ficlet: Teenage Dream
Porn. Ish. Mostly, I've just been in a terrible mood lately thanks to real life crap, so I thought I'd write about two things that make me happy: early season 2 Klaine and masturbation. I'm not very good at writing sex-things, but what the hell. Practice makes perfect. PWP with bits of feelings.
Warning: awkward teenage virgins getting off to the thought of boys they just met, with feelings and junk.
Rated M for
but is pretty tame all things considered.
Comments are love.
Kurt falls in love instantly, the way he thought only happened in fairy tales or movies. Blaine’s smile is engraved in his skin and haunts his every thought: Teenage Dreams plays on repeat the entire drive from Westerville to Lima, and he doesn’t even really like Katy Perry all that much.
On his phone when he gets home is a message: Hope you had a safe trip! It’s a long drive from Westerville to Lima-I should know, I have to make that drive every weekend! Kurt’s heart skips a beat, and then Want to get coffee with me soon?
He doesn’t tell his father about Blaine: he can’t--he doesn’t know how. How do you share a dream? He’s not entirely convinced that Blaine’s real, that Dalton and everything he’s seen this afternoon actually happened. Maybe it’s just a figment of his imagination. Maybe he’s actually lying in a dumpster right now, and he’s finally hit his head hard enough to cause damage. Dalton and Blaine are just a fond hallucination.
But God, if it’s all just a dream, then he doesn’t want to wake up.
He showers. He doesn’t eat dinner: he can’t, his stomach’s too full of butterflies and coffee to process food. He calls his father, finds out he’s still at the shop and will be for a couple more hours: he’s on his own for most of the evening.
He thinks about calling Mercedes, squealing into her ear about a school shaped like a castle, smiling boys in matching blazers, and Blaine, who held his hand, who sings, who’s actually gay this time, who understands Kurt, who texts him without prompting. But he doesn’t want to. Not yet. It’s selfish of him, but he’s not sure he wants to share him. Not until he’s absolutely positive it’s real.
His phone buzzes again, and he has another message from Blaine, something sweet and simple that makes Kurt’s heart threatens to escape from his chest, it’s beating so hard. Another buzz, and his stomach flutters again. God, how is this real? How did his life turn into this? There is a boy, flirting with him. Him, Kurt Hummel.
He has to be dreaming. Things like this don’t really happen to him.
He plugs his phone in, locks his bedroom door, takes his clothes off, shaking as he does. His skin’s on fire right now, hot and flushed with thoughts of Blaine. He’s no stranger to lust-he knows what it feels like, to want somebody, but this is different. This is insatiable and all-consuming, singing in his blood, and he wants nothing more than to just touch.
He hasn’t actually done this in months-not since his misguided crush on Sam, when Finn made him feel ashamed of himself, but some things are instinctual, bred in muscle memory and desire. He touches himself, and thinks about what it would be like if Blaine would touch him, like that. He thinks about Blaine’s hands, warm and unafraid, touching him out of desire. He thinks about Blaine’s mouth, the shape of it, the way his lips would look wrapped around his cock.
He thinks about Blaine, ninety miles away in a small dorm room at Dalton, doing the same thing Kurt is doing right now, thinking, possibly, about Kurt, and comes harder than he ever has before in his life.
--
Blaine doesn’t fall in love until later, after winter has come and started to melt away. Blaine’s first reaction to Kurt is curiosity, and then attraction, because he has a type and that type is pretty. And Kurt is pretty, the exact type of boy Blaine could spend the rest of his life fantasizing about: forgive him for holding his hand down a hallway, or serenading him with Katy Perry.
Later, there is coffee and confessions, and Kurt becomes so much more than just a pretty face Blaine would like to woo: he’s a reflection, a fourteen year old Blaine staring back at him, and it makes his heart hurt. He wants to wrap him in blankets and feed him cookies and assure him that it will all okay, someday.
But that would be weird, so he asks for his phone number instead.
He has to stop himself from coming on too strong, has to delete the texts that say I could get lost in your eyes or we should be boyfriends or even how did you manage to change clothes so fast?
