This Earthly Paradise (9/10)
Title: This Earthly Paradise (9/10)
Media: Fic
Author: GlassParade
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson
Genre: AU, Historical Romance
Spoilers: This is fully AU. No show spoilers, but I do try to keep characterizations somewhat consistent with show canon. Characters who are not from Glee are actual historical figures and the depictions of them are based loosely on those in the BBC miniseries 'Desperate Romantics'.
Word Count: 38,000+
Summary: In Victorian England, Kurt Hummel is a struggling artist and contemporary of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, an organization of painters, poets, and critics who strive to turn the art establishment of England on its very head. His mentor, one Dante Gabriel Rossetti, has grown tired of Kurt's reluctance to grow as an artist, and so enter Blaine Anderson, an artists' model of Bohemian disposition and eye-catching good looks. Can he, using rather unorthodox methods, succeed where Rossetti has not?
Additional Notes: I wanted to write something that was minimally angsty, a bit historical, but not as involved as 'Velvet Petals' or its upcoming sequel. And so I thought I'd spend hiatus on this bit of fluff.
Kurt stood motionless before his easel, brush loaded with bright yellow paint and held just shy of touching the canvas. His eyes flicked from leaf to leaf, to the reflection of the sun on the pond, to a wee rabbit perched at Apollo's feet.
There was nothing to add. The painting was done and perfect. A single brushstroke more would be too much.
Throttling violently down on the panic that clotted in his stomach, Kurt put his brush and palette down and cleared his throat. “Blaine.”
His model, his lover, his friend, all one and the glorious same, blinked his eyes as he came out of the trance he seemed to slip into while posing. “Hm?”
“It's done. Finished.” Taking a deep breath, Kurt stepped away from the easel on legs that threatened to collapse beneath him, so unsteady were they. “The painting.”
It seemed to take a moment for the words to truly sink in. But in an instant, Blaine's eyes were alight with excitement and he was bounding across the studio to catch Kurt up in a tight embrace. “Kurt! You've done it! You've truly done it!”
“I've done it,” Kurt echoed feebly, pressing close to Blaine, as close as he could, feeling the sun warmed skin beneath his palms, catching the scent of the macassar oil that tried in vain to tame Blaine's curls, hearing the congratulatory cheer spilling from his mouth.
Blaine, Blaine, oh, Blaine, I never want to say goodbye to you.
“...so that means you'll be ready for the big exhibition at the Academy next week! I'm sure they'd love to show this, you've done so beautifully, oh, you must call on - Kurt!” Blaine's enthusiastic rambling dissolved into a laugh into Kurt's mouth as the artist lunged into a desperate kiss. “Kurt!”
“Want you now,” Kurt mumbled, pulling his smock over his head and throwing it aside, guiding Blaine towards the bed with more kisses and gentle pushes in between tearing off articles of his own clothing. Blaine, of course, was conveniently naked already, and never had Kurt blessed Rossetti more than now for his suggestion to hire Blaine as a model.
Nor had he cursed him with such desperate fervor.
Blaine fell across the bedstead, still laughing. “I shall never refuse your carnal desires, but Kurt, what has brought this on?”
“You're amazing.” Crawling up to straddle Blaine, Kurt slipped his hands along Blaine's arms to curl their fingers together while he dove to nuzzle and bite at his neck. He couldn't help his hips rocking down, rolling against Blaine's, feeling the delicious heat of his lover's cock rising against his inner thigh. He swallowed hard and sucked kisses into Blaine's throat until his lips buzzed. “You're perfect and wonderful and I couldn't have done this without you and I want you so much.”
As many times as I can have you before I never see you again.
The clock had abruptly ticked its last, the end of days was here, and Kurt meant to make the very most of it that he could.
He let his hands drift back up so that he could weave Blaine's curls in his fingers and pull while he let his tongue memorize every taste of Blaine's mouth - apple and strawberry and strong sugared tea. Kurt never wanted to forget the heat of their tongues mingling together, the silky softness of Blaine's dark hair, the hills and gentle ridges of leanly toned muscle. How their legs tangled together at night, how Blaine's breath sounded when he slept, deep and regular and somehow even content. How Kurt loved waking up every morning with his lips pressed to Blaine's smooth shoulder.
