Chapter 12

Song used in this chapter:  Kankouran – Rivers

Kurt is watching the unlikely pair across the room with obsessive eyes.  He still thinks it's weird that they know each other, that they are regulated by law to talk so often and he's completely wrecked with nerves that either of them will spill his darkest secrets to the other.  They both have so much slack to ruin his life.  But they wouldn't, would they?

The week before last was probably one of Kurt's most difficult to date; he still hasn't a clue how he got through it to begin with.  He's still anxious and tense around Blaine but he's slowly regaining his normalcy.  He continues to get embarrassingly aroused around the boy, and participates in at least three cold showers per day.  He still feels like he's going to burst at the thought of Blaine's… body parts, but he's getting better.  They haven't talked about it; about what happened weeks ago now.  Kurt has finally started the grueling process of trying to forgive himself for what he took from Blaine.

Pursuing Blaine further than that one time would be ludicrous.  He knows it, but he can't stop wanting him, and it's more than just the sex.  He feels as though Blaine really understands him in everything except for this.  They were truly becoming friends. 

One slip of judgment and this is the predicament they're in. The one time weeks ago was a moment uncontrolled, and although Kurt recently only seems to want… need Blaine more and more every time he looks at him, the reasoning why it can't happen remains the same.  He just can't.  He refuses to burst. 

His mind wanders a bit, but he forces it back into professionalism since he's helping Julie now, by removing all of the food items from the glass window so they can attack the area with cleaning supplies.  It's a down time, as per usual during this time of day, and they know they can finish this long overdue and wildly procrastinated upon project before the afternoon rush.  Only Santana and Blaine are here, and they won't mind the smell of Lemon Fresh and the constant slam of sliding door to glass displays for probably an hour.

Then Blaine laughs loudly at something Santana just said, and as quickly as Kurt started his chores around the shop, he stops abruptly and prepares to deliver a special gift to his friends.  Well, to his friend and the guy he shouldn't be obsessed with but still is.

Kurt starts to pour the medium drips, stirring the perfect amount of each ingredient until the maple-tinted brown is as perfect as Blaine's glistening eyes during the one orgasm Kurt's seen in person. 

Kurt hears the beginning chords of Death Cab for Cuties' “I Will Possess Your Heart” playing on the overhead speakers in the shop and shoots his turquoise balls of Caribbean Sea toward Blaine.  He's caught.  He tries to stay nonchalant, because it is a coincidence after all, but of course Blaine has a sixth sense/curse when it comes to Kurt and he's already up and approaching him by the time their eyes meet.  Kurt throws the once-clean paper towel into the trash nearby and wipes his hands on his apron, all without leaving Blaine's eye contact.

“So weird how this song of all songs is now on your playlist, pretty boy.”  He's bent in half over the counter to get closer to Kurt's body, wiggling his ass, raising an eyebrow as he fights with his toes to stretch just a little more.  “Remember when this very song was basically my proclamation of love via kitchen dancing in the middle of the night?  That happened when I had nothing else to say because you were kicking me out and I just wanted to let you know how I felt? How I feel?  I'm onto you, Sir Mix A Lot.”

Kurt can't help but think about the conversation the two of them had post-sex.  Blaine truly meant it when he called him “pretty boy.”  It drives Kurt crazy that Blaine continues to call him that glorious pet name, among other things.

“Maybe you just never noticed it before.”  Kurt says, with a flirty smile.  He watches Blaine's hips rock back and forth and blinks the memory out of his head as quickly as it appeared into focus. 

On cue, his cock grows to a half-hard status and Kurt's trying to hide it with a simple jerk to his own hips to attempt an adjustment sans hands. 

“I notice everything.”  Blaine's eyes flicker down to the stretched area of Kurt's tight package.  There's a beat and Kurt sighs, defeated and under arrest in Blaine's gaze.  The boy looks back to the man.  This look is definitely an invitation.

“Go hang out with your parole officer, B.”  Kurt goes back to his work, stirring the coffees until they're perfect.  When they're finished, he hesitates just for a second, wondering if he could actually be a friend to the boy he can't get his mind off of.

