Sugar Baby

Six

“I have just one question for you, Kurt,” Mercedes said as they stood emptying their lockers at the end of the day, and Kurt arched an eyebrow at her. “Where are you running off to every night? I’ve hardly seen you since you won that bet with Tina that you wouldn’t go to a gay bar last week, and when we are together you’re always distracted by something.”

Kurt wanted to tell her. He desperately wanted to tell her, to tell everyone, to stand on the school roof and scream it through Coach Sylvester’s megaphone. He was sleeping with Blaine Anderson. Blaine Anderson. He was sleeping with a gorgeous, charming, successful, talented older man who was voluntarily providing expensive gifts for him and was incredible in everything from kissing in the doorway to sleeping twined around each other afterwards. But he knew he couldn’t tell anyone, because what they were doing could land both of them in trouble with the courts, perhaps even with Blaine in jail. “I’m sorry, ’Cedes, you know what my family situation is like,” he said, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “It’s nothing to do with you, Mary just managed to find out I went to a gay bar instead of going to yours like I said I was and grounded me, but I’m off the hook now, so we can definitely hang out tonight. Right now.”

Mercedes appeared mollified, and linked her arm cheerfully through his as she dragged him past several knots of people before they could start catcalling, out into the chilling November day, the pearly grey sky fading into purple-black. Waiting for Mercedes to find her keys in the depths of her bag, Kurt let his eye rove condescendingly over the cars in the parking lot, before they fell over a familiar sleek black car, with a body he knew all too well lounging against it, gazing straight at him.

“’Cedes, change of plan, I can’t hang out tonight,” Kurt said, a smile spreading over his face as he hooked his bag over his shoulder and ran a hand quickly through his hair, wishing he had a mirror, and waiting until he was sure Mercedes wasn’t looking before undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. “But I will tomorrow, I promise. We can go for dinner, my treat. I’ll call you when I get home.” As Mercedes stormed away, he murmured, “Whenever that may be,” joyfully to himself, a spring in his step as he ran down to Blaine’s car and into his arms.

“I have a proposal for you, and I think it’ll make you happy,” Blaine whispers in his ear as one hand roves up beneath his shirt, fingers dancing over Kurt’s back, leaving trails of flames with every touch, making Kurt shudder, his knees wobble and their surroundings blur, making him forget he’s in the school parking lot, in public where he can’t kiss his lover. “So I came to pick you up, sweetheart. Get in the car.”

Kurt sprang happily into the the car, adjusting his jeans carefully and tucking the hems neatly into his boots before Blaine climbed in and he turned to give the man a dazzling smile, curling his fingers into Blaine’s stiff collar and pulling him down into a kiss, shuffling up onto his knees and pressing Blaine back against the door on his side, smiling against the hot mouth pressed against his as he dropped his legs on either side of Blaine’s and slowly began to rut his hips against Blaine’s, groaning at the first feel of Blaine’s hardening cock pressing up against him.

“Kurt, no, God, we need to talk before we get too hot to concentrate,” Blaine said, breaking away and pushing Kurt off him and back into his seat, pulling his seatbelt across and staring resolutely ahead as Kurt buckled himself down too, fanning himself and surreptitiously popped open another button.

The apartment was different from times Kurt had seen it before, starting to be decorated for Christmas, lights strung above the door and mistletoe over the kitchen table. Blaine sat down immediately on the sofa, and Kurt hid a blush at memories of exact things they had done on that sofa during the last eight weeks, by turning to hang up his scarf and coat and fluff his hair again in the reflection of the mirror by the door.

“Kurt, this proposal is kind of a big step, and I don’t know if it’s something you’d be used to in a relationship like ours, so I want you to think very seriously about this before you give me an answer,” Blaine said, and Kurt felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“Are you ending this?” he asked, desperately trying to push down the tears rising in his throat, pressing a hand over his mouth to keep a sob from escaping. “Do you not want me anymore?”

