Prompt Post #8
PART EIGHT IS NOW CLOSED
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PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
Part Seven
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Kurt’s face doesn’t move, his eyes locked steadily on the TV screen, his hand clutching the edge of the popcorn bowl into which Finn’s hand relentlessly, repeatedly digs.
“But first, I’m going to make you beg. I’m going to lick you slowly all over,” Blaine whispers, voice low in his throat, his lips brushing the lobe of Kurt’s ear, “and suck the head of your cock so gently you’ll ache. I’m going to keep you hard for hours…”
Kurt is stone still, pale and cool as marble between the two boys, a composure Blaine’s determined to crack. He’s getting there; he can feel the heat building under Kurt’s skin, can see the redness seeping across his cheeks and down his neck. He tosses an arm casually around Kurt’s stiff shoulders, letting his fingers trace tiny circles on his breastbone, inches from Finn’s arm. It’s become a game for him, the object of which is to make Kurt redden, to break his cool exterior, to… well, to fuck him up a bit. Usually, he can get a rise out of Kurt-literal or figurative-within minutes, and the more public the place, the quicker the response. But today, on the couch, in the semi-dark, Finn raucously snorting and chewing beside him, Kurt’s been hard to break. Blaine’s been whispering for almost an hour, and has gotten only this little seeping blush as a response. Kurt’s getting good, Blaine thinks, but he’s better. He likes to win. So he’s turned his words hotter, smuttier, and he’s letting little growls escape between sentences. He’s saying things that, normally, even in the heat of sex, he wouldn’t dare say.
“I’m going to keep you hard and wanting and waiting for me,” he hisses, and lets his tongue trace lightly up the ridge of Kurt’s ear. “I’m going to slide my tongue across your asshole over and over until you open up for me without fingering…” Blaine smirks to see the faint tremor that’s started to shake Kurt’s knee. It’s almost imperceptible, so small, but it’s a toehold, and Blaine presses on.
“…and when you do, when you start to relax, I’m going to shove my tongue as hard and deep into your ass as I can. I’m going to fuck you crazy with my tongue and scrape my teeth hard against your hole until you’re shaking and undone and sloppy and mine.”
Blaine drops his left hand into the popcorn bowl on Kurt’s lap, presses to the bottom and keeps pressing. He taps at the bottom of the bowl with his finger, knowing the tiny vibrations are hitting against Kurt’s cock, too softly to do anything but torture. Kurt’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes widen, darting sideways to catch Blaine’s stare, before they blink back to the screen. “…and when you’re sobbing and begging for my hard cock, I’m going to-”
“Holy crap!” Finn shouts, slamming his hand into the popcorn bowl with hasty force. Kurt gasps; his hips twitch. Finn grabs the bowl and leaps up to face them, and Kurt quickly shifts, crosses his legs and hunches forward, as if Finn had pulled off his pants.
“Does this mean he was Kaiser Söze? Like, the whole time?”
Blaine laughs. He slides his arm from Kurt’s shoulder down behind him, down his spine, and dips his fingers below Kurt’s waistband, rubbing the dimple at the top of his ass. “Yeah, Finn, I think that’s the point.” A little grunt escapes Kurt’s lips. Blaine’s winning.
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Finn jumps up from the couch again, planting himself in front of them, waving his arms and prattling on about… well, Blaine has no idea. His cock is pressing hard against his jeans, and his head is buzzing and Kurt’s ass is hot against his hand and all he can think about is sliding his finger further down to sweep against Kurt’s tight hole, but there’s not enough room in Kurt’s pants to move.
“Boys!” Carole belts from upstairs. Reflexively, Blaine’s hand snaps out of Kurt’s jeans, drops into his own lap, clenches a fist. “Two minutes and we’re going! Suitcase, Finn!”
Kurt sits back on the couch, slowly, recomposed. “We’re coming, Carole!” he calls, and drops his hand on top of Blaine’s. Casually, he leans forward as if to stand, pressing his hand down against Blaine’s, pushing Blaine’s hand hard against his own erection. Blaine’s throat goes dry and he swallows. Kurt’s lips twitch up at the corners, knowing. “Finn, take your snack junk upstairs when you go.”
Fin gathers the debris, grabs the empty bowl in his teeth, and lopes stairward. “But how the hell did he cure his limp so fast?” he mumbles around the bowl lip.
Kurt turns to glare at Blaine, his sky grey eyes so clear Blaine swears he can see straight through them. His hand digs harder against Blaine’s, and Blaine grinds his hips upward against the pressure. He exhales, relieved and yearning at the same time.
“You asshole,” Kurt whispers, and stops the pressure instantly, lifts Blaine’s hand away, leaving his cock empty and wanting. “Finn was right next to me.”
Blaine chuckles and shrugs. “He’s oblivious. His mind was blown.” He tries to move his hand back, to bring the pressure back against his groin, but Kurt pushes Blaine’s hand firmly down against the couch cushion instead. Blaine sighs and brings his other hand up to Kurt’s cheek, brushing softly. “I was just playing. Just teasing, to see if I could crack you.”
Kurt’s eyes flicker dark for a moment, and the sneer returns. He presses his mouth against Blaine’s ear, his lips so close Blaine feels his words more than hears them: “You need to learn a lesson about teasing. And it’s going to be hard for you. I’m going to make it very hard for you.” It was a ridiculous porn line, and under other circumstances Blaine would have laughed out loud, but Kurt’s hand is on his crotch and Blaine’s mouth is going dry, and all he can think about is his own hardness, swollen and pulsing and probably purple and weeping little drops of precum into his underwear, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. Kurt rakes his nails over the fabric stretched across Blaine’s erection. He flattens his palm against his cock, pressing the tips of his fingers between Blaine’s legs, below his balls. Blaine spreads his legs a bit to give Kurt more access, and Kurt digs his fingers hard against the seam of his pants, scraping faint vibrations there. For a moment, there is nothing but soft, shuddering breaths and the faint creak of couch springs as Blaine rocks his hips rhythmically against the pressure. Kurt’s tongue draws hot, wet circles against his neck, and he might come just from this, just this, Kurt soft and wet and breathy beside him.
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