Memorize everything, never forget a detail.
He would immortalize Blaine - Blaine, not Apollo - in a painting no one else would ever see. It was frivolous folly to paint for oneself, the paint expenditure that would never be recouped, but he would do it. If love could not last forever, art could. And it could say the things he'd never been able to put voice to.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Kurt committed to memory the slow groans of pleasure winding out from Blaine's throat, the feel of his skin under Kurt's fingertips, and the image of him that Kurt always carried in his mind's eye, the first glimpse he'd ever had of a beautiful man in a fur loincloth posing effortlessly in the disarray of Hunt's studio, refusing to bow to the yoke of the temper of England's angriest artist. When he was eighty, he would remember this, all of it, he'd burned it with such intensity into his mind.
“Kurt,” Blaine groaned beneath him, pressing up until they were as close to one person as ever they could get. And Kurt knew what he wanted, knew so well, but he was not going to rush things, not this night.
Pulling away, Kurt sat up and ran his hands over Blaine's chest, dimpling his fingers into the skin and rubbing gently. “You've been an excellent first model,” he murmured, tracing his thumbs over Blaine's ribs, feeling the steady beloved thump of his heartbeat. “I couldn't have asked for one better. Ever.”
Blaine caught one of Kurt's slowly roaming hands in his warm, strong one and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into the palm before turning it over to mouth gently at the knuckles. “I counted it both pleasure and privilege,” he replied softly, his words a gentle caress of a promise. “You are...so very extraordinary, Kurt, and you seem to be wholly unaware.” He pushed himself upright, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist so that they were quite tangled in and around each other. “Finishing this painting...it's only the beginning for you. The beginning of so many wonderful things.”
I don't want any of them if you're not part of it, Kurt protested inwardly but still, as on so many occasions these last weeks, did not say. He wanted to beg Blaine to stay, was terrified of being refused. And so he said nothing, kept it behind tight lips and shuttered eyes. He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks burn. “It couldn't have been done without you,” he mumbled, cradling Blaine's head in his hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
Well. To him, it was. All of Blaine meant more to him than anything else.
“Kurt.” Blaine's thumb came up to brush away a tear that Kurt hadn't even felt falling. “What's wrong? What is it?”
Kurt took a deep breath and shook his head, pushing down his melancholy. He would not sully this night with sadness. Well, with any more sadness. Casting about, he chose his words with great care. “It's only...it is overwhelming,” he sighed, taking another breath to still his quivering nerves. That was something of an understatement. “To be finished, to have accomplished what I never thought I could...and with you...it's so much.”
It was complete truth, it simply wasn't the entire truth.
“But it's what you deserve.” Blaine shook his head, incredulity writ clear on his face. “Such talent as yours...I only stood as you told me and encouraged when I could. It was all you, Kurt! Every daub of paint, every raging tantrum, every late night, each and every carefully placed stroke of the brush that fleshed out the fantastic image residing in your marvelous head - all of that is you. I am simply honored to have been taken along on the journey with you. I feel most unworthy.”
“You're not.” Kurt couldn't keep the words from bursting out with all the vehemence he'd been holding back in the weeks that time had trickled so swiftly through his fingers. “I am not skilled with words but you - you - no, I could never ever have done it without you, I don't know what I shall do in the future if I do not paint you, you have changed everything for me, my entire life is going to be different now and it's all because of you and -” He stopped, completely at a loss for words and feeling his breath come so fast he was dizzy.
“Shh. Shh.” Blaine's eyes were wide in surprise and he rubbed his hands along Kurt's upper arms, doing as ever his best to restore calm. “Oh, lover. This is a night when you should only be ecstatic and proud of yourself.” He reached a hand to tip Kurt's chin up so that his lips could be softly kissed. “Let me see if I can help put you in a properly congratulatory mood. You deserve to be happy at a time like this.” Touching their foreheads together, Blaine smiled and let his hands wander, brushing Kurt's skin here and there and leaving the sensation of tiny fires in his wake. “To second chances at first impressions,” he whispered with a low chuckle.
