Fic: Testing his resolve
Media: Fic
Title: Testing his resolve
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1540
Summary: Blaine needs to practise, but Kurt is making it really difficult to concentrate.
Note: PORN PORN ALL THE PORN. Apologies, apparently I don't do plot. This is for rayslady, glorious porn enabler that she is <3
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He has to practise in front of Kurt, every time.
He knows - much as he loves him, and Blaine’s sad puppy face damn near breaks Kurt’s heart every time he sees it - that Kurt will always call him out if he’s pitching a line wrong, ad libbing that little bit too much, or Mariah Carey-ing his notes into oblivion. It probably helps that Kurt knows any negative comments can be instantly forgotten the moment he kisses him; his lips pressing obliviate into Blaine’s, all forgotten.
The other Warblers won’t do the same; they’ve all got a bit of a collective boner for Blaine’s spectacular vocal solos, and any constructive criticism is passed over in favour of seal-like claps and general adoration. It used to be fantastic; Blaine’s head would swell to the size of the moon and he lapped it up, but he’s a perfectionist who knows he’s not perfect, and it’s incredibly helpful to have Kurt to remind him of that.
However, right at this moment, Kurt has a much less figurative boner, and is finding it a little difficult to concentrate on what Blaine is actually singing.
Blaine faces away from the bed on which Kurt is sprawled - not wanting to look him in the eyes as he sings - so Kurt is free to pull against his cock in frustration, unnoticed. Blaine’s still wearing his uniform, but it’s gradually receded as he’s been practising; the tie is gone, the sleeves of the shirt and blazer are pushed up to his elbows, and he’s barefoot. Kurt sees him in profile - not the best view to have when one is trying to be a productive and helpful boyfriend, because it invites him to look at every flex of his frame. The sweep of his neck, the curve of his hips, the swelling in his trousers that Kurt really must stop being drawn to, particularly in public.
Right, no more practising. Now he’s his.
‘Blaine,’ he calls softly from the bed as the final notes ring out. Blaine turns just his head towards Kurt - jesus, that neck - and his eyes widen. Kurt is lying across the bed, hips to the ceiling, practically flaunting the erection straining through his jeans, and Blaine can only gulp a few times before shaking himself sane once more.
‘Kurt.’ His voice is strained - much like other parts of him are starting to be. He looks back ahead of him, blinking repeatedly. ‘You know I have to practise; I still don’t have this down and I told myself I’d sing it though at least four or five times each night until it’s good.’
‘It is good, Blaine. You’re always good.’
‘Not good enough, Kurt.’ It kills Kurt a little to hear Blaine speak like that. ‘You told me the middle eight isn’t - how did you put it? - 'wild' enough, and I know if I keep going I can get it.’
He looks back to his boyfriend and his resolve almost - almost - collapses. Kurt rolls over to his stomach, and it’s almost twice as frustrating to see him pressed against the bed, particularly as he keeps fucking stretching like that, his shirt riding above his waistband, moving minutely, maddeningly higher each time.
Blaine turns back to the wall and closes his eyes, focusing intently on the lyrics of the song, spelling them out in his mind, anything to distract himself. He mumbles a few notes under his breath before raising his head to sing again, only to have his first note thoroughly, gratefully interrupted by a pair of hands reaching round from behind and a soft, breathy kiss landing on the back of his neck.
Quite embarrassingly, he’s almost immediately mush - the effect this boy has on him, fuck, you could bottle it. His head lolls backwards onto Kurt’s shoulders, and Kurt's more than happy to oblige as he plants more and more kisses across Blaine’s throat and collar, the tips of his fingers teasing the very top of his slacks.
Kurt whispers in his ear. ‘Keep singing.’
Blaine is barely coherent. ‘What?’
‘Keep singing.’ God Kurt’s breath on his ear his warm and wanting and he can only just register the words. ‘What better practise than this? If you can keep singing while I’m here, taking advantage of you and generally being mischievous, then you can do anything, right?’
