Kurt twists his face into a cooler corner of the pillow, sighing into wakefulness and groaning soon thereafter. He shifted restlessly, feeling quite suddenly what woke him up and wondering how it hadn't done so sooner.

            The sun was barely out, judging by the meager light slipping through the drawn curtains. Blaine slept like the dead next to him, arm slung heavily across Kurt's waist and knee rucked up between Kurt's legs, keeping his thighs wedged open.

            Kurt bit his lips, trying to stay his hips and carefully peering over Blaine's shoulder at the clock. To his dismay, it was barely seven in the morning. It was too early to do anything about his sudden problem. Sundays were for sleeping in, until at least nine. The hours following a leisurely and indulgent breakfast could be used for school work or to catch up on paperwork for his internship, but at noon the work went away for some “Us” time, as Blaine delightedly called it. But they had to sleep in Sundays, as it was the only morning Kurt was able to do so and Blaine commanded the rest day be a mandatory part of the week.

            This was not normally something Kurt minded. In fact, even with sleeping in and the time spent dedicated to his recent boyfriend of the past four months, he had more free time and manageability in his schedule since he could remember ever having had before. Blaine shouldered most of the responsibility for that, organizing Kurt's schedule to keep him from getting overwhelmed and micromanaging himself so he could focus on what he was doing. Thus far it has been working out splendidly. But the rules were strict, and could be bent for very few exceptions, and Kurt felt, with a tingling down his spine, that this was not one of those times.

            Again it shifted between his legs, and Kurt let out one long, shuddering breath, unable to keep from moving just slightly, rucking the pressure up where it was important. There was a slick slide, barely half an inch, but it spread warmth to the tips of his fingers.

            Kurt chewed at the skin on his lower lip, battling internally with himself. He knew he should just shut his eyes and try to sleep, or at least lay still until Blaine woke and did something about it. But it was so difficult with Blaine inside, the rest of his body sleeping so soundly but his spare appendages restless. Kurt knew Blaine had limited control over them while he slept, but still, with the tentacle slowly writhing inside him, it was enough to make the rules seem so insignificant and far away.

            Kurt took stock of where the rest of them were. Of the eight that bookended the beautiful curvature of Blaine's spine, Kurt could only track five of them. Two were twined loosely around his ankles, one around his left wrist, two bracketing his hips, and finally the last that had inserted itself into the wet folds between his lefts.

            Kurt shuddered as it twitched again, rocking his hips shallowly. The tentacles didn't have that wide a girth, but they were hard and smooth like polished leather, and felt so solid and strong when fucking up into him. This wasn't the first time Kurt had woken with one inserted into him in some way—it wasn't even the first time this week. But this was one of the things Kurt had agreed to give control up over, and he couldn't grab it back without enticing punishment of some sort. His toes curled into the bed sheets. The crease where thigh met groin was wet with perspiration and his own fluids. Tight heated coiled dangerously in the pit of his stomach, and he cinched his eyes shut tightly to try and think of other things.

            In the grand scheme of things, Kurt and Blaine hadn't known each other for more than half a year. Their first real encounter had come one night down a dark alley, which Kurt came upon after stalking angrily from a restaurant one night after a bad fight with a friend. Nerves still smarting with residual frustration, he hadn't thought twice about his actions when he heard cries for help in the dark, and found himself in the middle of a group of men beating on a younger one. Kurt never knew his name. He'd run as soon as Kurt had shown up and attention was suddenly drawn straight to him. Kurt didn't remember much after that. Only getting in a few punches that barely glanced off of their intended targets before his arms were being pulled behind his back and a solid punch to his stomach knocked every ounce of breath from his lungs. There was pain, and then sudden hollow quiet like someone had hit the mute button on the world. There was shadowed movement, and even with his slipping unconsciousness, Kurt could find something unnatural about it.

            When he'd reawaken, it was to a wet cloth being pressed gently to the split on his lower lip. And another to his forehead. And another pressing a compress to his arm…. Kurt had cracked his eyes open slowly. Blaine hadn't noticed, burrowing steadily through an open first aid kit on his lap. From the desk in front of him was a computer like he'd never seen before – translucent like a hologram, but very solid looking somehow. But Kurt's attention rather distracted by the long, thin, amber-like tentacles that were tending to him while their owner buried through tiny sachets of antiseptic and child-safe aspirin.