Laughing despite himself, in Blaine's relentless joy in life, Kurt at last found the strength to surrender, to give over to the desire to lose himself entirely in the time afforded to them. He tilted his head forward and gently nuzzled at the soft spot just below Blaine's jaw, nudging until, with another low laugh of his own, Blaine obediently lifted his head to allow Kurt better access to mouth and suck at his throat. His fingers continued to skim absently along Kurt's body as he dropped his head back further, happy hums of contentment causing the skin of his throat to vibrate under Kurt's lips. Gently, growing somehow more serene by the moment, Kurt began to push Blaine back down on the bed to recline beneath him as he resumed his task of memorizing each wonderful inch of his beloved.
Pleasured sighs and groans filled the air once more as Kurt kissed and licked his way down the warm expanse of Blaine's chest and torso, paying tribute to each dip and dimple he found along with way with reverent lips and teasing tongue. Was it so very many months ago that he hadn't been so much as kissed? Oh, Blaine had given him so much.
He would do all he could tonight to show how much it meant to him. If this was their last, he would not dwell in the loss, but revel and be grateful for all he had gained.
“Turn over,” he instructed quietly, enjoying the brush of Blaine's legs between his as his lover complied. With fondness that threatened to swell and split his heart, Kurt surveyed that which lay before him. “Your backside should be given a knighthood.” The words emerged on a thread of breath as he brushed his appreciative - if slightly avaricious - hands over the firm globes. A slap on the right cheek elicited a long moan of delight from Blaine before he turned heavy-lidded eyes on Kurt.
“Only if your cock is as equally honored,” he retorted with a languorous smile. “For it is magnificent and has truly been excellent in its service to one of the Queen's most loyal subjects.”
Kurt blushed furiously - to still even be capable of that after all this time and all that he had done! He almost laughed. “It - I just - I - “ He shook his head. “You flatter me. Shh. I wish to concentrate on you.” Ignoring the chuckle this earned, Kurt slipped his hands up along Blaine's back to his shoulders, kneading his hands against the tight muscles there. “Ah, Blaine. All that standing and holding poses. I don't know how you did it, you must have been so sore at the end of it all. Yet never did I hear you complain. Not once.”
“Would do it all over again,” came the almost sleepy reply, muffled in a decadent sigh of pleasure. “Anything for you.”
...anything? Again, Kurt was tempted to speak up, to ask Blaine to not let their relationship end with the completion of the painting. Again he found the words locked quite tightly up in his throat. This was how it had to be. Blaine had no reason to want to stay with him, who was he, after all? Just another artist, just someone who was always alone.
Again he pushed away the urge to wallow in sadness and instead, lay himself down upon Blaine until he covered his lover like a counterpane on the bed, stretching his hands out along his arms to tangle their fingers together. “Thank you.”
“F'r what?” Blaine arched his buttocks up against Kurt's pelvis, almost making Kurt forget what he'd been thinking about. Kurt shook his head and grasped at the fleeting thought before it could escape entirely.
“For you,” he replied honestly, clutching Blaine's fingers more tightly in his as he began to shift his hips against his lover's body. His erect cock was nestled in the cleft of Blaine's backside, and he liked it there, liked the sensation of being cradled. He had no desire to get up and locate the oil, to bury himself deeply within Blaine, to be away from him for even one moment. Kurt wanted to lay here in this way for as long as he could make the illusion of forever feel.
He lifted his head from where it had rested against Blaine's and gazed upon his beloved, at the sweep of dark lashes on his cheek, the tumble of curls that always looked as if Blaine frequently went around pushing his hands through his hair when deep in thought - which Kurt knew very well was quite truly the case. Kurt took in once again the birthmark on his shoulder, the firm lean lines of muscle, the full lips perpetually curved in a smile, everything he'd looked upon and loved for the last several months.
He would never, ever forget.
With the most infinite of care, Kurt began again to shift his hips against Blaine, so that his cock slipped gently along the cleft in which it rested. Soft skin against soft skin, warmth to warmth, the head of his member already beginning to let down sticky drips to evidence his arousal. With reluctance, Kurt disengaged one hand from Blaine's and as quickly as he could he lapped at it with his tongue, making it wet and slick before encircling his own cock and stroking until it, too was dampened and his fingers had smudged the leaking droplets of seed along the shaft as well. The merest thread of a groan slipped from his mouth as he returned his member to its resting place and it began to slide more easily between the rounded mounds of Blaine's buttocks.