“Oh, Kurt, baby, no, I could never end this,” Blaine promised, pulling Kurt closer to him and into his lap, kissing him gently. “I will always want you, I promise. No, this is about spending Christmas together. Sam, my manager, is insisting that I fly back to New York for Christmas for recording sessions and press for Quinn’s solo album, and I want you to come with me.”

“Are you serious?!” Kurt gasped, voice higher than usual with excitement. Blaine grinned and nodded, and Kurt threw his arms around Blaine, knocking him backwards into the sofa and kissing every inch of his face he could reach. “Oh Blaine, Blaine, you are the most...oh Blaine! Oh, you are amazing, thank you thank you thank you, I would love to come with you and meet your performers and kiss you when the ball drops on New Year’s Eve and Christmas in New York, with you!”

“Okay, now we’ve had the serious discussion, would you like to continue what we started in the car?” Blaine asked with a smirk on his face. “You know, there’s mistletoe over the dining table.”

“Okay, but put down mats or a blanket or something, I don’t want that painful elbow burn again,” Kurt said, then hit himself for it when Blaine gave him a strange look as he turned around to drag a blanket from beneath the sofa and throw it over the table. “No, Blaine, you know what? Do whatever you want. Make me,” he sauntered closer to Blaine, unbuttoning his shirt, trailing a finger over every inch of exposed skin, “your little slut.”

Blaine surged forward, pressing Kurt against one of the cabinets against the wall by the door, curling his hands around Kurt’s thighs and hitching his legs up around his waist, wrestling both of them out of their shirts, moaning into Kurt’s ear about how much of a slut he was, telling him to spread his legs, licking at the shell of his ear and grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin of his neck. “Can’t wait to have you in New York,” he breathed roughly, hands sculpting over Kurt’s ass and squeezing as he fought with their jeans, plucking a condom from his pocket. “Have you in my room there, when it’s so much better than here, have you in front of everyone, have you in the elevators and against wardrobes and absolutely everywhere, because you’re my slut. You know that, don’t you?”

“Always your slut,” Kurt breathed, arching his head as Blaine nipped down his chest, no doubt leaving a trail of vivid bruises behind. “Honey, please, can we do it without the condom today? I want you to come on me, mark me, make me yours, please.”

Blaine moaned, burying his head in the crook of Kurt’s neck and licking over the hot, flushed skin as he thrust his clothed erection up against where Kurt could feel himself throbbing, and Kurt threw his head back, the triumphant smirk at making Blaine really moan sliding away as his mouth dropped open around a harsh cry. “Oh God, Blaine, please, please, want you so bad.”

Unlike the first time they had fucked against a wall, Blaine cradled Kurt’s head against his shoulder as he drove into him, to stop him from knocking his head against the wall and developing a burgeoning lump that would put paid to Blaine burying his hands in Kurt’s hair for a while. As they kissed, panting into each other’s mouths more often than actually connecting their lips, Kurt thought of New York, of the sort of things he saw in films and on television, snow and ice-skating and Christmas lights on store windows and kissing in Times Square. He could be there with Blaine, they could hold hands while wobbling on ice skates or gaze out of the window at a beautiful snowfall or stand in each other’s arms and wait for the ball to drop so they could- “Oh God, Blaine, oh ohh, come on me, all over me, make me your slut, please, Daddy!”

“Kurt!” Blaine groaned, deep in his chest, rumbling against Kurt’s where their bodies were pressed slickly together, coming in stripes over Kurt’s thighs and over his wet folds as Kurt pressed his lips against Blaine’s to muffle the scream of pleasure ripped from his throat as he came.

“And we can have that every night, morning, afternoon and evening when we’re in New York together,” Blaine observed as Kurt unwound his legs from around Blaine’s waist and lowered himself carefully to the ground. Kurt smiled and kissed him hard, winding his arms around Blaine’s neck and dipping himself back, trusting Blaine to catch him and hold him close.

Trusting Blaine.