            Kurt had made a noise he wasn't proud of and would be pained to remember, causing Blaine and… the rest of him to jolt in shock. “Oh… oh, oops, shh, I'm sorry!” Blaine hushed, rapidly pulling the tentacles back until they were drawn out of sight, while Kurt had a silent aneurism on the couch. “Shh, Kurt, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for them to—I won't hurt you, I swear. Oh, oops,” he repeated as the box cascaded from his lap, scattering finger bandages and alcohol swaps across the floor.

            Another sound escaped Kurt's throat, and while it didn't quite sound like laughter, it was enough to make Blaine regard him a little less like he was a frightened colt about to bolt.

Up until that point Kurt had scarcely known Blaine. He seemed nice from afar, if a bit aloof. They'd shared until that point scarcely a dozen words between the two, and their closest interactions took place in Stage Combat 101 where Blaine always seemed to take exuberant amount of caution against hitting Kurt wrong. Instead of miffing Kurt like it might have had it been another, it was somehow sweet, and Kurt liked him all the more for it. And in the ensuing hours that stretched well into noon of the next day, Kurt truthfully didn't feel like he knew Blaine much better. Words such as visitors and research and terrestrial were thrown around enough for Kurt to realize that it was far too much to wrap his mind around in one night. But he was calmer, although hurt and aching, and as morning drew on the tentacles form Blaine's back withdrew themselves, as it drawn to the lighter atmosphere. It was lunchtime when Kurt stood form the couch, eyed the tentacles, hummed thoughtfully, and demanded Blaine's number.

Kurt didn't know why the tentacles or the alien thing didn't bother him more than it did. Perhaps because he knew there was still time for the second shoe to drop, and that only time would bring it to surface. Maybe it was because even with the amber tentacles swaying before him, Blaine's wary and lonely eyes made him ache in a way he hadn't experienced before, and that whatever he was feeling would climax to something he hadn't expected. He wasn't wrong on either account.

            After two months of ever-more frequent meetings, at a bar over the weekend, tequila in his blood making him more courageous than he felt, Kurt had leaned forward and tried to kiss Blaine. But a firm hand place to his forearm stopped him in his tracks. Kurt blinked open, embarrassment already lighting his cheeks, but Blaine's eyes were dark and fixed and while he didn't seem to be objecting entirely to Kurt's advances, something in his gaze made Kurt sit back immediately. Blaine had never seemed so serious before. He was at times a flirty gossip, at other times such a cliché dork it made Kurt roll his eyes, and yet others suave as a prince from Kurt's childhood storybooks. But he was none of those things now. Blaine watched him carefully for a few long seconds before closing out their tab, gripping Kurt's hand in his own, leading him out the door and to the nearest subway home. It was only the second time Kurt had been to Blaine's apartment, and it was there Blaine gave Kurt a courteous and rather thorough explanation of just how different relationships were between those of his kind. And things clicked more easily into place. How Blaine remembered what Kurt ordered, and picked up ordering for him at restaurants. How we was so careful with his space, always inching in just that bit too close. How he always cupped the empty air around Kurt's elbow or shoulder, not pushing, just there. How he would ask odd questions, like how much sleep Kurt was getting, what his schedule looked like, when the last time he ate was. Blaine was never pushy, just present and dependable in a way Kurt had never had anyone be for him before. And now, with context, everything began to make very apparent sense.

            By the time he'd finished, Blaine's back was slumped back into the couch, watching Kurt with wary eyes. Like he'd know Kurt would go out the door, and was prepared entirely to not stop his exit. But perhaps the most surprising thing of it all was just how little Kurt minded this. Even less than he minded the tentacles. How, in fact, it was quite the opposite. So instead of leaning forward in another attempt at a kiss, Kurt licked his lips a bit, breath coming out a bit quicker. He could see Blaine's pupils dilate. Swallowing, Kurt asked, “Well, will you kiss me now… Master?”

            And that was that.

            By now Kurt felt utterly swollen with arousal, and he'd stopped trying to pretend he would sleep through this. Careful not to move his body enough to disturb where Blaine was encasing him, he slowly began to hump his hips down, spearing the stiff tentacle further into him and shuddering in satisfaction. It didn't stretch him like he needed, but it was deep and invasive and so good to grip himself around. He squeezed and shifted a little harder, trying to rub friction into his slippery clit and falling short. Blaine was still lax with sleep and it was hard to achieve what Kurt so desperately needed.

Kurt gasped suddenly, forgetting to be quiet as the tip of the tentacle suddenly furled pointedly into his insides. It was a purposeful movement, nothing Blaine would make unconsciously, and automatically Kurt's eyes snapped open to Blaine's sleeping face. Only he wasn't sleeping anymore.

            Warm eyes amused, but stern, Blaine whispered, “And what are you doing?”