He tangled his fingers in with Blaine's again and lifted their joined hands, turning them so that Blaine's palm was facing his lips. “Lick it,” he directed softly, remembering the same command being given to him so many months before. It seemed a lifetime ago, that morning, the two of them facing each other on this very same bed, Kurt so full of trepidation, Blaine so confident. As if it was something that had happened to someone else entirely.
Well. It really had been. Kurt could not say he was the same trembling, nervous, unknowing young man that he had been then. Not at all.
Blaine's tongue darted out, pink and wet, and licked a stripe up his own palm. He rolled his eyes so that the one Kurt could see was pinned upon him, gazes locked together as Blaine sucked his own fingers into his mouth one at a time and got them thoroughly wet, the saliva shining in the light of the room's gaslamps. He let the tip of his tongue flick out and brush over Kurt's bent knuckles, too, dipping it into the creases and trying to burrow it in under where their fingers were joined.
“Blaine...” Kurt groaned, his slippery cock shifting deeper into the crevice in which it rested with each involuntary twitch of his hips. He stretched his head back, biting his lip when Blaine took their damp, joined hands and used them to grasp at his own member, straining just as hard as Kurt's beneath their bodies. With the first squeeze of their intertwined fingers, Blaine arched his hips up off of the bed and into Kurt, and both of them let out unwinding sighs at the bliss of it, at the riot of sensation and the quiet sense of unity.
If, Kurt thought, he were forced in that second to choose but one memory to carry with him for the rest of his life, it would be this one perfect, close, intimate moment.
He lowered his cheek to press against Blaine's back and squeezed his eyes shut, listening to each shuddering breath the two of them made as they rocked and moved together. Feeling the fingers of their free hands entwined on the pillow as Kurt tilted his hips back and forth, the squeeze and release of the hands that stroked Blaine's cock, the firm warmth that surrounded his own erection as it glided in the cleft between Blaine's buttocks.
It was warm and close, soft and sweet and slow, lacking all of the frenzied, passionate desperation that had always marked their encounters before tonight. No more words passed between them, no more speaking glances, nothing but touch and breath and the stillness Kurt had once felt on a childhood beach excursion to Brighton with his father, when he'd wandered out just a small distance too far into the water. Just before a large wave had broken over his small head, it had felt to Kurt that the entire world that surrounded him had gone eerily still and quiet, a hitch and pause in the endless march of time that denoted this as a significant moment.
His father had swum in and dragged him out just as he'd thought he would drown, but there was no one to rescue Kurt this time.
The wave broke in the next instant, a pulsing shudder that rocked Kurt's entire body and curled his toes as he climaxed. Beneath him, Blaine's back heaved against Kurt's chest as his lover, too, tilted and fell over pleasure's edge. In their fisted hands, Blaine's cock spurted hot seed over the tangle of their fingers. Long sighing groans of satisfaction spilled from their lips in tandem, the varying timbres of their voices the only difference in the sounds with which they filled the shivering air.
They collapsed as if they were children's toy balloons deflating after a long day, their bodies sinking into the soft feather mattress of Kurt's bed, still tangled together and heedless of the cooling stickiness of the spendings that coated their hands and Blaine's lower back. Kurt still did not want to move away from Blaine's side for even a single moment, did not care for anything that didn't involve touching his lover, kissing him, taking in his exhalations as if they were necessary for Kurt's own continued life. Carefully, he turned Blaine so that they faced each other and before a single word could be uttered, Kurt sealed his mouth over Blaine's in a long kiss, letting his tongue flick and taste and memorize.
Only when he felt there was nothing more to burn into his memory - when he was sure he would know the touch and feel and sound of Blaine until the very end of his days - only then did Kurt break the kiss with one last nip of his teeth on Blaine's soft lower lip, only then did he sigh and withdraw and tangle his fingers into Blaine's curls as they rested their foreheads together, their breaths slowing into a gentle rhythm and neither of them willing to shatter the charged silence that surrounded them.
It was a perfect moment. A perfect memory. A perfect ending.
If this had to be their last night, Kurt decided, if this was to be what fate handed them, he could ask for no greater gift than that which he had received.