Spinning and going, Blaine laughs a melodic ballad all the way back to the table, greeting Santana again.  She has her finger on her eyebrow, pushing it up dramatically with a bitch face plastered.  Blaine laughs louder, looks over to Kurt, and winks.  He's in good spirits; Kurt can only resist him for a little bit longer. 

Santana stares at him, obviously rolling her eyes for the world to see, and jumps back into the challenge of convincing the boy to go back to school.

“You're fucking him.”

“Ummm… what?”

“You're fucking him and you can't deny it.  I was around every time he had that goofy damn look on his face.  You're fucking him.”

“Ummm, okay.  Santana, you're crazy.  So McKinley?  Anything but Dalton?”  Blaine tries to change the subject, shuffling through brochures of three different schools including McKinley, because he really wants to keep his promise to Kurt that he won't tell.

Santana sighs and takes the bait, “So, McKinley is where me and Kurt went, and honestly I haven't been there in a few years but I can tell you that it was kind of decent, you know, for high school.”

“If I go, would that get you off my back?”

“Yes!  But only about school.  We are having the Kurt conversation.”

He ignores her interest, “My parents will never sign the admission form for public school.  My dad, in particular, can't wait to watch me fail.”  He looks back over to Kurt, who's still watching them while waiting for espresso shots to drop.  He needs something stronger than just coffee, apparently.

“They don't have to sign shit.  I'll make it happen.  All you have to do is get yourself there enough to make sure they don't fail you for skipping.”

Blaine laughs from his belly, looking back to Santana.  “You're the worst parole officer there is.  Honestly, you're sitting here telling a mini-convict such as myself that I just have to be at school enough for them to notice that I'm there.” 

“Wow, why couldn't you make shit happen for me?”  Kurt is balancing a triangle of three Lima Bean coffee cups and places them effortlessly in the middle of the table then sits and crosses his legs, sitting tall and proud.

“Because you weren't a delinquent with nowhere to go but up.”  Blaine smiles and takes a sip.  “Me, rock bottom.  You, superstar.”

“I am not a superstar.    What are you going to make happen, San?”

Santana sits quietly, examining the body language between Kurt and Blaine, coming to conclusions of her own.  She blinks several times, slowly and with purpose further than rewetting her eyeballs.  She's sending a message; it's Morse code.  It's “you fucking idiot” straight to Kurt, his heart, and his brain.

The boys look at each other and shrug, Blaine blushing because he knows he has given up the unrevealed by pretending to be oblivious to Santana's constant badgering.  He's usually so good at keeping secrets and feels ashamed that he let this one go.  They've shared this same look for weeks, but Santana finally understands and she has it written all over her face.  To flame the fire, Blaine leans in to whisper a secret to Kurt, and Kurt covers his mouth, embarrassed, and looks at the boy through his eyelashes.   Kurt shifts the chair six inches away from Blaine. 

“You what!  Blaine!  Inappropriate.”  Kurt's blush is uncontrollable, and he makes a point to look far, far away from one of his oldest friends studying him as if she even needs to without understanding exactly what's going on.

“Inappropriate like the time I locked your ankles around my throat and rammed my co-”

Santana jumps up, “You little assholes!  What the fuck!”

Kurt glares at Blaine.  He told Kurt he wouldn't tell a soul and here he is, cute as ever, blabbing away their illegal sexcapades.