Mostly because he’s not sure how his comments would be received, if they would be welcomed or rejected immediately. That, and-dating a pretty, fashionable spy from McKinley is one thing, but to date his mirror-that could be dangerous.
He is Medusa, beautiful and deadly, who kills anyone who looks at him too closely: he’s not sure a mirror wouldn’t have the same effect on him.
So instead, he flirts from a distance, through text messages and smiley faces, things that can be written off as just friendliness if he needs them to be. Mostly, he tries to be encouraging and friendly, because God knows that was what he needed the most when he was being bullied.
He’s fascinated, though, and intoxicated by the thought of Kurt. He tries to distract himself, but it doesn’t work-it’s like Kurt has injected himself into his skin, like merely touching him was asking for poison and addiction.
That, and he’s a teenage boy. Everything leads to sex eventually, especially thoughts of boys that look like they could have stepped outside of a fairy tale.
He doesn’t get to do this often: he can’t, he has a roommate and public showers, dorms aren’t built with privacy in mind. But sometimes luck is on his side-his roommate is out with his girlfriend, which means he can lock the door and do what he wants to.
He thinks about Kurt: God, how could he not? Kurt’s in his everything, now, the only thing he can focus on, like a cat given a ball of string. So he thinks about Kurt: thinks about his lips and how soft they look. Thinks about his skin, and wonders if he’s that pale everywhere. Thinks about his long legs, and wonder what they’d feel like, wrapped around him.
He thinks about his cock, mostly. Wonders what it looks like, if it’s as pale as the rest of him, or rosy like the blush on his cheeks. Wonders what it might taste like, if he could fit it in his mouth. If he could make Kurt blush by kissing it.
Wonders what Kurt’s like, in bed. If he’s shy and quiet and bashful, like he was when they met, or if he’s as bold as his clothes. If he’d like kiss or touch, or even just look. Blaine would like to just look. He’d like to do everything else, too, he thinks because he doesn’t know, he’s never done anything, but-he thinks he could get off, just looking.
He comes right as his phone goes off, a message from Kurt waiting for him.
I can’t wait to see you again.
He smiles, wiping his come off with a tissue. God, neither can I.
Warning: awkward teenage virgins getting off to the thought of boys they just met, with feelings and junk.
Rated M for
but is pretty tame all things considered.
Comments are love.
Kurt falls in love instantly, the way he thought only happened in fairy tales or movies. Blaine’s smile is engraved in his skin and haunts his every thought: Teenage Dreams plays on repeat the entire drive from Westerville to Lima, and he doesn’t even really like Katy Perry all that much.
On his phone when he gets home is a message: Hope you had a safe trip! It’s a long drive from Westerville to Lima-I should know, I have to make that drive every weekend! Kurt’s heart skips a beat, and then Want to get coffee with me soon?
He doesn’t tell his father about Blaine: he can’t--he doesn’t know how. How do you share a dream? He’s not entirely convinced that Blaine’s real, that Dalton and everything he’s seen this afternoon actually happened. Maybe it’s just a figment of his imagination. Maybe he’s actually lying in a dumpster right now, and he’s finally hit his head hard enough to cause damage. Dalton and Blaine are just a fond hallucination.
But God, if it’s all just a dream, then he doesn’t want to wake up.
He showers. He doesn’t eat dinner: he can’t, his stomach’s too full of butterflies and coffee to process food. He calls his father, finds out he’s still at the shop and will be for a couple more hours: he’s on his own for most of the evening.
He thinks about calling Mercedes, squealing into her ear about a school shaped like a castle, smiling boys in matching blazers, and Blaine, who held his hand, who sings, who’s actually gay this time, who understands Kurt, who texts him without prompting. But he doesn’t want to. Not yet. It’s selfish of him, but he’s not sure he wants to share him. Not until he’s absolutely positive it’s real.
His phone buzzes again, and he has another message from Blaine, something sweet and simple that makes Kurt’s heart threatens to escape from his chest, it’s beating so hard. Another buzz, and his stomach flutters again. God, how is this real? How did his life turn into this? There is a boy, flirting with him. Him, Kurt Hummel.