...Chapter Ten...
Media: Fic
Author: GlassParade
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson
Genre: AU, Historical Romance
Spoilers: This is fully AU. No show spoilers, but I do try to keep characterizations somewhat consistent with show canon. Characters who are not from Glee are actual historical figures and the depictions of them are based loosely on those in the BBC miniseries 'Desperate Romantics'.
Word Count: 38,000+
Summary: In Victorian England, Kurt Hummel is a struggling artist and contemporary of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, an organization of painters, poets, and critics who strive to turn the art establishment of England on its very head. His mentor, one Dante Gabriel Rossetti, has grown tired of Kurt's reluctance to grow as an artist, and so enter Blaine Anderson, an artists' model of Bohemian disposition and eye-catching good looks. Can he, using rather unorthodox methods, succeed where Rossetti has not?
Additional Notes: I wanted to write something that was minimally angsty, a bit historical, but not as involved as 'Velvet Petals' or its upcoming sequel. And so I thought I'd spend hiatus on this bit of fluff.
Kurt stood motionless before his easel, brush loaded with bright yellow paint and held just shy of touching the canvas. His eyes flicked from leaf to leaf, to the reflection of the sun on the pond, to a wee rabbit perched at Apollo's feet.
There was nothing to add. The painting was done and perfect. A single brushstroke more would be too much.
Throttling violently down on the panic that clotted in his stomach, Kurt put his brush and palette down and cleared his throat. “Blaine.”
His model, his lover, his friend, all one and the glorious same, blinked his eyes as he came out of the trance he seemed to slip into while posing. “Hm?”
“It's done. Finished.” Taking a deep breath, Kurt stepped away from the easel on legs that threatened to collapse beneath him, so unsteady were they. “The painting.”
It seemed to take a moment for the words to truly sink in. But in an instant, Blaine's eyes were alight with excitement and he was bounding across the studio to catch Kurt up in a tight embrace. “Kurt! You've done it! You've truly done it!”
“I've done it,” Kurt echoed feebly, pressing close to Blaine, as close as he could, feeling the sun warmed skin beneath his palms, catching the scent of the macassar oil that tried in vain to tame Blaine's curls, hearing the congratulatory cheer spilling from his mouth.
Blaine, Blaine, oh, Blaine, I never want to say goodbye to you.
“...so that means you'll be ready for the big exhibition at the Academy next week! I'm sure they'd love to show this, you've done so beautifully, oh, you must call on - Kurt!” Blaine's enthusiastic rambling dissolved into a laugh into Kurt's mouth as the artist lunged into a desperate kiss. “Kurt!”
“Want you now,” Kurt mumbled, pulling his smock over his head and throwing it aside, guiding Blaine towards the bed with more kisses and gentle pushes in between tearing off articles of his own clothing. Blaine, of course, was conveniently naked already, and never had Kurt blessed Rossetti more than now for his suggestion to hire Blaine as a model.
Nor had he cursed him with such desperate fervor.
Blaine fell across the bedstead, still laughing. “I shall never refuse your carnal desires, but Kurt, what has brought this on?”
“You're amazing.” Crawling up to straddle Blaine, Kurt slipped his hands along Blaine's arms to curl their fingers together while he dove to nuzzle and bite at his neck. He couldn't help his hips rocking down, rolling against Blaine's, feeling the delicious heat of his lover's cock rising against his inner thigh. He swallowed hard and sucked kisses into Blaine's throat until his lips buzzed. “You're perfect and wonderful and I couldn't have done this without you and I want you so much.”
As many times as I can have you before I never see you again.
The clock had abruptly ticked its last, the end of days was here, and Kurt meant to make the very most of it that he could.
He let his hands drift back up so that he could weave Blaine's curls in his fingers and pull while he let his tongue memorize every taste of Blaine's mouth - apple and strawberry and strong sugared tea. Kurt never wanted to forget the heat of their tongues mingling together, the silky softness of Blaine's dark hair, the hills and gentle ridges of leanly toned muscle. How their legs tangled together at night, how Blaine's breath sounded when he slept, deep and regular and somehow even content. How Kurt loved waking up every morning with his lips pressed to Blaine's smooth shoulder.