Kurt leaves Blaine there to deal with the wrath of Santana.  He lifts his body to his feet and winks to Jules, their unspoken agreement that he needs an escape.  He sprints out the door and into the next one over, up the stairs and directly to the bathroom.  He strips, throwing his clothes wherever they land, and turns the cold shower on full blast.  He stands under the stream for upwards of a half hour, washing away any indecency and wanton thoughts of raping the poor boy again. 

xK&Bx

He's restless; he truly doesn't know how to handle this anymore.  The daily freezing downpour of shower water forces over his head, warning him with every drop how horrid each of his thoughts are.  He focuses on his work and not on his heart; he focuses on his life, just nothing to do with Blaine.  This is exactly the perfect time to feel alone, no matter how many people surround him every day.  If he has to constrain himself into abstinence until he's over everything having to do with Blaine, then fine.  Or maybe he'll go fuck everything with a dick.  That could work too.  He's never been into one night stands (yearning too much for emotion) but he makes it a point to remind himself to ask Santana if she wants to go to the gay bar across town, Scandals, at some point soon, as long as she promises not to bring up his series of unfortunate events with Blaine.  Speaking of, he would invite the boy, but he's four entire years away from being able to order a drink, plus the whole purpose of dancing and fucking the night away is to get rid of the rigid thoughts of him in the first place.

Kurt returns after about an hour of trying to forget about Blaine in the most self-torturous way, and moves swiftly to his employee.  Julie is still there and scrubbing away for the sake of an A+ surprise health inspection.  Kurt will appreciate her later; right now, he can't risk loitering in the front area of the shop for as long as would be required to praise her.  He smiles shortly at Julie; she's such a dedicated worker.  He ignores Santana's catcalls and Blaine's melodic laugh.  He ignores the following comfortable silence between his friend and her juvenile convict she's paid a state salary to babysit while he reads through what looks like a McKinley course catalog.  Kurt has paperwork and avoiding and sulking to do, so he ignores all of this and rushes to the back.

Blaine:  Oh come on, pretty boy.  Don't be like that.  She figured it out all by herself.
Kurt:  I asked you to do one thing, Blaine.  One thing!
Blaine:  It's not a big deal. 
Kurt:  Leave me alone.  Clearly, you know nothing about Santana.  She will never let this go.

Julie is in his face now, asking for his help with a return of a muffin that's already been bitten into a few times, and he rises to explain to his apparently ungrateful bastard of a customer that food items are never interchangeable, especially after a sample has been eaten.  He's complaining to his favorite employee about how the human race just wants something for nothing all the live long day, and that all these Lima losers can do nothing to faze him anymore, but freezes in the doorway at the sight of two cops waiting impatiently at the cash register with the ugliest scowls on their faces. 

He glances to Blaine, who's staring fixedly at the two uniformed men.  The boy's mouth twitches upward and shifts his eyes from Kurt back to the cops.  Kurt's sure Blaine knows exactly what he's thinking and vice versa.

A glass bottle of nerves ready to shatter, Kurt approaches the register and swallows audibly while looking up into the undoubtedly threatening officer, demanding a refund. 

Kurt feels like he is about two feet tall.  He has an unusual closed-off demeanor standing in front of the police officers, shaking from hysteria and convinced that they will figure him out and take him downtown for questioning pertaining to a statutory rape.  Kurt's eyes are shifting to each exit, as if he'd be able to make a run for it should he have to, and the sweat bleeding out of his forehead rolls down to his jaw before he wipes at it.  He's rustling his fingers, allowing one hand to fight the other, and his deep and expressive eyes are still not meeting either of the men's. 

He is half-listening to the public servant blather about how he could have, in theory, been allergic to blueberries and it would have been a travesty if a cop died at a local coffee shop in Western Ohio because he was handed a berry-flavored muffin instead of a chocolate chip one by a teenager getting paid minimum wage.  The man's words blur together almost inaudibly due to the ocean rushing in and out of Kurt's ears.  Kurt is nodding submissively, trying to understand what the dipshit with a gun and handcuffs strapped to his waist is saying.  At some point, he hears himself agreeing with the cop but then decides to bite his tongue for several reasons – mainly the fact that he might get arrested for either a nervous, overly snarky remark or sex with a minor, and also because this irate asshole has a weapon and he most definitely does not want to die because of a muffin.  That'd be way too depressing for the experiences Kurt's had thus far.

