Author: Regala Electra
Spoilers: 3x03 - Asian F
Warnings: Sexual Content, Language
Word Count: 2,212
Summary: Blaine closes his eyes and tries to turn reality into something better, rewriting history because that’s all he can do. How Kurt's mouth had looked, how he should've found somewhere private to pull him away, keep them both safe. He could’ve locked the door and really shown Kurt how stunned he’d felt and how lucky he is and this is his dream here so he can be explicit even if all he can really do is kiss Kurt, that they’ll go no further than the boundaries already set. Wherein Blaine spends his night thinking about Kurt. And does exactly what you think a teenage boy would do when thinking about his boyfriend.
Author’s Notes: Thanks to ccmskatechick for the beta. Resisting the urge to use lyrics from Something's Coming or joke about "looks like a solo tonight" was difficult, y'all.
It’s a habit, double-checking that his bedroom door is locked even though he knows his parents are asleep by now but he’s not about to experience the humiliation of being caught in the act. He yanks his bed sheets down the bed, shucks off his shirt and pajama bottoms, and settles in the bed. This can’t just be a one-off. He needs more than that.
He starts light because he's already too close and he's only just pulled his dick out of his boxer-briefs and he's leaking and so hard. All he can think of is that faint scent—Kurt—still lingering when he breathes deep like it's only been moments from when he'd recklessly hugged him after seeing the cast list. Fuck, he'd felt Kurt in his arms, the strength of him.
There’d been that anxious buzz as they'd hugged and it isn't enough, never enough and as he strokes himself he curses that he couldn't kiss him on the stairs. Says oh fuck, Kurt and with a stutter-stop, tries not to ache because he wants him so much.
Blaine closes his eyes and tries to turn reality into something better, rewriting history because that’s all he can do. How Kurt's mouth had looked, how he should've found somewhere private to pull him away, keep them both safe. He could’ve locked the door and really shown Kurt how stunned he’d felt and how lucky he is and this is his dream here so he can be explicit even if all he can really do is kiss Kurt, that they’ll go no further than the boundaries already set.
If he could do it all over again and find that place where they’d be safe, it would be a hell of a kiss.
He stops, pauses, because it’s not right and the twist to his stomach isn’t the pressure of an oncoming orgasm, it’s worry, nerves alight all over with fear. He's still new to McKinley (but not new to public school), so the reality is this: he had breathed deep the scent of flowers.
He knows what it means, the red and yellow. Stopping seems ridiculous now because he can do this, here and now, he is protected and the meaning of the flowers was not lost on him, and god, he breathes in the roses and it mixes with the heat of Kurt’s neck that he’s maybe still mooning over. Yes he’s mooning over it, swooning more likely, and he grips the base of his dick, breathes harder, and continues, quietly as possible, heels digging into the mattress.
It’s congratulations, love, the deepest friendship he'd never fuck up because fuck he is so in love with Kurt he aches, no actually what he aches from is, well, he grunts as he goes too hard too fast. No he's not going to end this so soon, he's been aching for days, pining almost, for Kurt's touch and there's never a time and a place, never a good way to plan, no way to phrase the question, can I have your dick in my mouth? without it sounding crass and ruining what he really means: I need you closer, and I want you, and, oh my god, Kurt, if you even touch my dick, I'll probably come just from— Oh, god no.
He's not going to come just yet, he refuses to let it happen now, he can hold off just a little longer. He focuses on Kurt's mouth, yes, a favorite of his, the way it curves up and the way Blaine has to puzzle out Kurt’s intentions, the good kind of riddle. Start and stop has never been the best part of his routine but his boxers are twisted around his thighs so it’s a good excuse as any to pause. He kicks them off and listens to the quiet, idly brushing his balls, cupping them, wondering if he should just pump some lotion into his hand and end it now and quick, but then he’ll continue to be frayed and out of sorts, like he hasn’t done anything and wake up tomorrow craving this all over again.
Blaine had expected something else, that’s the thing, this whole week he’s been sure something is coming that'll spell doom, the sureness that he's screwed up everything by trying out for Tony. He’d avoided Booty Camp because of it.
Well that's only a part of the reason. He'd also skipped out because Kurt is so damn flexible and he'd bend over graceful as anything while Blaine spider-walked his fingers over his shoe, a clumsy stretch worthy of mockery but he’d catch a flash of Kurt’s smile and he could almost believe that they’d be so good together. Kurt will be good. It’s Blaine that’ll be clumsy and awkward and screw it up and he can help soundlessly laughing at that, screwing up screwing.
Sure, they've redefined the art of kissing, but maybe that’s just how it feels for Blaine. It’s like he has to save each kiss until next time, store it up and lock it away where no one else knows it exists because it’s only for them. That’s a little ridiculous too, how sure he is that his mouth was meant for Kurt’s. Past the nervousness of their first kiss, when his thoughts caught up to his mouth and the feel of Kurt, that’s what made the first amazing impact, the realization that he’d never been more sure in his life that this is what he’s meant to do.
The ease terrifies him.
Blaine knows he'll start overthinking when they progress to more, fumble and do something terrible, god, he'll be so anxious and wretched. That shouldn’t be hot either but he’s still hard and has calmed down enough to start again, thinking about how he’ll try to get at Kurt in ways he'd only dreamed of—and what if Kurt doesn't like it, any of it?
He pulls, unsure, and the question twists into something else entirely.
What if Kurt hasn't spent a single sleepless night thinking about him the way Blaine does every damn time he gets all strung up on needing Kurt? (Which is turning into almost every night as of late.)
(Fine it’s every night on the regular.)
