"You look really sexy with glasses on."

Blaine looks up from his iPad as Kurt straddles his lap, sinking down slowly as his hands come up to grip onto Blaine's shoulders. It's their last night in the hotel room, and Kurt wants: he wants to memorize the lines of Blaine's face, tossed into relief by the soft yellow of the lamp on the bedside; he wants to memorize Blaine's body around him, wants to make him moan over and over. He doesn't want to go back to their lives, doesn't want to think about work on Monday and Rachel's prying questions.

He wants to stay here, with Blaine, until they forget that they're two completely separate but not so different people. And with the way Blaine smiles at him, eyes crinkling behind the lenses of his glasses, tells Kurt that Blaine is thinking the exact same thing.

"Is that so?" he asks, teasing, locking his iPad and setting it on the nightstand. His hands come up to wrap around Kurt's hips and Kurt giggles, ducking his head and feeling so incredibly young and powerful that it sends a rush through him, and when it ends, burning hot and insistent, at his groin, he isn't the least bit surprised.

He cups the back of Blaine's neck, feels the muscle there and the fine hairs rubbing against his palm. "Uh-huh," he says, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and watching the way Blaine's eyes, hypnotized, follow it. "It reminds me of how much...older you are." He traces the bridge of Blaine's nose and shivers as Blaine pushes up every so slightly, rubs his hardening cock and the silk of his pajama pants against Kurt's thin boxer-briefs.

Blaine lets out a groan, short and low, in the back of his throat and closes his eyes. His hands squeeze Kurt's hips, fingers digging in, and Kurt sucks in a breath, fights the urge to rut against Blaine. It's still so overwhelming, feeling like this, being with someone like this. He's nineteen and he's in Hawaii with his boyfriend—he knows several people older than him, older than Blaine, who would kill to be in his position.

"You are so sexy," Blaine murmurs, sliding a hand around to the small of Kurt's back; he presses forward, a guide, and Kurt goes, bracing his weight with a hand on the headboard, the other still on the nape of Blaine's neck. Blaine's lips are sweet and minty, slick and waxy with chapstick, and Kurt revels in their pliancy, their softness; when Blaine opens his mouth, breath a panting, and slides the slick warmth of his tongue over Kurt's lip Kurt opens his mouth, presses harder on the back of Blaine's neck as he tilts his head.

The hardness of Blaine's cock is more present now, slipping between Kurt's cheeks. Kurt groans, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, and clumsily sucks on Blaine's lower lip, biting it hesitantly before letting go.

Blaine moans appreciatively, squeezing Kurt's ass in broad, strong hands. He kisses sloppy down Kurt's neck, guides him down over and over on the length of his cock. The metal frame of his glasses—Burberry, Kurt's noted, thick-rimmed and heavy—digs into Kurt's skin, a cooling flash of juxtaposition, and he grinds down, uncaring, as Blaine nips at his throat.

"What do you want to do?" Blaine asks, pulling back. "We've got the whole night." His eyebrows rise, one corner of his mouth curling deviously up. Kurt flushes scarlet, biting his lip when Blaine's eyes trail down to where he knows there's an obscene bulge in his underwear.

Faced with the question, Kurt has no idea what to say. All the other times they've had sex there hadn't been need for discussion, just body language and emotion-fueled words. They've discussed Blaine being Kurt's first and all the implications of that—aside from feeling like a cradle-robber Blaine had been honored, Kurt flustered and giggling—but they've never really discussed what they both like.

"Uh." He starts, then stops. The heat spreads from his face, his neck, down his entire body, and he squirms unconsciously on Blaine's lap, looking anywhere but Blaine's patient face below him. He doesn't know what to say. He wants Blaine; isn't that enough?

"Kurt?" Blaine's voice is gentle. His hands fall from Kurt's ass, and seconds later his fingers are under Kurt's chin, gently turning his head. "You don't have to be nervous around me, you know. It's just sex. You told me yourself how it isn't scary anymore, and you're straddling my lap right now."

"Talking about it is." Kurt sucks in a deep breath. He's not sure why he's so nervous, but he can't shake it no matter how hard he tries. "I love you, and I love having sex with you, but talking about it is...still kind of terrifying. But mostly because I don't really know what I want yet?" It comes out as a question, Kurt's voice slipping up as he tilts his head.

"Hmm." Blaine's brows crease, and Kurt focuses on the gray patch of hair that he loves at Blaine's temple. "Well...you want me, right?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow but nods. "Where are we going with this?"

Blaine shakes his head, presses a finger to Kurt's lips. He fixes Kurt with a stare, and Kurt's own eyes widen at the intensity and the concentration. Subtly, Blaine arches up, and Kurt's shocked to find that he's still hard. He moans, and Blaine says, "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes." It's emphasized, desperate, and Kurt can feel his own cock filling again as Blaine rubs against him.

"So what do you want now?" Blaine's voice is rough, cajoling, and his hands come up to squeeze Kurt's ass again, push him closer as Kurt begins to roll his hips with Blaine's.

"For you to fuck me," Kurt whines, closing his eyes, mouth falling open as his forehead creases. It's his default answer, partly because sex is still so gloriously new and amazing and mostly because it's Blaine. "Oh, god, Blaine, please."

Blaine smiles, brushing a hand through Kurt's hair, and says, "See, that was something."

"That was obvious," Kurt complains. "If you're going to rub against me I'm going to want something out of it."

