin, fresh and jumpy and oh, god, Kurt wants.
“Okay,” Blaine responds, and even though his eyes are bloodshot and heavily lidded there is a clearness there that hits Kurt with a jolt to the heart. Blaine licks his lips, breathing out, nervous anticipation buzzing in his expression. “Okay.”
--
The walk back is a complete blur in Kurt’s mind; a haze of footsteps and quickened breath and the heady rush of excitement flashing behind his eyelids. When they manage to arrive back at Blaine’s house, Blaine fumbles with the keys in shaking hands for a too-long moment hung in space before they finally manage to push the door open and get inside.
They latch onto one another as soon as they’re through the door, and Kurt is so grateful because the walk back had been so difficult without having Blaine’s hand to hold onto. The whole time he’d felt as though he might slip away without any physical contact to keep him in place, as though the solidity of the concrete could have been pulled out from under him at any second. They kiss in the entrance hall, Kurt’s fingers tangling in the madness of Blaine’s hair as Blaine slides his hands up Kurt’s sweater, his fingertips pressing into the expanse of skin and making Kurt shudder. The world is still swimming, submerged under water and hazy and thick, but the way they touch is a point of reality within the fog.
“Upstairs,” Blaine chokes against his lips after a minute, breath coming hard and voice deep with desperation at having to avoid touching in public for such a long time. They’re used to it, usually, but today the need is so much sharper; every touch so much more necessary. Kurt nods against his lips, and they stumble hand in hand down the hallway, up the stairs, along to the door to Blaine’s bedroom. It gets pushed open with an overly hard shove.
As soon as they’re inside, Blaine’s hands are back on him again. Igniting sparks of keening, aching need as they trail along Kurt’s body, making him arch up into Blaine’s touch hard. Blaine’s mouth is working along his neck when Kurt feels his hands move down from their position on Kurt’s waist. They settle on his ass, clad in jeans so tight they’re almost uncomfortable to wear, and squeeze. Kurt hears himself suck in a breath as he jerks forward frantically, wanting wanting wanting that special ache amid the churning indistinctiveness of his mind.
“Want it,” Kurt groans, reaching up to drag Blaine’s mouth up for a kiss. It’s messy, and hot, and Kurt would be trying to hide the needling desperation better if it wasn’t for the way everything is floating swaying twisting perfect. When they break apart, Blaine stays so close that his breath is warm and tingly on Kurt’s lips. “Want you in me so bad, Blaine, just - please.”
“Okay,” Blaine agrees frantically, nodding hard and making his hair twist and tumble around his face. He reaches down and yanks his own shirt over his head, discarding it carelessly on the floor. “Clothes off, c’mon.”
They strip as quickly as they can, fingers uncertain and heads spinning, although Blaine has to help Kurt with his jeans. Half-guiding, half-shoving him to sprawl with his lean torso on the bed with his legs dangling off as Blaine tugs the snug fabric of his pants and underwear off, over his ass and down his legs and dropping them carelessly on a pile on the ground. Kurt can’t care, can’t even care about wrinkles because he needs this, needs to be exposed and opened up and filled right now. Blaine strips off his socks after that, one at a time, his own erection rosy and proud as it juts away from his body.
When they’re finally - finally - both naked, Kurt grabs hold of Blaine’s wrist and tugs him sharply to sprawl on top of him. Their skin slides together in a slip and sheen of heated sweat and texture that makes Kurt gasp and writhe and dig his short nails into the muscles of Blaine’s back - probably harder than he should, but Blaine just groans in response. It takes a second to line their bodies up the right way, but they find the right position eventually, and oh, god. The friction of their erections sliding up against one another is a grinding rubbing sliding ecstasy of sensation.
Pleasure is spiralling through Kurt’s body in waves, sound and time and space flitting in and out of his perception amid the blissful feel of him and Blaine grinding their bodies together. His mind fixates on strange details; the way Blaine’s hand clenches at the back of his neck, the slip of sweat mixing on their sliding bellies. Clinging onto those tiny touches and wallowing in them, feeling every one to the full extent his mind can manage.
Kurt doesn’t know how long it takes for Blaine to shakily pull away - he’s too far gone to know what time is, could happily spend the rest of his days rutting up into this perfect stunning amazing his boy.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Blaine manages to ask eventually, chest heaving with want and looking sweaty and flushed. He blinks hard, eyes heavily-lidded and bloodshot and dark as he trails a hand down to twist around Kurt’s cock and makes him keen. And all at once Kurt remembers that there’s more than this, more for them to do and share and have and all at once his body is aching for it.
The initial few times they did this - Kurt still can’t manage to force himself to think of it in any of the clinical or vulgar terms, because it’s so much more between them than any of those words could ever possibly convey - Blaine was the one to allow himself to be so intimately stretched and filled up. Kurt had still been too nervous back then; too frightened from years of being told that wanting to be touched that way was wrong and sick and disgusting to let himself be exposed and taken apart in such a way. There had been a part of him, too, that had held on to the notion that such an act couldn’t possibly be pleasant; it had seemed inherently gross, and unpleasant, and painful.