Memorize everything, never forget a detail.
He would immortalize Blaine - Blaine, not Apollo - in a painting no one else would ever see. It was frivolous folly to paint for oneself, the paint expenditure that would never be recouped, but he would do it. If love could not last forever, art could. And it could say the things he'd never been able to put voice to.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Kurt committed to memory the slow groans of pleasure winding out from Blaine's throat, the feel of his skin under Kurt's fingertips, and the image of him that Kurt always carried in his mind's eye, the first glimpse he'd ever had of a beautiful man in a fur loincloth posing effortlessly in the disarray of Hunt's studio, refusing to bow to the yoke of the temper of England's angriest artist. When he was eighty, he would remember this, all of it, he'd burned it with such intensity into his mind.
“Kurt,” Blaine groaned beneath him, pressing up until they were as close to one person as ever they could get. And Kurt knew what he wanted, knew so well, but he was not going to rush things, not this night.
Pulling away, Kurt sat up and ran his hands over Blaine's chest, dimpling his fingers into the skin and rubbing gently. “You've been an excellent first model,” he murmured, tracing his thumbs over Blaine's ribs, feeling the steady beloved thump of his heartbeat. “I couldn't have asked for one better. Ever.”
Blaine caught one of Kurt's slowly roaming hands in his warm, strong one and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into the palm before turning it over to mouth gently at the knuckles. “I counted it both pleasure and privilege,” he replied softly, his words a gentle caress of a promise. “You are...so very extraordinary, Kurt, and you seem to be wholly unaware.” He pushed himself upright, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist so that they were quite tangled in and around each other. “Finishing this painting...it's only the beginning for you. The beginning of so many wonderful things.”
I don't want any of them if you're not part of it, Kurt protested inwardly but still, as on so many occasions these last weeks, did not say. He wanted to beg Blaine to stay, was terrified of being refused. And so he said nothing, kept it behind tight lips and shuttered eyes. He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks burn. “It couldn't have been done without you,” he mumbled, cradling Blaine's head in his hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
Well. To him, it was. All of Blaine meant more to him than anything else.
“Kurt.” Blaine's thumb came up to brush away a tear that Kurt hadn't even felt falling. “What's wrong? What is it?”
Kurt took a deep breath and shook his head, pushing down his melancholy. He would not sully this night with sadness. Well, with any more sadness. Casting about, he chose his words with great care. “It's only...it is overwhelming,” he sighed, taking another breath to still his quivering nerves. That was something of an understatement. “To be finished, to have accomplished what I never thought I could...and with you...it's so much.”
It was complete truth, it simply wasn't the entire truth.
“But it's what you deserve.” Blaine shook his head, incredulity writ clear on his face. “Such talent as yours...I only stood as you told me and encouraged when I could. It was all you, Kurt! Every daub of paint, every raging tantrum, every late night, each and every carefully placed stroke of the brush that fleshed out the fantastic image residing in your marvelous head - all of that is you. I am simply honored to have been taken along on the journey with you. I feel most unworthy.”
“You're not.” Kurt couldn't keep the words from bursting out with all the vehemence he'd been holding back in the weeks that time had trickled so swiftly through his fingers. “I am not skilled with words but you - you - no, I could never ever have done it without you, I don't know what I shall do in the future if I do not paint you, you have changed everything for me, my entire life is going to be different now and it's all because of you and -” He stopped, completely at a loss for words and feeling his breath come so fast he was dizzy.
“Shh. Shh.” Blaine's eyes were wide in surprise and he rubbed his hands along Kurt's upper arms, doing as ever his best to restore calm. “Oh, lover. This is a night when you should only be ecstatic and proud of yourself.” He reached a hand to tip Kurt's chin up so that his lips could be softly kissed. “Let me see if I can help put you in a properly congratulatory mood. You deserve to be happy at a time like this.” Touching their foreheads together, Blaine smiled and let his hands wander, brushing Kurt's skin here and there and leaving the sensation of tiny fires in his wake. “To second chances at first impressions,” he whispered with a low chuckle.