He's well aware of Blaine's eyes repositioning, terrified of what's destined to happen next.  The premise or topic of the conversation must not be clear out of earshot, and Kurt's positive Blaine thinks he may have a problem.  Kurt feels bad for Blaine; by the look on his gorgeoussexybabyhot face, he must feel as guilty as Kurt does for the situation they're in, and for the cops breathing down his neck at this very second.  Blaine probably can't take it anymore; he stands and gets in line so he's able to eavesdrop on what's going on. 

Blaine wishes he could get revenge on cops everywhere for what they ignored when he was a kid, all of the drinking and domestic violence and abuse that was certainly called in several times a month in elementary school, and the captains and judges looking the other way to remain on the almighty Christian Anderson's good side in the court room. 

Blaine's mind drifts out of protective mode and into pure admiration.  Even when he's scared shitless, Kurt is undeniably ravishing.  His bright blue eyes nearly blind him as he burns a hole into Blaine's chest, a plea to be rescued.  His eyes quickly dart away from Blaine and back in the general direction of the cops.  His bunny hill nose scrunches into wrinkles and his mouth is worried, dimples denting his cheeks.  Kurt Hummel is scared, and Blaine wants to save him.

Blaine wishes he could get revenge on the cops in Lima for punishing him in ways they can't even fathom.  Blaine also wants revenge because they're terrifying the love of his life back into the shell Blaine never realized Kurt even had. 

Wait, love of my life?  What the fuck?

So his feet move him until he's standing behind the two cops badgering Kurt about his return policy and sidesteps until he has a clear view of Kurt's elegance between the gap of two sweaty, oversized bodies.  He keeps his eyes locked on the man to soundlessly convey that he's there with him and to calm the hell down because he's being really fucking suspicious right now, although there's nothing they can actually do.  Kurt wipes at his sweat again and nods ever so slightly.  Blaine hopes it was a movement for only him to see. 

The exchange seems to work; Kurt sees him and stands straighter, exuding all the confidence he can right now.  He hands the men brand new pastries as a consolation prize and rounds up, forking over a five dollar bill and apologizing profusely and waving Julie's disagreements off, and they loudly disappear, satisfied that they proved to one another that they truly can walk all over anyone in this town, and everyone is going to take it with little-to-no thought.  Kurt releases his breath and slouches back into himself.  Blaine shuffles forward to lean against the counter and peers through long and luscious eyelashes.  There is no one in this coffee shop, building, town, world other than Kurt. 

Kurt's panting, trying to catch his normally paced breath, and looks at Blaine for help.  It's a silent plea to talk him through the mini-panic attack.  It's Blaine's job to save him. 

“You're fine, Kurt.  Calm down.”  Blaine goes to reach for his wrist.

Kurt's voice stays even; the cops are still an earshot away, cackling loudly because they can do what they want when they want with no consequence.

“Don't.” His eyes bore into Blaine's with distaste and what seems to be pure hate.  He's actually scowling down at the boy. 

Kurt disappears into the back room again, and when Blaine turns around, Santana's also nowhere to be found.  There's nothing he wants more than to fix the self-hatred inside; Blaine knows that Kurt needs to separate the internal battle.

He is sick and tired of the numbing temperature of Kurt's heart and the blatant mood swings.  He's bothered by the attention he's not getting from Kurt, and he doesn't know why he still wants to fix things between them.  He takes a bottle of water out of the case.

He casually follows the man to the back room and leans against the doorframe.  He extends the water to offer it to Kurt.  It's a simple gesture, Blaine knows, but something big enough to show that he cares.

“You're making the tension between us really fucking obvious, Kurt, to everyone with eyes.”

“Are you kidding?  Santana had no damn clue what went on between us until you obviously told her!”  He jolts out of his chair and approaches the boy, then flings his arms up, giving up.  Kurt should be a lot more mad, but can't find the emotion right now after the run-in with the asshole cops who would have gladly taken him downtown with one mention of Blaine's (sexy, adorable, heavenly) thrusts into him far, deep, and wide.  He sits back down and crosses his legs to hide his cock, hard and uncomfortable for only the thousandth time today since Blaine showed his face.