The first time he’d made Blaine come apart around his fingers, clenching and whining and rocking back onto Kurt’s hand, he’d had to re-evaluate his opinion.
But unlike Blaine, Kurt had never fingered himself as he brought himself off in those most intimate and private moments. Had been nowhere near as stretched and willing and prepared for the sharp intrusion and aching fullness of it as Blaine had been. They had taken their time when Kurt decided he was ready; preparing Kurt over days and weeks, getting him used to what he was given until he wanted more so badly he could barely keep from begging. It’s only been in the past few weeks that they’ve been able to work their way up to everything, and Kurt has only taken Blaine’s cock twice since then.
It doesn’t matter, though. Kurt knows what he wants, what he needs. Needs the stretch of Blaine’s cock, so big and hard and hot inside of him, lighting his nerves on fire and spreading him wide and open and exposed.
“I want it,” Kurt chokes out, nodding hard and grinding his ass into Blaine’s thigh. “Want you to slide into me and fill me up, Blaine, please. Want to feel it, want to feel you. Want to have everything with you.”
Kurt reaches out, hand shaking and clumsy as he reaches out toward Blaine’s nightstand. He knocks something onto the ground, but it doesn’t matter, because a few seconds later his hand is curling around a familiar small bottle. His eyelashes flutter as he hands the lube out to Blaine, sliding his knees up and exposing himself even further in the process. Blaine groans at the sight of Kurt spreading his legs; he nods wordlessly, snatching the lube from his hands and dribbling an obscene amount onto his fingers.
When he actually feels the press of one of Blaine’s fingers against his entrance, Kurt dazedly expects the initial recoil he always feels. His body’s instinctual need to pull away from that invasion where it doesn’t belong. But it doesn’t come. The shock of the touch is beautifully blunted and dulled, and the only sensation that matters is the slick slide as it brushes against him, gently rubbing over the sensitive pucker of his skin. It feels good, and without even thinking about it Kurt pushes down into the touch and forces the finger inside.
“Kurt -” Blaine begins, sounding worried, but Kurt just groans and rocks against that special press inside. He usually takes longer to get ready, he knows, but every jolt and spark of pleasure is highlighted and underlined and bolded in his mind, the usual discomfort nowhere to be found. Kurt grinds his hips down into the touch, wanting more, and Blaine lets out a shuddery laugh. “Sweetheart, you’re taking me so well. So relaxed around me, god. Letting me push right inside.”
Blaine’s finger crooks up, brushing against that special spot inside and Kurt sees stars. “More,” he gasps, grinding his ass on Blaine’s hand and clenching around the finger inside. He can’t remember twisting his hands in the sheets, but they’re tangled up and clenched white nonetheless. “I need it, Blaine, please.”
The touch drags almost fully out of him, and Kurt groans at having it leave - before it’s back again, but better. Fuller, tighter, more, and the slightest ache of it grounds Kurt to the bed, stops him from floating up into the air. He doesn’t feel the sharp burn and stretch of intrusion the way he usually does; it’s all simmered down to nothing, insignificant in comparison to the amazing fullness and solidity of Blaine’s fingers inside of him. Grounding him in place, sliding and rubbing over that place and making him whine up into the air. And when Blaine’s hand wraps around his cock, Kurt’s brain practically shorts out. Rocking up and down into Blaine’s touch everywhere, inside and out and stroking touching having destroying him with how good it all feels.
He barely notices when Blaine adds a third finger except to mewl and fuck himself back onto it, arching his neck up and slamming a hand over his eyes and the whole world fades away except for the rocking push of Blaine’s fingers inside. Kurt wants it all so badly; wants to have Blaine’s cock buried inside of him, knowing him from the inside out and taking his own pleasure from this amazing discovery of human physiology.
Kurt has no idea how long they stay like that, Blaine’s fingers pushing in and out and his cock sliding in and out of Blaine’s grip. Something is rushing from the base of his spine to his fingertips, shocking and fast and delicious as it builds. When Blaine eventually slides his fingers out, Kurt can only whine and squirm at the horrible emptiness left behind. He tries to push up, but there is a hand gently pushing down on his chest.
“It’s okay,” murmurs Blaine, reaching over to pluck out a condom from his bedside drawer. “It’s okay, Kurt, almost.”
Propping himself up on one elbow, Kurt leans up and kisses Blaine hard as his boyfriend tears the packet open, as he grips the tip of the condom and slides the rest of it down and over his cock. It’s a rush of tongues and teeth and desperation, and Kurt wants. He wants so badly it’s all that he can feel, twisting and clenching and frantic to be unwound and satisfied.
Once the condom is on Kurt lets Blaine go, lets him grip Kurt’s legs and drag them over his shoulders. For the briefest of seconds, Kurt wonders if he should have paid Blaine some attention; sucked him down or wrapped his fingers around Blaine’s cock, got him ready and hard to bury himself in Kurt’s ass. One look at Blaine, however, sends those thoughts flying away into the haze of the air. Blaine is sweaty and red-cheeked, lips shuddering and body twitching in the way it does when he’s already desperate for it.
