Author: Regala Electra
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine (minor Santana/Brittany)
Spoilers: S2 New York
Warnings: Sexual Content, Language
Word Count: 1,791
Summary: He should have never told Santana about his cross-dressing fantasy. Or has I said on tumblr: wherein Santana gets Blaine into her candy striper outfit, Santana rocks a Dalton blazer, Kurt loves Blaine down, and well, there is porn.
Author's Notes: The things tumblr makes me do. After a conversation about Santana having a closet full of sexy costumes, naderegen drew Blaine in Santana's candy striper costume. Bulletproof kink and all, I wrote this fic, as one does.
“I don’t really think this is going to work.”
“You look totally hot,” Santana says as she smoothes down the tie around her neck over her tailored Dalton blazer. Which she stole from Blaine and didn’t tell him she was altering it until after she’d opened the door to her house wearing it. She’s also not wearing a shirt under it so Blaine’s really grateful that the fit is tight because seeing breasts would possibly be the second most awkward thing he’d witness today.
He should have never told Santana about his cross-dressing fantasy. Yes, he was a little tipsy (though not drunk, he’s learned that painful lesson) and it had been during the wind down of the glee club only party last week and he was trying to make a point about gender conformity (at least, he thinks) while Santana poured her broken heart out to him but really, he should have known better.
“Kurt’s going to love it.”
“Kurt isn’t going to see this,” Blaine says, shifting a little because the panties Santana demanded he put on were constricting but in an oddly nice way.
“Really? Should’ve told me that Blanderson. I texted him a half hour ago for a S.O.S. makeover. You know how he feels about makeovers.”
“His crack,” Blaine says, weakly. Damn her.
If he knew how to run properly in these heels, he’d hightail it out of here despite Santana’s likely vengeful retribution.
“What are you so worried about?” she asks, putting a pair of black-framed glasses on, ones that still have the sticker on the side before she peels it off. “You were the one talking about expectations and defying them and that we’re going to struggle with it, being gay and having perform our gender whatever the fuck that means and how many times people look at you and Kurt and think—well now they know who’s the bitch now.”
“That’s really sexist and offensive,” Blaine says automatically.
“No, that’s really hot. Too bad you’re such a hairy girl. I’d consider hitting it.”
Blaine sighs, looking down. His chest is half-exposed, the hair he kind of hates for growing so dark looks ridiculous against trim around the plunging neckline. She’d only given him knee high stockings and his thighs, which he’s always hated for being too thin, probably look silly, and he tries not to think about where exactly Santana got shoes in his size, let alone platforms.
“What if Kurt hates this?”
He didn’t mean to ask that. He shouldn’t have even let that thought exist, let alone have Santana hear it. He’s not supposed to think about that.
Because, he gets it, sort of, in a way that every damn thing he does has more meaning than just the average straight person playing around, how sometimes Blaine fantasies a little about being pretty and okay, Tim Curry in fishnets really did something for him. He’d tried to associate it with the performance, that leading, outrageous quality he funnels into his own performances, but then he reads some article about genderfuck and well, he feels that nervous twitch inside, like it’s the good kind of dirty bad wrong that flips over into the right column.
Fuck. He’s getting aroused. And that isn’t the best thing when this skirt won’t hide an erection straining once he moves. Oh god and he can’t help it, shifting his hips a little and wow, these panties are amazing. He hisses a little under his breath.
“Huh,” Santana says, stepping into her decidedly wicked looking stiletto heels. “You actually think Kurt’s going to run away screaming? That’s so cute, how you’re both so stupid. You and Kurt are kind of disgusting together.”
“Take the compliment and shove it up your ass, Blaine,” Santana says and since she’s actually using his name, Blaine tries to be gracious when she walks over to him and straightens out his skirt. Well as straight as it’s going to be, consider what’s happening underneath.
“Oh wait, I forgot the best part”, she says like an afterthought, meaning she’s had it in her mind from the beginning. A drawer in her dresser is open and shut before Blaine has a chance to protest and she easily puts the finishing touch over his head. “There you go, sexy.”
He’s about to yank it off when he hears the familiar sound of boots thumping up the stairs.
“Leave the door unlocked and tell Kurt to haul his ass to my room? Yeah that doesn’t sound like me at all.”
The door swings open as Kurt’s saying, “Now I can’t imagine how red is no longer your color but we—oh.”
“Kurt, I can explain—”
“Blaine’s kinky and I’m not going to let a guy upstage me in my own room,” Santana lazily says, smiling. “Also I got to steal his blazer. Hot right?”
Here’s the moment. Kurt’s going to laugh at him or tell him he’s so strange and that this is offensive or how he’s attracted to Blaine only when he’s fastidiously masculine and it’s all going to be ruined.
He’s waiting for it, that drop off the edge of the world. His palms are sweating and he’s going to die of embarrassment dressed as a sexy candy striper.
