Sugar Baby

Two

Blaine awoke around midday, feeling wonderfully warm and flushed, mind spinning with the burning-red memories, searing desire creeping back over him, deep into his very being. He remembered three rounds of utterly mind-blowing sex, the best he'd had in years, perhaps in his life. Kurt's mouth had been as hotwetperfectas he had imagined, and his ass had been almost as wonderfully tight and paradisical as his pussy. Apple-crisp golden light crept over the dark silk sheets on the bed, sullied by their rolling and writhing and twining bodies, rumpled where they'd eventually slept, tangled up in each other. The duvet rustled softly as it fell down around his hips, and he found the bed empty next to him, and lacking in lingering warmth from another body.

Had last night been a beautiful dream? Had he simply stumbled home alone from the club with images of the most gorgeous, erotic teenager in the universe, with his lithe form to hold firmly in his arms and alabaster-pale skin to mark up and sinful lips and tongue and clever twisting hips and soaked, flushed pussy dancing through his mind?

Yet the vivid scratches carved crimson and weeping into his back were not the figment of an imagination.

Then he heard soft singing from the kitchen and the gentle pad of bare feet over his floors, and climbed eagerly out of bed, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers from his drawers and stepping into them, forgoing any other clothes as he walked into the living room to see Kurt making breakfast, freshly showered and glowing brightly in the noon sunshine falling over the apartment from every side, hair hanging damp and darkened over his eyes, wearing only one of Blaine's most expensive dress shirts with a tie of his twisted around his waist, the pinstriped material falling to halfway down his thighs.

A bright smile shone on Kurt's face as he carried two plates of French toast into the dining room in front of the enormous bay window, giving way onto a view of Ohio. He laid Blaine's plate down in front of him, then sat down in his lap, crossing his legs neatly at the ankle and hooking his chin over the top of Blaine's head. "Good morning," he chirped. "How are you feeling after last night?"

Blaine just smiled at the boy and curled a hand around the back of Kurt's head, twisting his fingers through the damp hair at the nape of his neck and dragging him down for a kiss, feeling the softness of Kurt's bare thighs shifting against his, the wet of his chest as he pressed up against Blaine with a soft groan, the food apparently forgotten about.

"Incredible," Blaine breathed as they parted, shivering at the gentle drag of the hem of the shirt wrapped loosely around Kurt's torso over his skin as Kurt wriggled in his lap, trailing his fingers through the excess syrup pooling on the plates and sucking the sticky-sweet liquid from his skin, eyes swirling with seduction and holding Blaine's with an electric gaze.

Another kiss ended with Kurt straddling Blaine's thigh, grinding down onto him as he ate, Blaine pressing kisses sweet and sticky with syrup to the soft, pale skin at the back of his neck. When their food was gone, Kurt stood up, knees a little shaky, to take their plates into the kitchen.

Blaine followed, pushing Kurt into the edge of the counter with a press of his pelvis against Kurt's back. "Well hello there," Kurt murmured with a smirk, pressing his ass back against the increasingly hard heat of Blaine's erection. "I see someone's definitely awake."

"You can't grind your slutty little pussy all over me and expect to get nothing in return," Blaine murmured, slipping a hand between Kurt's legs and smirking when he was rewarded with a ragged gasp. "Take that off, I don't want you ruining one of my most expensive shirts."

Kurt obeyed almost instantly, stripping with enticing sways of his hips and hopping cheerfully up onto the counter, legs crossed neatly at the knee, head tilted innocently and a deceptively sweet smile on his face. With a dark smile, Blaine reached for the bottle of syrup and popped the cap, revelling in Kurt's shiver at the sound.

He drew in lines of amber over the flawless porcelain skin, swathing the beautiful body in sweeps of elegant gold. He smoothed it over Kurt's lips and jaw and neck, his chest and pert, pink nipples, down to his flat stomach and over his hips and thighs. He dripped it over his hand and smeared it everywhere between his legs, listening to him gasp and keen, writhing on the marble countertops.

Kurt seized his wrist, dragging his hand through the thick coating over his chest, the tips of Blaine's fingers catching over his pebbled nipples. "Get your tongue on me now," he breathed out desperately. "I'm such a dirty boy, Daddy, clean me up. Clean up your naughty slut."

Blaine groaned low in his throat and leant over Kurt, feeling the sticky drag of the syrup against his own bare chest as he bent down to lick at Kurt's lips, glazed with it, smacking his own lips as the thick sweetness filled his mouth and he kissed Kurt, digging his fingers into the boy's sides as Kurt licked into his mouth, tasting the syrup and groaning softly. Slowly, he made his way down Kurt's body, paying extra attention to his neck, his nipples, the soft and sensitive skin of his inner thighs, loving the sharp pricks of pain as Kurt tugged hard on his hair, whining and writhing and canting his hips closer to Blaine's mouth, whining, "Daddy, Daddy, oh please."

"What do you want, baby?" Blaine whispered predatorily, leaning up over Kurt and smirking darkly as he shook his head and tried to push him back down. "You need me to clean you up, baby?" He slipped a finger between Kurt's leg, gathering his juices and raising it to his lips, licking it clean as Kurt watched in awe. "You see how dirty you are, baby? Getting both of us all wet with your desperate little kitty. You need Daddy to clean you up, don't you?"

Kurt nodded desperately, eyes shining with needy tears, and a wanton moan escaped him as Blaine slid rapidly back down and planted a wet kiss over his clit, Kurt's thighs wrapping around his head to hold him in place as he clawed for grip on the smooth countertop, screaming and sobbing as Blaine's tongue explored his folds. "Fuck, please, fuck me with your tongue, Daddy, make your baby feel good," he pleaded desperately, thighs squeezing tight around Blaine's head.

