"Blaine, you are soooo drunk" Kurt snorted from his place on the couch as Blaine swayed half provocatively and half clumsily to the jazz trickling from the tinny speakers of his old record player. "Not drunk drunk" he replied, words slurring together only slightly "if I was drunk drunk, I would be less clothed and seeing two of you." He sauntered carefully forwards, trying to be suave and seductive and almost failing as he tripped lightly. "But less clothed can be arranged." He mumbled straddling Kurt on the couch and tugging a rough hand through his hair.

Kurt just stared at him, mouth agape and eyes guarded. Blaine shifted uncomfortably hand dropping to rest on Kurt's shoulder as he averted his gaze. The shuffling seemed to cause something in Kurt to break. He lunged forward, just fast enough to catch Blaine's startled gasp as Kurt's hands dragged him forwards by the hips, fitting them together flushed and aching. "Sorry," Kurt whispered against his lips "I was expecting you to be a little more hesitant, more..."

"Innocent." Blaine laughed kissing Kurt deep and hard and filthy "No such luck sweetheart someone ‘deflowered' this rose a long time ago." He rolled his hips torturously, as if to prove his point, eyes fluttering closed and a sweet moan falling from his lips.

He felt Kurt shudder and twitch beneath him and couldn't restrain the salacious smile that stretched across his face. "But," he continued teasingly "we could pretend, just for tonight, that I'm sweet seventeen year old virgin, Blaine Anderson." The rolling of his hips stopped abruptly as he looked up at Kurt from under his lashes, golden honey eyes gazing up at him, wide, eager and innocent. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and looked suitably nervous and excited, slipping so beautifully into the role of virginal schoolboy.

Trying to clear his head quickly Kurt clung tightly to Blaine's hips, eyes flitting restlessly across his tousled hair, blushing cheeks and spit slick lips. He couldn't deny he wanted what Blaine was suggesting, couldn't resist how pliant he would be like that, how willing and eager to please, unrestrained and curious. He knew that Blaine new what he was doing, had been all too aware of how Blaine knew his body and knew how to use it. There was something about Blaine like that though, trusting and open and vulnerable that even though it was an act Kurt just couldn't shake the images from his mind. Beautiful, sinful Blaine on his knees and batting his lashes as he took him, surprised whines and whimpers tumbling from his throat without a moment's thought.

It felt wrong in a way, to give in to lust still a little bit drunk and only after the first date. It felt wrong because in a way, he was fetishizing their age gap; something he had decided didn't and would never matter. It felt wrong to force the image of an unassuming naïve youth onto someone as strong and lasciviously powerful as Blaine. Blaine took to it willingly though, no longer swaying but picking somewhat nervously at the buttons of Kurt's shirt, tongue coming out sporadically to lick his lips. It was then that Kurt knew he wanted it, just as much as Kurt had from the very beginning.

He place his hand over Blaine's to stop his fiddling fingers and Blaine finally looked up at him, eyes glistening but clear, desperate almost. "Please" he begged once, just a hoarse, cracked whisper that sent Kurt careening over the edge of self-restraint.

They kissed, hard and sloppy, panting into each other's mouths as Blaine's hands fumbled with the buttons of Kurt's shirt and scrambled over every new expanse of skin. Kurt whined as Blaine pulled back, hazel eyes fluttering open slowly, blown wide with arousal and so eager. Without breaking eye contact he stood and slid to his knees, hands high on Kurt's thighs and a small nervous smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

He took it slow, as if it really was Blaine's first time sucking cock but they both knew it wasn't. Blaine's drug addled confession of having ‘experience' and his luscious mouth, that kissing him proved to Kurt that he knew how to use, served as testament to his pseudo-innocence. Every now and then his mask would slip, his eyes closing as Kurt moved deeper. The glint in his wide honey eyes as his eyes opened when Kurt tightened his grip on his hair was unmistakable yet brief. The moment Kurt looked down to where he was guiding Blaine, twisting and pulling on his curls to get deeper, to get Blaine to work his tongue whenever he could in all the right places, Blaine just continued to blink up at him.

He played his part well, still, on his knees and taking more than perhaps a first timer could handle. His eyes fluttered closed from time to time, fanning eyelashes brushing across his beautifully flushed cheeks. He whined and moaned eagerly, wantonly, as his hands gripped at the base and Kurt's thigh. Blaine was the picture of sin and sweetness all amalgamated in one fearlessly beautiful nineteen year old artist. Deliciously messy and trembling from holding himself back as he worked to please and tease simultaneously. Kurt came all to soon with a guttural groan as he watched Blaine's eyes slip closed a final time, swallowing, working him through it and tasting him on his tongue.