Blaine laughs, low and warm, and relocates a hand to the front of Kurt's underwear, cupping him and squeezing. "What if I said I was going to suck you off instead? Would you want that? My lips around your cock, my hand cupping your balls? Would you want me to finger you, too, baby? Slip three fingers into that tight little asshole and make you come for me?"

An electric shiver runs from the crown of Kurt's skull all the way to his toes, and he shivers, arching his hips forward into the warm pressure of Blaine's palm. Hearing those words from Blaine's mouth, spoken so huskily, so passionate, finally knocks down those inhibitions, and Kurt is saying, grabbing at Blaine's hair as Blaine wraps his fist loosely around Kurt's cock through his underwear, "Fuck, please, please, baby." He swallows as Blaine eases down the waistband of his underwear, and he carefully balances as Blaine slides them down and hips, off his legs and to the floor. "God, I just—I don't care, I just need to feel you."

Blaine wriggles out of his pajama pants, and Kurt kisses him with a hungry, desperately filthy noise when they're both finally naked, cocks sticky-slick against their abdomens. Blaine clutches at Kurt's shoulders, licks over the shell of his ear. He breathes, "What if I asked you to tie me up, to fuck my mouth and come on my face?"

Kurt keens, rocking his hips harder, faster. The slide is dry, but stopping to get lube is something that neither of them wants to do. He grabs Blaine's thigh and Blaine easily goes, hiking it up over Kurt's hip and dragging his body, arching his hips up and kissing at Kurt's warm cheek.

"I'd say yes," Kurt says, strained. His mind runs rampant with pictures of Blaine, his face dripping with sticky white, and he plants his hands on the bed, drops his face to the sweet-smelling curve of Blaine's neck.

"Even with my glasses on?"

Fuck. "Especially with your glasses on."

Blaine laughs, looping his arms around Kurt's neck. The bed creaks, and even to his own ears Kurt's grunts are loud, primitive, but he doesn't care as the heat builds and grows, as Blaine's legs tighten around his waist and his voice, that silky-smooth velvety murmur, begins to fray and crack.

Kurt grabs at the bedding, pulls up a handful and presses open-mouthed kisses to Blaine's shoulder. He feels it, the inevitability of orgasm, and he tries to hold on, grits his teeth and rocks, imagines that he's fucking Blaine instead and Blaine is begging the way Kurt did last night, so taken apart that he's reduced down to his most animalistic instincts.

"I'm gonna come," Blaine pants. His body trembles under Kurt's, and his hand grips hard onto Kurt's hair. "God, baby, so hot. Talk to me, Kurt, get me there, gonna make me come so hard—"

Kurt rolls his hips forward a few more times before he's finally snapping loose, letting out a keening moan as his cock pulses between them, come ribboning slick between them. Barely even registering that he's saying it, Kurt says, half-smothered against Blaine's shoulder, "I, uhn—I want to rim you, make you scream, B."

Blaine comes, then, with a bitten-off moan, and he clutches to Kurt until he goes limp, limbs falling to the bed and head hitting the pillows. His glasses are askew, cheeks red and forehead glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. "God," he says, like it's all that needs to be said. His torso is a mess of opalescent white, and Kurt knows without looking down that his is, too.

He gets up, blushing only faintly at walking naked across the suite, and grabs the tissues where they're located not conveniently on the table across the room. He tosses the box onto the bed, Blaine wiping himself off first, then Kurt. The box gets pushed to the floor with their clothes, and Blaine takes off his glasses, sets them on the nightstand and rolls over to face Kurt.

"So," he says, light and conversational.

"So," Kurt replies, lips twitching. Everything is still in that halo of blissed perfection, his body fuzzy and leaden still as he relaxes into the mattress.

"I still didn't get you to say much," Blaine teases. "Which you know means we're still going to half to work on it."

"It's because you unexpectedly unleashed the dirty talk on me," Kurt protests. "How am I supposed to think coherently when you're talking like that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment. Just like I'll take you admitting that you wanted to rim me just before you came as an even bigger compliment."

Kurt's ears immediately heat up and he buries his face in the pillows. "Oh god, you did hear that."

"Yes, I did, and—stop hiding your face—I'll have you know that I love being rimmed."

Kurt peeks a careful eye out, sees Blaine silhouetted against the light, sees the bright glint of his white smile. "Really?"

"Really. And knowing that it's your tongue on my asshole will make it a thousand times better."

"Blaine!" Kurt says, feeling his cheeks heat up to match his ears. He's still smiling, though, even as he whacks Blaine's arm. He squeaks in surprise when Blaine suddenly climbs on top of Kurt, effectively pinning him to the mattress. Kurt looks up, lips parted and eyes wide, and feels the warmth of Blaine's flaccid cock against his abdomen as Blaine leans forward, grabs his wrists in one hand and pins them on the pillows above his head.

Blaine leans down, lips brushing Kurt's, and he teasingly tilts his head up, dragging the swell over Kurt's mouth, and he kisses Kurt only once, fleetingly, before murmuring, eyes bright and blurred dark as Kurt struggles to focus, to be aware of anything other than the heavy weight on top of him, the thrill of his arms pinned above his head and the rapid rush of blood back down to his cock, "We still have all night, baby, and by the end of it I plan to have fully corrupted you."

Kurt can deal with that, he thinks, and he pushes up into Blaine's kiss, arms straining against Blaine's strong grasp. There's a lot they can do in one night.