“Santana,” Kurt says, momentarily flicking his eyes towards her, “though I’m saddened at the loss of Blaine’s old blazer, we all must make sacrifices for fashion. Plus I brought Brittany since she was trying to wait for a pumpkin to turn into a carriage and I had to tell her it was a squash to convince her that I was her best chance for a ride. She’s waiting in the living room. I thought perhaps you two needed some time together.”
“Oh,” Santana says. “Maybe I’ll go talk to her then. Uh. Thanks.”
Before she closes the door behind her, she says, “Don’t fuck in my room, okay? This is a jizz free zone.”
“Classy as ever,” Kurt says, thumping his body against the closed door. “But she and Brittany do miss each other. So. However did Santana get you into that?”
“I’m still not entirely sure,” Blaine confesses, hoping that’s enough.
It isn’t because Kurt loves him and sees too much.
“Oh Blaine,” he sighs. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. Ever, okay?”
“But this is weird,” Blaine blurts out. “I really get off on this and there’s so much meaning behind it and it’s not, I’m not a drag queen, I’m really not, though I respect their dedication to their craft—”
“Honey, breathe,” Kurt says, moving from the door and holding Blaine’s hands. “I don’t need a lecture. We don’t even have to use words.”
“What do you mean?”
But Kurt doesn’t answer the question at first. Instead he’s tracing the line of Blaine’s face, pulling off that god-awful thing on the top of his head.
“Tacky,” he explains, and then he’s pulling Blaine down, oh yeah, huge height different right now, the only thing he finds appealing about these heels and just because of the novelty, and they’re kissing. Not like safe kisses or confiding kisses but the kind of kissing that quickly turns into reckless making out and it’s really nice especially when Kurt’s hands move to his waist and he can’t help rocking forward, stumbling a little.
Okay, he really hates the heels.
“I need to kick these off,” he mumbles against Kurt’s mouth.
“That’s good,” Kurt says, looking up. “This is really disconcerting.”
“I know. This totally isn’t my color.”
“Shut up,” Kurt says fondly as he kneels down, actually kneels down to help Blaine take the heels off. “Hmm, I could’ve found better shoes.”
“Kurt, this wasn’t planned,” Blaine says, frustrated but only for a moment because Kurt gets up and the kissing starts up again.
“You know,” Kurt says a little giddy, “you’re actually pretty…uh, hot.”
Blaine knows that catch in his voice, the way he tacked on hot. He can’t help it, or the edge of excitement, “You think I’m pretty?”
“I think most of the world can agree on your handsomeness,” Kurt says, mouth sucking on that amazing spot on Blaine’s neck.
“No,” Blaine says before Kurt catches him in a sex stupor. “You meant pretty.”
“What if I did, Blaine? What would that mean to you? Are you less of a man if you kind of look beautiful like this?” Kurt’s hand is quicker than even Blaine can anticipate, palm warm against Blaine’s hard cock.
“It would mean,” Blaine trails off. He can’t even express it.
It would mean he’s loved, no matter what. It would mean that he could explore it and not have it be that strange little dirty secret he’s always laughed off as just a little quirk that he might grown out of one day. It might well mean that he’s falling more in love with Kurt Hummel and that’s ridiculous considering how far he’s already gone.
“We can’t have sex,” Kurt says, hand slipping into the way too tight underwear, freeing Blaine.
“Santana will kill us. But she didn’t say her bathroom was off limits.”
“Kurt,” Blaine moans, as Kurt keeps stroking him, fast under the skirt, the rustle of the lacy layers louder as Kurt increases speed. “I’m not going to last.”
“Then, I’ll have to make sure there’s no evidence.”
He’s kneeling again and it’s a miracle that Blaine’s legs don’t buckle. Somehow he holds his balance as Kurt sucks him, and Blaine has to pull the skirt out of the way to see.
He can’t even give out a choked out warning when he comes, and true to Kurt’s word, the only evidence left is on and in Kurt’s mouth. He stumbles back and falls to his knees too, hearing the panties rip a little as he spreads his legs. He almost tackles Kurt to get at his mouth, licking away the last of the come because it’s his and it’s Kurt’s mouth and it is so insane how much he wants Kurt. How much he loves him.
“Come on,” Kurt says, “if we don’t at least pretend we did this in the bathroom, Santana might kill us.”
“Too bad I died already,” Blaine says, happily, taking Kurt’s hands as they both manage a standing position. “I’m safe from her wrath.”
“Think about your boyfriend.”
“Oh, right.” Blaine looks up at Kurt. “You’re really not freaked out or mad or—”
“Blaine,” Kurt says, gently tugging at Blaine’s skirt, reaching under to put Blaine’s softening dick in the underwear. “I’m jealous over your waist. Your ridiculous eyelashes. How beautiful you look after you come. Though next time, I get to help you pick out the outfit.”