Blaine catches Kurt’s eye; both smile wickedly, and Blaine lets out a giddy laugh, which Kurt takes as the closest thing to acceptance of the challenge he’s going to get. He hooks a finger into Blaine’s collar and pulls it to the side, nibbling across the tendons in his shoulder, Blaine’s skin shivering beneath his lips.
‘Kurt - oh - what are you doing to me?’
‘Keep. Singing.’
Blaine pulls his heavy head up to face forward, Kurt’s arms still locked around him, and - feeling preposterous and devilish and fuuuuuck, so turned on - he starts to sing. But there’s something about the restraint that makes everything ten times more exciting - he’s tingling all over and, well, he thinks this might actually be quite fun.
I was so high I did not recognize
The fire burning in her eyes
The chaos that controlled my mind
His notes are shaky but in time and tune, though the words have taken on a newer meaning that makes his mind swirl and his cock ache. Still behind him, Kurt’s fingers lock around his hipbones and he kisses around the nape of his neck, his own burning erection pressing into Blaine, whose eyes are clenched tight as he tries, furiously, to keep singing.
Whispered goodbye and she got on a plane
Never to return again
But always in my heart
Kurt moves slowly around Blaine as his stands and sings, his neck flushing a deep, desirous red as he almost coughs out the words. His mouth clashes against Blaine’s collarbones, pressing wet, burning kisses up the sinew of his neck. Kurt’s breath is hot in his ear as he slowly, languidly kisses around Blaine’s earlobe, sucking on the warm skin, and Blaine loses his voice altogether when Kurt bites down on the flesh, his knees weakening.
‘Keep singing’, Kurt whispers into his ear, and Blaine stammers out a chorus as Kurt begins to kiss down his chest, expertly undoing each shirt button as he gets lower and lower.
I tried my best to feed her appetite
Keep her coming every night
So hard to keep her satisfied
Kurt is pressing feathery kisses across the waistband of his trousers now, flicking at the taut elastic of the boxers protruding from the top, and jesus Blaine could not have picked a worse song to be singing right now.
Kept playing love like it was just a game
Pretending to feel the same
Then turn around and leave again
His head blazes with lust, and the syllables of ‘pretending’ are near- incomprehensible as Kurt slides down his zipper, his mouth achingly close. Blaine feels the hot breath through the cotton of his underwear and elicits a low, oddly harmonious groan.
He can’t take this any more.
Kurt peels down his trousers and underwear leaving him bare and open for a few seconds. Blaine’s breath steadies a little during the pause and he manages to look down at Kurt, who is far too occupied releasing his own throbbing cock from his jeans to immediately notice that Blaine’s stopped singing, until Blaine whispers.
‘Please. Kurt, I can’t-’
All it takes is a look from Kurt, and Blaine wrenches himself into concentration, speaking, stammering the words now rather than singing them. Kurt is kissing his hips and the tops of his thighs and he things he might lose his mind with lust, but somehow the singing helps. Kurt’s lips move to his shaft and he thinks he might scream, but instead he manages to belt out a near-perfect chorus, wrenching the notes from the back of his throat as Kurt takes his cock completely into his mouth, pounding furiously at his own.
Kurt’s laps at Blaine’s cock, taking him deeply and slowly, his own head a mess of pounding heat and Blaine’s song ringing in his ears. He can feel himself ache and swell as Blaine sings on, his hand and mouth moving faster, frantic.
His spare hand grasps the base of Blaine’s cock and he feels the boy shudder, crying out his note. It’s the most perfect fucking music to him, driving him insane with lust as he sucks harder and harder, willing Blaine to carry on, his own orgasm building deep in his abdomen.
My pressure on your hips
Sinking my fingertips
Into every inch of you
Cause I know that’s what you want me to do
Blaine’s voice is broken and stumbling, loud and desperate as orgasm crashes over him and he comes into Kurt’s mouth, shaking and panting and still - somehow - singing. Kurt soon follows, moaning onto Blaine’s cock, Blaine unable to do anything but watch as the last of his own orgasm burns away. Spent, Kurt falls back, unable to support himself, and likewise Blaine collapses to his knees.
They lean on each other, gasping for breath, and Blaine pulls Kurt into a kiss, both laughing breathlessly, light-headed, into each other’s mouths.
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