“I told you.  That's not-”

Kurt cuts him off; Blaine is not being sexy or adorable or heavenly right now, he's being a fucking asshole.

“The cops… I thought they were going to see right through me and find out all about us, Blaine.”

Blaine stares at him.  He has no words, not even an apology. He could never apologize for something that he enjoyed so much, something he wants again as soon as Kurt's ready and for as forever as possible.  He does what he knows best.

“You really regret this, don't you?”

The silence is enough for Blaine to gather Kurt's true sentiment on the matter.  They lock eyes for a second and turn away.  Blaine channels his inner confidence that is completely fake and made up, but will work well for a light joke.

“For starters, Santana asked me if we were having sex earlier.  Like before I slipped up.  Well, I've never been arrested for sex before, but I can say that being arrested isn't really as bad as everyone thinks.  You know, when they had me in handcuffs, I almost got turned on.  The inability to move, while some powerful old man such as yourself does his way with me…”  He's smiling, the punch line on the tip of his tongue.

“I don't want to know you anymore.” Kurt feels his lips with his pointer and index fingers.  “It's too dangerous.  You are no longer welcome here.”

Blaine's breath catches.  They stare at each other; like it's the last time they'll see that face.  Blaine's expression is devastation; Kurt's is on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Santana slams the bathroom door open with her knee and her hands are still wet.

“You're out of paper towels.  Why the fuck are you freaking out, Lady Hummel?”

“Don't. Call him that.”  Before Blaine can stop it, he's defending Kurt. 

“Okay… Sit down, boys.”  Santana jumps up so she's sitting on a pile of invoices from whatever vendor Kurt has scheduled for the next morning.  Blaine looks at Kurt, who's pointedly fascinated with the wall.

“Look.  As gross and disgusting as it is to picture Kurt here all up in this delinquent mess, ravishing his little bunghole, it's fine.”

“What the fuck Santana!  And it's not fine!  I am,” Kurt strains his neck to see out to the main floor of the Lima Bean.  The cops have left the building, “I'm a fucking rapist.” He whispers.  

“You're not… Kurt.  It's fine, Blaine's seventeen. Just live on the edge a little!  I can't say what I really feel because he's a client of mine.  But… why don't you just…” She shrugs, “have a good time?”  She's laughing, she can't help herself.  She knows this is absolutely fucking killing Kurt, for no reason at that.

“Living on the edge is taking the long way home, or going skydiving.  Not fucking an innocent boy who, as we all know at this point, continues to be God damned infatuated with me and can't shake me if his life fucking depended on it!”  His outburst is a little loud. 

Blaine makes eye contact with Julie, whose eyes shine, shocked and scared of both the outburst and the words within.

“Guilty as charged.”  Blaine shrugs and continues.  “I don't want to forget about you, Kurt.  I just want to…” Blaine sighs.  He doesn't have the energy to come up with anything crude enough to keep up his reputation. “I just want to give us a try.”

Blaine sits Indian style on the floor.  He's chewing over how he should elaborate in this moment; he's heartbroken and really pissed off and that is the combination of death.  Whatever he says further, he'll regret.  So he says nothing with his words, but everything with his eyes.  He glances back to Kurt, who's shaking with rage, and tilts his head in an apology.  The heart eyes have since gotten out of control, but he's finished with hiding them now. 

Golden as the Gate Bridge, Blaine's eyes are flickering in the artificial light above their heads.  He's trying to carry a wordless conversation and failing as miserably as his heart.  He grunts and falls backwards as Kurt rolls his eyes, refusing to give up his front but understanding the capacity of the apology.  Blaine Anderson usually doesn't say he's sorry, unless he really means it, even when he doesn't know what he's sorry for.  Staring at the fan above him, watching each plane swirl in a dizzy frenzy, Blaine sighs.

Breathe in
Breathe out
Breathe in
Breathe out

“You assholes are meant for each other, I think.  You feed off the dramatics.  And the fucking unspoken, little exchanges?  Those are what make me want to puke the most.”

“We are never going to be together.  It was one meaningless time.”  Kurt's practiced line is sure to convince everyone involved in this stupid, pointless conversation of nothing. 

