Blaine has never thought of sex as a race to the finish line. Not even a marathon. He doesn't think they're racing towards anything. They're enjoying each other’s bodies and figuring out what makes the other tick.

Their first time had been entirely focused on slow exploration. It was the first opportunity where they had had both time and expanses of exposed skin to work with. He hadn't even thought about curling a shaky hand around Kurt's cock until they were both trembling and on the edge from all of the slow, careful touches.

The times that follow go similarly. The soft touches, the continued exploration. They like to add a new activity to their repertoire each time they stumble upon some uninterrupted alone time. Blaine likes being excellent at things and he knows Kurt can relate to that mentality.

They both like to think that they are experts at making each other fall apart.

Blaine has known that this time was coming, but he has hoped just as much that it wouldn't come so soon. Kurt's going to want to try more and Blaine isn't going to know how to answer. He knows it's on his mind because he keeps catching him staring out of the corner of his eye while they're basking in the afterglow. There are starts and stops of conversation and 'you go' no 'you go' and 'oh forget it.'

He can't forget it. He wants Kurt to come out and say it so they can get it over with - which is a terrible way to feel about sex, he knows.

Blaine doesn't consider them virgins and neither does Kurt. What they have is sex. Enjoying each other, making each other come. That is sex to them.

In his alone time, he has explored. He knows what fingers and toys are capable of, but they can never manage to get him there. He relies on memories of Kurt's sinful mouth and teasing touches for that.

Not enjoying the idea of anal sex doesn't make Blaine think any less of his sexuality, because it has nothing to do with the fact that men are what does it for him. He loves men. He loves Kurt. Hard lines and the weight of a cock in his hand. Stubble and strong legs tangling while they rock together.

He knows there isn't a damn thing wrong with him.

He hopes Kurt understands.

It's not like the idea of going there with Kurt repulses him. If Kurt asked him to fuck him, he wouldn't hesitate to go through with it. A large fraction of what Blaine enjoys in the bedroom involves making Kurt happy, so if that would make him happy, he wants it.

Blaine just can't understand how something that doesn't appeal to him when the roles would be reserved could possibly be appealing to Kurt. But Kurt doesn't judge the way Blaine arches and whimpers when he scrapes his teeth over his nipples, so he's not going to judge him for anything that makes him feel good. Everyone likes different things. Everyone is wired differently.

He thinks of the times he's tried to use his fingers on himself. The digits trembled and he used more lube than he needed. It was the fear, mostly. He didn't like things that hurt, and the idea of pain coming anywhere near the lovely, safe space of his sex life with Kurt frightened him.

The burn was hardly arousing and it only faded into something dull and intrusive instead of the delicious sparks of pleasure he had been chasing. Was he doing something wrong? Was he built wrong? Why did something he should theoretically enjoy feel so clinical?

Still, he thinks he can make it work. It should be no different than any other time he's been sprawled out on top of Kurt, fucking into his fist or slipping between this slick thighs. But it's not the same because he knows he won't have the freedom to move down the length of Kurt's body of his own accord. He loves the way he can go from sucking kisses into Kurt's neck to trailing his lips and tongue down his chest, always keeping him guessing.

He's waiting for Kurt to ask for more, and he's hoping he has an answer by the time he does.

Blaine wants to make him happy.

“We need to talk.”

“We’re talking,” Blaine smiles as he stretches like a cat across Kurt’s bed, his arm nearly missing Kurt’s face.

“No, I’m talking and you’re nodding. And making little ‘hmm’ sounds. I feel like I’m conversing with a wall. An impeccably dressed wall, of course,” Kurt says, plucking at the fabric of Blaine’s cardigan. It’s the cozy striped one he wears when he’s having an off day. It feels like a hug.

Blaine turns his cheek to rest on the pillow, locking eyes with Kurt. “Then I’ll stop being a wall. What’s on your mind?”

“Sex.”

He’s sure Kurt doesn’t mean to be so blunt, because his cheeks immediately are tinged with pink and he’s chewing on his bottom lip like he’s trying to recapture the word he just blurted out.

When Kurt has had something on his mind for awhile, it usually comes out in a panic.

“Well, I’m kind of tired, but...”

Kurt, ever the pillow fight ninja, smacks him with one of the decorative pillows. “Not what I meant, dummy.”