He bites his bottom lip to keep from groaning.
It's not even the touch of Kurt that'll do it; it can be anything. Like the afternoon text that Kurt sent him: a gentle joke that he's always available for any private rehearsals that Blaine might need. Blaine knows it's a double-edged comment, because he’d gotten secondhand information on Kurt and Rachel’s disastrous second audition for Kurt, but what he’d really heard was and I was wearing period appropriate tights and okay, he’s being selfish (consumed) but Kurt's legs, yes, that’s a good place for his thoughts to go.
Kurt’s jeans and trousers often leave little to the imagination and the breadth of Blaine's dreams involve zippers opened and jeans tugged down over lean hips. Then finally, they’ll be ready for it, and Blaine’s hands won’t tremble even though Blaine's heart is pounding (and if it should ever happen, god, he slams his head back on his bed, just at the question, he can’t even go there yet).
He'll touch and know, the truest sense of the word, he’ll be so damn glad for it. It will be for Kurt, his amazing boyfriend that he loves and it'll be, he'll make it perfect even if they start off unsure, they'll figure it out, together.
Oh, what if Kurt told him what he likes, Blaine wonders on an uptwist, thumbing over the head of his cock. He’ll be so eager for it, wanting to get Kurt to solve the answer ahead of time, that’s cheating, so Blaine’s going to do something ridiculous like blurt out how he's been dreaming of Kurt's dick forever. Then he’ll sputter and say he didn't mean to say it (but he did) and what he meant was that Kurt is amazing and Blaine wants to touch every part of him that makes Kurt sing and ache and burn.
(Every touch that makes Kurt come undone will be Blaine's undoing too.)
He’s barely even ready for Kurt touching him and he's been jerking off nightly. Morning showers also involve a little private time and sometimes he had to wait out unfortunate erections. But it's not like he's addicted and he can't go too fast. It's always dark when he really pictures this, the great what if dream is dark and quiet like there's no world out there. It's only them and every obstacle is gone. Time is not of the essence and Kurt is murmuring lowly in Blaine's ear, he can hardly hear the words and comprehension is shot when Kurt does that thing to his neck. Yes, oh god, Blaine places fingers against the spot now, presses a little too hard, and remembers when he got his first hickey.
Kurt had apologized and said he'd be more careful and how Blaine had longed to tell him to be more careless.
He curls fingers in his hair, almost sobbing in frustration. This can't last forever and he needs to come, needs the lull of sleep that settles within him afterwards, needs—he needs Kurt.
There are reminders scattered across his bedroom, trinkets and well-loved things. Kurt had given him a shirt that fit tight through the shoulders and the breathy noise Kurt had made when Blaine tried it on was reason enough to wear it twice in one week just to draw that noise out of Kurt unbidden.
Blaine wants to feel wanted, that’s the answer. He glances at the flowers on his nightstand, not as lush as they were when given but still so beautiful, the bloom of the red so gorgeous. A bit of useless trivia comes to mind: the color of someone's lips are the color of their nipples.
Kurt's shirts have gotten thinner and have inspired Blaine’s imagination. He's so, so pale. Blaine wonders then what they'll look like together, naked. Kurt can be so flushed when their kissing takes a distinct turn into a heavy makeout session. It takes Kurt forever to cool down, to stop blushing, how if Blaine doesn't shave carefully, Kurt's mouth is red and swollen—used.
He barely knows what he’s doing, reaching out to pluck an outer petal between his fingers but he does it anyway. Brings the petal to his lips and it's soft but different, not like Kurt at all. But he's aching and he wants to pretend, wants so many things he isn't even sure are possible.
He's still leaking enough pre-come that it is possible, just a soft sweep against the sticky dampness and then he presses the petal against his belly. It's not unpleasant but it's not enough until he puts a little force into it. Presses his finger against the petal against his skin and he thinks, this is what it could be like, the sweep of Kurt's mouth upwards, the tease, because Blaine'll still be hard and begging, yes he'll beg, as Kurt moves up, and up, mouth tender but firm. Harder and harder still and he'll stop right at Blaine's heart and maybe he'll listen to it too, hear that pounding only for him.
Kurt’s hand will wrap around Blaine (Blaine fists hard, he's so close, and it's a good close, he's waited long enough, staving this and it’s incredible) and Blaine surges upwards and of course it's for him, only for him, yes, yes, he doesn't know the right thing to say. No word is perfect enough so all he'll say is need want love you—Kurt and he spills over his fingers, doesn't even catch himself in time so he's noisy too but it doesn't matter because Kurt's not there to shush him, not yet but one day he will be.
It's not as far away, not an impossible dream, and as the come cools and goes tacky his thoughts gather against the call of sleep. He mechanically cleans himself off, tosses away the reminders of what he's done, gets dressed so he can head into the bathroom, washing his hands. He knocks his hip against the bathroom door when his knees buckle, body still wringing with faint aftershock, he’d delayed longer than he’d ever had before. Hs brain is still miles behind, because the sureness of it is ringing true—Kurt will be there with him one day. He might start grinning then but he kind of can't feel his face.
Getting back into bed, he sees the petal on top of crumpled sheets and he knows he ought to toss it away, it's not a treasure, but he leaves it on the nightstand and watches it despite the darkness when he shuts off every light and settles into bed, bones heavy but utterly sated.
His phone lights up and he can't help but look at it, because he knows who it is.
It’s a text from Kurt: I’m so proud of you. Sleep well, sweet dreams, etc. I'm making crepes for brunch tomorrow. See you then. <3.
Blaine can only type out I'm always dreaming of you before sleep claims him and he thinks (no, he promises) soon.