“Ouch.”  Blaine holds his heart, mostly to mock Kurt's lame refusal and what he could have.

“Besides, it's illegal.  Even if we did want it.  Which I don't.  I don't want it.”  He's shaking, tears seconds away from breaking the dam.

“It's not illegal.”  Santana mutters, mainly for herself.  She looks to Kurt who is too wrapped up in his quote-unquote wrong doings that he doesn't seem to hear her. 

Blaine jolts back into a sitting position at Kurt's fake confession.  “Kurt.  Really?  I want you so bad, and it's more than just sex.  I've wanted you since I laid eyes on you, that very first day.  Why do you refuse to give me a chance?”  He's standing now, between Kurt's legs with a tilted head and his heart on his sleeve.

There is silence.  Santana's waiting to see if they'll kiss, but Blaine is pulling himself away and back to the door's frame.

“Guys... you know this is all.  Um...”  Santana shakes her head and hops off his desk, sending a pile of papers to shuffle to the floor.

Blaine jumps at the unexpected shower of invoices, gathering as many as he can and straightening the papers into a neat pile.  He absently welcomes the task; he feels like he's about to cry. 

“Aww, Kurt.  You hurt Blainers' feelings!”  Santana's getting a kick out of this combination of words.

“We've talked about all of this already.  There's no reason for him to be upset.”  Kurt counters, unexplainably taking the pile from Blaine and placing it back next to his laptop on his desk.

“No we haven't.”  We haven't talked about this.  You kicked me out after you took my virginity.

“You need to move on.”

“Kurt.”  It's the only word in Blaine's vocabulary.

“And that's my cue, boys.  Look, don't let go of something that could be awesome because of something as trivial as an age difference.”

“I'm seventeen!  This is all fine.”

It's then that they have a full-blown staring contest.  Santana's turning her head back and forth between the two of them; naturally, she's playing the judge, but having more fun than she's had in weeks.  And that includes the random tourist chick on her way home from Cedar Point who stopped at Scandals last Wednesday.

“I think right now, you should go.  I need to talk with Santana… alone.  We'll talk later?”

“You promise?”

Kurt stares at him.  He can't promise a thing. 

Blaine sighs and backs out of the room obediently, only out of his apparent love for Kurt, and his desire for everyone in this immediate room to be happy.  He disappears and Kurt is still watching the door he left out of seconds ago.  He turns to Santana in slow motion and lets it all out.  Santana's there for him, she is, but only to a certain extent because she's never been in this situation.  And it's nice to see Kurt Hummel squirm out of control for once.

She feels bad for about five seconds.  She's not sure if Kurt is freaking out because he thinks the act of sex between the two is illegal, or if the eleven years makes the entire situation uncomfortable.  She knows, having been involved with the court as a career, that sixteen is the legal age of consent in Ohio.  She doesn't know, however, why she doesn't make this clear to Kurt.  She chalks it up as finding a secret thrill in watching Kurt feel out of control for the first time since Finn.

xK&Bx

Two more weeks pass, and Kurt still feels broken and alone in a sea of a rotating door leading to a coffee shop.  He doesn't have many friends, but he seems to know a lot of people only because of the Lima Bean and the business it brings to Main Street.  During his trips to the bank for change, he interacts with the tellers, calling them by their first names and making sure their families are in good physical and mental health.  He has a routine of grocery shopping for his own meals, and knows the cashier there and her dreams to go to Los Angeles for Film School.  The postman that drops off his mail every day has a yellow lab that's not really doing so well lately; they may need to put her down. 

Kurt's friendly; he is a positive reinforcement to this small town of Lima, Ohio, population thirty-eight thousand and change.  He's not sure if he knows every one of those thirty-eight thousand, but he's eager to know if they know of him, owner of the only coffee shop that's not a major chain headquartered in Seattle.  They've got to, right?