Laughing despite himself, in Blaine's relentless joy in life, Kurt at last found the strength to surrender, to give over to the desire to lose himself entirely in the time afforded to them. He tilted his head forward and gently nuzzled at the soft spot just below Blaine's jaw, nudging until, with another low laugh of his own, Blaine obediently lifted his head to allow Kurt better access to mouth and suck at his throat. His fingers continued to skim absently along Kurt's body as he dropped his head back further, happy hums of contentment causing the skin of his throat to vibrate under Kurt's lips. Gently, growing somehow more serene by the moment, Kurt began to push Blaine back down on the bed to recline beneath him as he resumed his task of memorizing each wonderful inch of his beloved.
Pleasured sighs and groans filled the air once more as Kurt kissed and licked his way down the warm expanse of Blaine's chest and torso, paying tribute to each dip and dimple he found along with way with reverent lips and teasing tongue. Was it so very many months ago that he hadn't been so much as kissed? Oh, Blaine had given him so much.
He would do all he could tonight to show how much it meant to him. If this was their last, he would not dwell in the loss, but revel and be grateful for all he had gained.
“Turn over,” he instructed quietly, enjoying the brush of Blaine's legs between his as his lover complied. With fondness that threatened to swell and split his heart, Kurt surveyed that which lay before him. “Your backside should be given a knighthood.” The words emerged on a thread of breath as he brushed his appreciative - if slightly avaricious - hands over the firm globes. A slap on the right cheek elicited a long moan of delight from Blaine before he turned heavy-lidded eyes on Kurt.
“Only if your cock is as equally honored,” he retorted with a languorous smile. “For it is magnificent and has truly been excellent in its service to one of the Queen's most loyal subjects.”
Kurt blushed furiously - to still even be capable of that after all this time and all that he had done! He almost laughed. “It - I just - I - “ He shook his head. “You flatter me. Shh. I wish to concentrate on you.” Ignoring the chuckle this earned, Kurt slipped his hands up along Blaine's back to his shoulders, kneading his hands against the tight muscles there. “Ah, Blaine. All that standing and holding poses. I don't know how you did it, you must have been so sore at the end of it all. Yet never did I hear you complain. Not once.”
“Would do it all over again,” came the almost sleepy reply, muffled in a decadent sigh of pleasure. “Anything for you.”
...anything? Again, Kurt was tempted to speak up, to ask Blaine to not let their relationship end with the completion of the painting. Again he found the words locked quite tightly up in his throat. This was how it had to be. Blaine had no reason to want to stay with him, who was he, after all? Just another artist, just someone who was always alone.
Again he pushed away the urge to wallow in sadness and instead, lay himself down upon Blaine until he covered his lover like a counterpane on the bed, stretching his hands out along his arms to tangle their fingers together. “Thank you.”
“F'r what?” Blaine arched his buttocks up against Kurt's pelvis, almost making Kurt forget what he'd been thinking about. Kurt shook his head and grasped at the fleeting thought before it could escape entirely.
“For you,” he replied honestly, clutching Blaine's fingers more tightly in his as he began to shift his hips against his lover's body. His erect cock was nestled in the cleft of Blaine's backside, and he liked it there, liked the sensation of being cradled. He had no desire to get up and locate the oil, to bury himself deeply within Blaine, to be away from him for even one moment. Kurt wanted to lay here in this way for as long as he could make the illusion of forever feel.
He lifted his head from where it had rested against Blaine's and gazed upon his beloved, at the sweep of dark lashes on his cheek, the tumble of curls that always looked as if Blaine frequently went around pushing his hands through his hair when deep in thought - which Kurt knew very well was quite truly the case. Kurt took in once again the birthmark on his shoulder, the firm lean lines of muscle, the full lips perpetually curved in a smile, everything he'd looked upon and loved for the last several months.
He would never, ever forget.
With the most infinite of care, Kurt began again to shift his hips against Blaine, so that his cock slipped gently along the cleft in which it rested. Soft skin against soft skin, warmth to warmth, the head of his member already beginning to let down sticky drips to evidence his arousal. With reluctance, Kurt disengaged one hand from Blaine's and as quickly as he could he lapped at it with his tongue, making it wet and slick before encircling his own cock and stroking until it, too was dampened and his fingers had smudged the leaking droplets of seed along the shaft as well. The merest thread of a groan slipped from his mouth as he returned his member to its resting place and it began to slide more easily between the rounded mounds of Blaine's buttocks.