He has to be dreaming. Things like this don’t really happen to him.
He plugs his phone in, locks his bedroom door, takes his clothes off, shaking as he does. His skin’s on fire right now, hot and flushed with thoughts of Blaine. He’s no stranger to lust-he knows what it feels like, to want somebody, but this is different. This is insatiable and all-consuming, singing in his blood, and he wants nothing more than to just touch.
He hasn’t actually done this in months-not since his misguided crush on Sam, when Finn made him feel ashamed of himself, but some things are instinctual, bred in muscle memory and desire. He touches himself, and thinks about what it would be like if Blaine would touch him, like that. He thinks about Blaine’s hands, warm and unafraid, touching him out of desire. He thinks about Blaine’s mouth, the shape of it, the way his lips would look wrapped around his cock.
He thinks about Blaine, ninety miles away in a small dorm room at Dalton, doing the same thing Kurt is doing right now, thinking, possibly, about Kurt, and comes harder than he ever has before in his life.
--
Blaine doesn’t fall in love until later, after winter has come and started to melt away. Blaine’s first reaction to Kurt is curiosity, and then attraction, because he has a type and that type is pretty. And Kurt is pretty, the exact type of boy Blaine could spend the rest of his life fantasizing about: forgive him for holding his hand down a hallway, or serenading him with Katy Perry.
Later, there is coffee and confessions, and Kurt becomes so much more than just a pretty face Blaine would like to woo: he’s a reflection, a fourteen year old Blaine staring back at him, and it makes his heart hurt. He wants to wrap him in blankets and feed him cookies and assure him that it will all okay, someday.
But that would be weird, so he asks for his phone number instead.
He has to stop himself from coming on too strong, has to delete the texts that say I could get lost in your eyes or we should be boyfriends or even how did you manage to change clothes so fast?
Mostly because he’s not sure how his comments would be received, if they would be welcomed or rejected immediately. That, and-dating a pretty, fashionable spy from McKinley is one thing, but to date his mirror-that could be dangerous.
He is Medusa, beautiful and deadly, who kills anyone who looks at him too closely: he’s not sure a mirror wouldn’t have the same effect on him.
So instead, he flirts from a distance, through text messages and smiley faces, things that can be written off as just friendliness if he needs them to be. Mostly, he tries to be encouraging and friendly, because God knows that was what he needed the most when he was being bullied.
He’s fascinated, though, and intoxicated by the thought of Kurt. He tries to distract himself, but it doesn’t work-it’s like Kurt has injected himself into his skin, like merely touching him was asking for poison and addiction.
That, and he’s a teenage boy. Everything leads to sex eventually, especially thoughts of boys that look like they could have stepped outside of a fairy tale.
He doesn’t get to do this often: he can’t, he has a roommate and public showers, dorms aren’t built with privacy in mind. But sometimes luck is on his side-his roommate is out with his girlfriend, which means he can lock the door and do what he wants to.
He thinks about Kurt: God, how could he not? Kurt’s in his everything, now, the only thing he can focus on, like a cat given a ball of string. So he thinks about Kurt: thinks about his lips and how soft they look. Thinks about his skin, and wonders if he’s that pale everywhere. Thinks about his long legs, and wonder what they’d feel like, wrapped around him.
He thinks about his cock, mostly. Wonders what it looks like, if it’s as pale as the rest of him, or rosy like the blush on his cheeks. Wonders what it might taste like, if he could fit it in his mouth. If he could make Kurt blush by kissing it.
Wonders what Kurt’s like, in bed. If he’s shy and quiet and bashful, like he was when they met, or if he’s as bold as his clothes. If he’d like kiss or touch, or even just look. Blaine would like to just look. He’d like to do everything else, too, he thinks because he doesn’t know, he’s never done anything, but-he thinks he could get off, just looking.
He comes right as his phone goes off, a message from Kurt waiting for him.
I can’t wait to see you again.
He smiles, wiping his come off with a tissue. God, neither can I.