A blunt pressure, large and hard and slick with more lube, presses against him and makes Kurt gasp. And then slowly - carefully, and with as much self-control as he is sure Blaine can muster - the head of Blaine’s cock is pushing inside, past the ring of muscle and into his body.
Kurt moans and squirms at the slowness of it, the infinitesimal increase as Blaine pushes in the tiniest amount at a time. He wants to buck up into the press and bury Blaine all the way inside, but he manages to hold back. Gently pushing sliding filling settling until finally - finally -Blaine is all the way in. Pressed right up against him and Kurt feels so full, so plugged up and aching as Blaine claims him from the inside. There is no real pain; pain doesn’t exist in this world of theirs, tangled up in the sheets and the heat of one another. There is only the thrum of their heartbeats pounding in their ears and the frantic need tight and desperate in Kurt’s belly.
“Fuck,” Blaine chokes, eyes slammed shut and trembling. “Fuck, Kurt, you feel like so much.”
“Move,” Kurt mutters back, rocking into the touch as much as he can from this angle. “God, Blaine, please move, I need you to - ah!”
Obediently, Blaine begins to rock his hips - slowly at first but getting quicker, and there is nothing else but this. Nothing else but the wonderful sensation of being full to the brim as his whole body strains and he’s driven out of his mind, harder and faster as Blaine finds his pace and it’s perfect. Every muscle in his body feels as though it’s clenching and unclenching as Blaine fucks him, the slide of his cock incredible, and when Kurt feels him brush against that spot inside he lets his head fall back and practically screams.
Sparks are already shooting up and down Kurt’s spine, pleasure washing through his whole body and overwhelming everything, anything else as Blaine grinds and slams into him. The whole world has narrowed down to the ache of being pounded into by Blaine, and Kurt’s entire body is on fire with it.
There’s a noise filling up the room; a high, desperate keen that Kurt realizes abruptly as him. It’s so much, too much; his toes are clenching as liquid heat spools hot and real in the base of his spine, and then Blaine reaches down between them and wraps his hand around Kurt’s cock, jerking once, twice -
- and he’s gone, mind completely lost as he goes spinning into the night. Coming hard and real and so soon, electricity washing over him and waking up every cell and nerve in his whole body. That tight heat uncoiling, spiralling through him as his throat vibrates in a scream he can only barely hear, Blaine’s cock slamming into him and making starbursts flare behind his eyes. It’s better than his mind can comprehend, mad and frantic and the world blurs out as he rides it all out, every last bit of pleasure in the haze.
His orgasm ends but the bliss keeps thrumming through him with every continued thrust, gasping and twisting as Blaine keeps fucking him. Kurt lets his eyes flutter closed as he drifts on the continuous buzz of pleasure, as Blaine thrusts in hard and fast and over and over until he groans, stilling and grabbing Kurt’s hips as he comes deep inside of him, buried in Kurt’s body, and Kurt opens his eyes just in time to watch Blaine’s face twisted up so gorgeous in the basest of pleasure.
They stay together like that - panting, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling from aftershocks - for a long, long time. Eventually, Blaine shudders and pulls himself out; the emptiness makes Kurt let out a little exclamation, but it isn’t earth-ending in the same way it was. His body is loose, so loose and sated and boneless as Blaine extracts himself from their tangle of limbs. Without opening his eyes, Kurt can hear the wet sounds of a condom being removed and tied off, and then the papery noise of a tissue being extracted from a box and wrapped around it.
There is movement on the bed, and then Blaine is collapsing next to him with one arm sprawled over Kurt’s stomach.
“That was...” murmurs Blaine, sounding thunderstruck. His boyfriend lets out a long, shuddery breath. “Kurt. That was... god, I love you. I love you so much, I could feel how much I love you.”
The words don’t make any sense, but they don’t have to. Kurt tangles his hand in Blaine’s hair, nodding. He feels groggy in a way he doesn’t generally after orgasm; thick and heady, and he can barely keep his eyes open.
“I love you, too,” Kurt returns, and in a few brief moments he can already hear Blaine dozing gently beside him. A contented sigh escapes his lips - he can’t feel anything but contentment like this, well-fucked and thrumming and murky - and Kurt closes his eyes allows himself to drift on the pleasant tingle of the memory of pleasure and the sweet float of the world. Even from the black behind his eyelids, Kurt can feel everything in the room in such an emphasized and intensive way. Every tiny movement Blaine makes, the bounce of the bed, the smallness of their bodies in the expanse of the room.
There will be more times like this, for the two of them. More hours and moments spent fogged with desire and desperation or the sweet coil of smoke or both, wrapped up and learning one another as the years pass by and what they have keeps on growing and changing into what they need it to be. There will come a time when the every-so-often elusive twist of sticky sweetness around their senses is no longer wanted or needed; when the dull intensification of their senses no longer holds the appeal it used to.
But for now...
For now they lie, young and sated and happy and whole, wrapped around one another in the softness of the sheets. Two boys lost in love and the hazy, illicit drift and one another; two hearts beating and two bodies buzzing. Clinging together through the night as sleep clears their minds and time slides back into place, and the world ever-so-gently settles back down around them.
The End