He tangled his fingers in with Blaine's again and lifted their joined hands, turning them so that Blaine's palm was facing his lips. “Lick it,” he directed softly, remembering the same command being given to him so many months before. It seemed a lifetime ago, that morning, the two of them facing each other on this very same bed, Kurt so full of trepidation, Blaine so confident. As if it was something that had happened to someone else entirely.
Well. It really had been. Kurt could not say he was the same trembling, nervous, unknowing young man that he had been then. Not at all.
Blaine's tongue darted out, pink and wet, and licked a stripe up his own palm. He rolled his eyes so that the one Kurt could see was pinned upon him, gazes locked together as Blaine sucked his own fingers into his mouth one at a time and got them thoroughly wet, the saliva shining in the light of the room's gaslamps. He let the tip of his tongue flick out and brush over Kurt's bent knuckles, too, dipping it into the creases and trying to burrow it in under where their fingers were joined.
“Blaine...” Kurt groaned, his slippery cock shifting deeper into the crevice in which it rested with each involuntary twitch of his hips. He stretched his head back, biting his lip when Blaine took their damp, joined hands and used them to grasp at his own member, straining just as hard as Kurt's beneath their bodies. With the first squeeze of their intertwined fingers, Blaine arched his hips up off of the bed and into Kurt, and both of them let out unwinding sighs at the bliss of it, at the riot of sensation and the quiet sense of unity.
If, Kurt thought, he were forced in that second to choose but one memory to carry with him for the rest of his life, it would be this one perfect, close, intimate moment.
He lowered his cheek to press against Blaine's back and squeezed his eyes shut, listening to each shuddering breath the two of them made as they rocked and moved together. Feeling the fingers of their free hands entwined on the pillow as Kurt tilted his hips back and forth, the squeeze and release of the hands that stroked Blaine's cock, the firm warmth that surrounded his own erection as it glided in the cleft between Blaine's buttocks.
It was warm and close, soft and sweet and slow, lacking all of the frenzied, passionate desperation that had always marked their encounters before tonight. No more words passed between them, no more speaking glances, nothing but touch and breath and the stillness Kurt had once felt on a childhood beach excursion to Brighton with his father, when he'd wandered out just a small distance too far into the water. Just before a large wave had broken over his small head, it had felt to Kurt that the entire world that surrounded him had gone eerily still and quiet, a hitch and pause in the endless march of time that denoted this as a significant moment.
His father had swum in and dragged him out just as he'd thought he would drown, but there was no one to rescue Kurt this time.
The wave broke in the next instant, a pulsing shudder that rocked Kurt's entire body and curled his toes as he climaxed. Beneath him, Blaine's back heaved against Kurt's chest as his lover, too, tilted and fell over pleasure's edge. In their fisted hands, Blaine's cock spurted hot seed over the tangle of their fingers. Long sighing groans of satisfaction spilled from their lips in tandem, the varying timbres of their voices the only difference in the sounds with which they filled the shivering air.
They collapsed as if they were children's toy balloons deflating after a long day, their bodies sinking into the soft feather mattress of Kurt's bed, still tangled together and heedless of the cooling stickiness of the spendings that coated their hands and Blaine's lower back. Kurt still did not want to move away from Blaine's side for even a single moment, did not care for anything that didn't involve touching his lover, kissing him, taking in his exhalations as if they were necessary for Kurt's own continued life. Carefully, he turned Blaine so that they faced each other and before a single word could be uttered, Kurt sealed his mouth over Blaine's in a long kiss, letting his tongue flick and taste and memorize.
Only when he felt there was nothing more to burn into his memory - when he was sure he would know the touch and feel and sound of Blaine until the very end of his days - only then did Kurt break the kiss with one last nip of his teeth on Blaine's soft lower lip, only then did he sigh and withdraw and tangle his fingers into Blaine's curls as they rested their foreheads together, their breaths slowing into a gentle rhythm and neither of them willing to shatter the charged silence that surrounded them.
It was a perfect moment. A perfect memory. A perfect ending.
If this had to be their last night, Kurt decided, if this was to be what fate handed them, he could ask for no greater gift than that which he had received.
...Chapter Ten...