Blaine gladly obliged, and Kurt screamed, hands flying down to bury in Blaine's hair as he canted his hips hard against Blaine's mouth, sobbing and babbling between high moans, how good Blaine made him feel, an endless litany of praises and pleads for more. The scream that was ripped from his mouth when he came over Blaine's tongue could only have left his throat raw. Kurt sat up slowly, panting raggedly, and looked down at Blaine, squeezing his cock through his boxers and licking at the traces of Kurt's come on his lips.

"Let me help you with that," Kurt said with a small smirk, arching an eyebrow at the shape of Blaine's cock straining against his boxers. "When I can feel my legs again, Christ, Blaine."

Blaine smirked up and grabbed Kurt around the waist, pulling him down onto the floor with a squeal and lying back on the ground, arms wrapped around Kurt as they lay on the tiles, kissing and smiling against each other's mouths, Blaine rutting against Kurt's thigh and both of them groaning softly. "Please, never leave, stay here and be my baby forever," Blaine murmured, sated and blissful after he'd come, Kurt drawing swirls and patterns into his bare chest with the tip of one cool finger.

"I have to go home tonight, and pretend I went to school today and I was staying with a friend last night," Kurt explained with a wicked shrug. "We have a while though." He slid his hand downwards, cupping Blaine through his boxers. "I'm sure we could squeeze in another round." His voice slid higher, innocent and sweet, as he whispered, "My kitty's so achy for you, Daddy."

"Can you feel your legs again?" Blaine teased, digging his fingers into Kurt's hips when he started to get up, smirking at the teenager's petulant look and kissing the sensitive skin behind his ear.

"Shut up and fuck me over that expensive-looking sofa," Kurt growled, rolling off him and standing up, sauntering away with an exaggerated swaying of his hips and a wink thrown back of his shoulder.

Blaine lay on the floor for a moment longer, but when he heard a particularly desperate and petulant whine of, "Daddy!" from beyond the partition between kitchen and living room, he stood up and joined his new lover in the room.

And when he fucked Kurt through three orgasms, bending him over the dark leather sofa where his fingers clawed and dragged over the slippery fabric and he let out a low, incredibly hot Uhn-uhn-uh with each thrust, and came each time screaming and sobbing a perfect mix of Blaine! and Daddy!, Blaine knew he had made the right decision to bring this pretty boy home from the club the night before.

Kurt left Blaine at five o'clock, as night was falling over the streets again, dressed in a pair of jeans Blaine had insisted on giving him to wear home, and the pinstriped shirt he'd picked out after his shower that morning, that Blaine had sworn up and down looked better on him. He was floating on air as he drifted dreamily back to the place he was expected to call home, his mind spinning with kisses and caresses and tongues and fingers and Blaine inside him, all around him, filling him up and breaking him apart and making him feel whole.

He reached the house and tried to sneak in quietly, curling his fingers into the fabric of the shirt, with his crumpled jeans and shirt and the leather jacket he'd quietly swiped from Dave's room to keep him warmer and his underwear and hastily toed-off shoes in the satchel Blaine had given him from the stock in his closet, he crept down the hallway, avoiding the squeaky floorboards he knew so well.

That didn't stop Mary from seeing him and storming into the hallway, a wall of fury as he cowered away. "We open up our home and our family to you, and this is how you pay us back?!" she screamed. "Why weren't you at school today?"

"I was up really late with the girls last night, and none of us wanted to go to school so we stayed home and nursed our migraines from lack of sleep," Kurt lied blatantly, cursing his mind for bringing those memories of Blaine's hands on him rushing to the forefront of everything, the weight and heat and thickness of Blaine's cock in his mouth, finally feeling someone entwined with him and holding him and wanting him so badly they could barely breathe with it.

"Don't lie to me," Mary said coldly, eyes glinting and dangerous. "I spoke to Kendra Jones today, she said no one was there last night, and she wouldn't let her daughter have a gathering like that on a school night. I will ask you again and give you one more chance to tell me the truth: where were you last night?"

"I was having fun," Kurt answered simply, boldly, and he turned to walk back up the stairs, to his room where he could relive every beautiful moment of the last day.

"You're grounded for two weeks," Mary said, folding her arms and glaring venomously at him. "No leaving the house unless it's for school, and you are not allowed to stand and stare at the rehearsals for that silly school musical."

Kurt blinked frantically, determined not to cry in front of her, and trudged up the stairs, only to find Dave in his room, picking at his posters of Blaine Anderson, owner of Warblers Records, and his stars: Sebastian Smythe, Jeff Sterling, Santana Lopez, Noah Puckerman, Brittany Pierce, Quinn Fabray, all smiling serenely down from the slanted ceiling of his bedroom. "Gimme back my leather jacket, I don't want it smelling like all your flowery shampoo shit," Dave snapped at him. "That's a lovely picture of Anderson. You kiss that every night before you go to sleep? Fantasise about him when you wake up in the morning?"

Kurt kicked his foster brother out of his room and collapsed onto the bed, tossing his pile of dirty clothes into the corner and making a mental note to himself that he'd need to get it all in the machine early to have those jeans ready for when he snuck out to see Blaine again.

The very thought of that name made him smile, lying back on the bed and smiling dreamily up at the poster of Blaine, pinned in pride of place just above his bed, where he'd see it every morning. What did Dave know? Kurt wasn't kissing a frozen paper mouth, smiling winningly at the photographer, every night, because he'd gotten to kiss and touch and have sex with the real thing.

And he would do the same thing again and again, endless hours entwined with that perfect man.