Kurt guided him off his cock with a loose hand in his hair, petting idly through the curls as Blaine rested his head on his thigh. His eyes remained closed as he panted for breath, swollen red lips parted and slick with a mixture of saliva and come. He looked so sweet, so open, so young as he curled up against him, shivering and licking his lips sporadically as if he were trying to savour the taste. It struck Kurt that underneath all of Blaine's bravado there was a little truth in the façade he took to so easily.

"Baby," Kurt started his voice rough and deep in a way that made the heat deep in Blaine's stomach coil hotly "did you?" Blaine finally opened his eyes but shook his head, making no move to lift it or even open his mouth to speak, he just blinked up at Kurt, fingertips drawing lazy, nervous patterns across his skin. Kurt frowned down at him concerned. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, lifting his chin with shaking fingers. They were still playing, or so it seemed. "I- um," Blaine coughed, voice gravelly, deep and raw sounding "I mean- was it okay? Did I-"

"Did you-? God baby it was so okay, so so okay. You were amazing." Blaine's smile in return was beatific, his body seeming to vibrate with the praise as he began to shift uncomfortably on his knees.

"Now let me take care of you beautiful." Blaine opened his mouth to protest but Kurt cut him off with a searing kiss, distracting him with his mouth and deft fingers as they unbuttoned and slipped the shirt from his shoulders. Blaine began to reach out, intending to hold him close but Kurt pushed them back, moving to situate himself close behind him on his knees. "Shh let me." He whispered, kissing the shell of his ear, the soft spot underneath his jaw, sucking hard at the junction of his shoulder, the hollow of his throat. He muttered praise and affection all the while. Praising flawless golden skin, toned muscle and coarse dark hair, his elegance, his grace as Blaine's body undulated beneath his touch. He flicked the button of his pants open, listening raptly to Blaine's hitching breath as he slid the zipper down and slipped a hand inside. Kurt's hand cupped him, hard and aching through damp, burgundy boxer briefs and Blaine bucked into the touch, twisting a hand into Kurt's hair and whining into his neck.

Blaine's mewls and whimpers played like a symphony, his body the orchestra as he writhed and responded to Kurt's every touch. His muscles tensed and straining in desperation, eyes shut tight, and breath leaving parted cherry lips in between every moan and stuttered groan. Kurt decided to be merciful. He couldn't take another second of not watching the boy in his arms fall apart.

With pants and underwear down to his thighs, Kurt looked down at him, enraptured by the twist and roll of Blaine's body. He stroked him tight and fast, precum dripping down the shaft. Blaine fell apart rapidly, hips twitching up into Kurt's fist, head thrown back and buried in his neck to muffle his little moans and whimpers. Kurt had thought Blaine would be loud. He could feel himself struggling to get hard again just from the sound alone, with the feel of Blaine's cock, slick, hot and heavy in his hand it seemed inevitable. A flick of the wrist just bellow the head of Blaine's cock sent him pulsing and crying out, muscles jumping and body curling up tight in Kurt's grasp as come coated Kurt's fist, Blaine's abdomen and pants.

He slumped in Kurt's arms, shivering and breathing erratically as he came down. A strange feeling overcame him as he held Blaine, sated and happy in his arms. There was no guilt, no bitterness, no shame, only hope. Hope that a young and lonely boy could find faith in love again and that a lost boy could be the one to give it to him.

"I need to write." Kurt muttered, holding Blaine tightly and craning his head to kiss him lightly on the lips. Blaine blinked at him sleepily, confused "what right now?"

"What can I say orgasms are inspirational." He shot back. Blaine snorted but his expression changed quickly, his eyes solemn, back to looking wise beyond his years. "Can't the words wait?" he asked, curling up on his side to face him and beckoning Kurt to the space beside him "For now?" Kurt settled on his back, slotting a naked Blaine tight against him and burying his nose in the unruly curls he had come to love so much. "The words can wait," he said, dropping a kiss to Blaine's lips "for now."

~*~

Sunlight was much scarcer in Kurt's room. The light was dim, as if dawn was only just breaking but the clock on Kurt's bedside table told him it was already past ten. Blaine woke slowly, slipping more serenely from sleep than he perhaps had ever done. It didn't occur to him at first, where he was, in bed with Kurt wrapped around him. The mornings had always been his favourite, quiet and safe. He snuggled carefully back into Kurt's hold, grinning as he snuffled in his sleep and nosed at the back of his neck.

He was no virgin but just the thought of the night prior made him blush, not because he had been so brazen, so unafraid of stripping himself bare for Kurt, but because he had loved every second of it. The praise and whispered sweet nothings had sent shivers down his spine, tingling through his bones and across his skin. Kurt's gentleness and reverence was so different to anything Blaine had experienced before. He wanted nothing more but to beg and moan for Kurt again and again until his voice was gone and there was nothing left to give.