As far as his one-time affair with Blaine Anderson, well, they never get around to that talk.  He's still inadvertently picturing Blaine naked and bent over the countertop in his kitchen, in the Lima Bean, or over the table at the library (somewhere he's never even been with Blaine).

Their interactions are mainly unspoken, almost like before the incident, complete with the full shyness of getting to know each other.  It's during these silent conversations and gazing that Kurt realizes he doesn't know much about Blaine at all. 

But he continues to fantasize about him, and that part is really annoying.  He is a grown man; he should not be having dreams about a teenager, but he is and there's nothing he can do to stop it. 

Usually, Kurt's dreams come out of absolutely nowhere, him following Blaine out of a cave, or suddenly dropping into an open field of lilac.  The scenery is never familiar and it's always a little hard to breathe, like they're trapped in a room-for-two dish soap bubble where they can enjoy each other before it bursts. 

xK&Bx

Blaine is licking at his neck, and then sucks down to mark him with his mouth.  Kurt's hands are tangled in Blaine's curls and he whines for more. 

“Please, baby.”

The younger boy gets the hint and starts to trail down the plateau of his abdominal ridges and curves, licking and swirling around his belly button.  He thrusts his tongue inside, and why does that feel so fucking good?  Blaine's determined to get him off on just the touch of his tongue, and Kurt's pretty sure it's going to happen with just that.  The boy stops abruptly and creeps back up to Kurt's mouth. 

“Is this okay, pretty boy?”

“I can't be without you anymore.  Come on, Blaine.”

Blaine leaps lower and grins into his pubic hair, kissing down the shaft of Kurt's cock.  He sinks his mouth over just the tip of Kurt's already-slick head and sucks like it's a straw and the ice cube is stuck at the bottom.

“Jesus fuck!”

Blaine swallows Kurt's cock all the way down, curving and relaxing his throat so he doesn't gag.  He holds it there for seconds, hollows out his cheeks, and hums.  His eyes flutter to the back of his head, and Kurt finally gets the chance to glance down at the boy.  It's just like the banana incident of the summer, except there are no cracks or creases in his very painful cock, although it feels like it might just snap right off from being too hard for too long.  He resists coming; he never wants this to end.  There's a low growl coming from Kurt's throat and Blaine backs off until he only has Kurt's head trapped between his lips.  His tongue swirls at the slit with hardly any movement, and this could absolutely kill Kurt.  Blaine comes off with a pop.  He opens and shuts his jaw wide to stretch it, then sinks back down. 

Within seconds, Kurt's hands are pulling Blaine's hair so hard, he's surprised the poor boy isn't bald yet.  He's whimpering at the warm, wet, sensitive, and suddenly screams out as his orgasm overtakes every fiber of his being.  He slumps into the mattress and arches his back to the point of exorcism.  The load shoots down Blaine's throat and he's swallowing all around him to keep it clean.  When Blaine comes off of his cock and twists to lie near him, Kurt is still shooting and there is a puddle where Blaine's lower abs meet his belly button. 

Blaine plays with the come on his stomach, swirling it around then drawing a K within the artwork.

He turns and flips so he's being supported by just his elbow facing Kurt, his hand finding his own cock.  Kurt side eyes him and finds Blaine's hand and helps him along into a quick and easy orgasm.  Blaine falls easily half onto Kurt's body and he aims his cock toward Kurt's chest and the moaning ensues.  Blaine marks him so hard, and they lie there panting.  Blaine switches positions so he's on his stomach with his chin lying on the pillow staring at Kurt, still coming down from his orgasm so many minutes ago. 

Blaine inches his way up and lies completely over and intertwined with Kurt's body and look into his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hey, beautiful.”

xK&Bx
Kurt feels like he was dropped onto the bed from the heavens above.  He seizes in bed and wakes with a start.  Sweaty and wet in his underwear, he groans and shuffles to the bathroom.  It's already four-forty-five.  He has to get ready for a full day of brewing coffee and writing names on cardboard cups with sharpies.  His brain is telling him to think about what just happened in his unconscious state.  His heart refuses to let him discuss it with himself.  He'll figure it all out later.