Blaine turned over slowly and met sleepy pale blue eyes and a lazy smile. A soft sigh escaped him as agile fingers stroked across his sleep warmed cheeks and threaded through his bed mussed hair. "You were thinking too loud." Kurt remarked. His eyes drifted across Blaine's features carefully, lingering for long moments on the curve of his jaw, the fullness of his lips and the sparkle in his warm, whiskey gold eyes. "What were you thinking about?"

"Just- last night." Blaine muttered closing his eyes as his cheeks flushed red hot. "My my my," he replied with a teasing smirk "You're blushing. God you were unbelievable last night, you little minx Blaine."

Blaine shifted closer to bury his face in Kurt's shoulder. "I'm embarrassed" he mumbled and Kurt laughed, loud and bright and echoing through the still apartment. "Don't be Blaine. You were- Christ Blaine just the way you looked, sounded, felt, that's nothing to be embarrassed about. Me on the other hand, I feel like such a dirty old man."

"You're not old" came Blaine's reply, muffled by Kurt's warm, sweet smelling skin. "Oh but still dirty?" Kurt grinned, as Blaine rolled them over, settling himself over Kurt's naked hips "Positively filthy." Fingertips followed the contours of his ribs and abdomen before grasping his half hard cock. Kurt threw his head back with a stuttering groan just as his phone started to ring.

"Cockblock" Blaine whined and Kurt let out a strangled laugh as he checked his phone to see if he could just let it go to voicemail. Sadly, he had no such luck, Mathew was calling, his agent. Seeing the look of apprehension on Kurt's face Blaine untangled himself from the sheets and slipped on his shirt. The look he received was desperately pleading but Blaine new better than to interfere. "Take care of business honey" he said, leaning down to kiss Kurt, feather light and quick "and I'll take care of you later." He winked, smiling devilishly, eyes warm and crinkling at the corners. He turned and walked from the room, hips swaying sinfully, clad in a shirt that barely even covered his ass.

~*~

Mathew was a shrewd, calculating man who happened to be a pretty abhorrent person but was a saint to know if you were like Kurt and needed to get a book published every now and again. Frankly speaking, he was a bore, brash and pompous but only because he had ‘friends in high places', and ‘contacts' and his ‘people in the know'. Frankly speaking Kurt thought he was an asshole, but one who's shit he had to put up with if he wanted to make it anywhere in the literary world. He also hated him just that little bit more because he'd interrupted a potential orgasm no matter how spectacularly Blaine had made up for it once Kurt had found him an hour later sketching clad in only a pair of boxer briefs and that shirt. He hated him even more because Blaine, warm and happy and mischievous in his bed was his favourite Blaine out of the many he'd come to know.

Kurt despised Mathew because he'd organised a Literary Gala, which for some reason, as the small-time publishing house's best selling author, Kurt had to attend. He had no idea that such a thing as a ‘Literary Gala' even existed but it sounded as pretentious and unnecessary as Kurt assumed it would turn out to be. What's more is that he was expected to bring a date, ‘a respectable, handsome date explicitly to reflect Kurt as both an individual and as a writer' as Mathew had put it. The first person that sprang to mind was Blaine, but he knew that Mathew would disapprove. If it wasn't for the fact the Blaine was quite a bit younger than Kurt himself it would be the fact that he was an artist or that he worked in a dingy bookstore owned by the old lady who muttered to an unknown entity named ‘Joan' and coughed every three to five seconds. Mathew and his people ‘in the know' would find every possible way to belittle and degrade Blaine in a matter or seconds in their bizarre, ritualistic quest to insult with better hyperbole, verboseness and grammatical accuracy than anyone else attending.

The upside was, however, that Kurt far surpassed them in terms of cutting remarks and Blaine certainly had an aptitude for wit that could cunningly charm and chagrin simultaneously. He collapsed onto Blaine's bed, yet still managed not to jostle Blaine, drawing idly from his position sprawled on his front. "Blaine" he drawled.

"Mmm" Blaine hummed distractedly.

"Will you accompany me to this literary gala thing tonight?"

"You want me to go with you to a Literary Gala? Isn't that kinda important, like a literary exhibition of sorts?"

"Well no. I mean yes. No I mean it's not that important"

"And you want to take your boy toy?

"You are not my boy toy!" Kurt exclaimed indignantly.

"Kurt of course I'll go with you, as long as it won't cause any trouble for you, having a nineteen year old art student as your arm candy for the evening."

"It won't. I promise."

"Good then sneak me some Champagne while we're there and you've got yourself a deal Mister."