Blaine doesn’t even try to dodge the attack and feigns death by pillow injury. He shuts his eyes and sticks his tongue out and hopes a bit of silliness will distract Kurt from the fact that they’re on the verge of what might be a very serious discussion.

He’s not prepared for Kurt to put the pillow aside and lay beside him, their faces close enough that Blaine could probably lean forward and nudge their noses together.

He retracts his tongue. His mouth feels cottony and dry.

“We have sex, right?” Kurt asks.

Blaine nods.

This is a conversation they’ve had a time or two, and they always come to the same conclusion. Sex is about making a connection, which they have. It’s about exposing yourself to another person - heart, body, and soul. Logistics should never be a determining factor.

“Because, everyone keeps making all of these assumptions,” he continues. “About who... you know. Who does what.”

Blaine opens his eyes and is met with a close up view of Kurt’s flushed cheeks and worry-bitten lips. “When have we ever cared about what anybody thinks of us? What we do or don’t do is none of their business.”

“We don’t,” he corrects. “I don’t care what they think. This isn’t about them.”

“Then what does it matter?”

“I need to know... if you want that,” Kurt says, his words coming out in a rush of breath. “Do you want me to f-fuck you, Blaine?” His words sound foreign, like he’s been rehearsing them. Blaine knows the feeling. “Or, if you wanted to... me.”

When Blaine looks at Kurt, he sees his own uncertainty mirrored those wide, blue eyes. It shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.

“Hey,” Blaine cups his cheek gently. “What’s this all about?” Because it hardly sounds like Kurt wants either of the things he’s suggesting.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he admits quietly.

“You never could,” Blaine tells him.

Kurt leans into his touch, and Blaine begins to stroke his fingers down Kurt’s cheekbone. He traces the sharp line of his jaw, down a tendon in his neck. It’s not pronounced in the way it can be when Kurt’s neck is thrown back and his hands are fisted in sheets, but he can still feel it there.

Blaine smiles when he finally begins to see the first signs of Kurt relaxing. The pinched lines between his brows flatten and his jaw is no longer set in determination.

(But secretly, he likes when he gets those little glimpses of Kurt’s laugh lines and frown lines. It helps him picture a Kurt ten years down the road, maybe more...)

“I like what we’re doing,” Blaine says.

Kurt huffs. “There’s a difference between liking what we do and wanting something more.”

“I love what we do,” Blaine corrects him fiercely.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t want...” He trails off, chewing on his bottom lip again. “More?”

“Honestly?” Blaine asks, and Kurt nods quickly for him to continue. “I’ve tried, and it just doesn’t feel good. I know I’m supposed to like it, but it doesn’t even begin to compare to the things we already do.”

Kurt smiles, one of those genuine ones that make the corners of his eyes crinkle up. “I thought it was just me.”

“You don’t like it either?”

“I didn’t even want to try it, initially, but I figured that if it was something we would be doing together, I wanted to be good at it.”

The image of Kurt stretched on his bed, sweat beading at his hairline from the exertion, is not exactly an unwelcome one. And it would be the hottest thing ever to Blaine, but all he sees is his frustration. Fingers slippery with lube and his wrist craned awkwardly as he works towards something he’s not expecting to find. Because he feels like he’s supposed to. All for Blaine.

It would be flattering, had it not been for the fact that Kurt was making himself uncomfortable for Blaine’s sake.

The momentary lapse of communication makes Blaine feel guilty. Here Kurt was struggling with virtually similar concerns, and Blaine was too busy dodging the topic for them to address it properly. This could have been cleared up in a matter of moments instead of the weeks they’ve spent dancing around the discussion.

“You do like to be good at things.”

“And this is news to you?”

“No,” Blaine chuckles. “Just observing.”

“So,” Kurt says as he shifts closer and wraps an arm loosely around Blaine’s waist. His fingers roam under the hem of his t-shirt and stroke lightly at Blaine’s hipbone. “What do you like?”

“Your mouth,” he responds easily. The answer had been on the tip of his tongue, like all he needed was a question to prompt it.

“I’ve always wanted to to try sixty-nine,” Kurt suggests, his confidence seeming to come back to him in the wake of his confession. “I mean, I’m not entirely convinced that it won’t end with someone getting kicked in the junk, but it’s worth a try.”

“And your legs are where you have height on me, so logistically, it wouldn’t be an issue...”

“Think much?”

“About every little thing I want to do to you?” Blaine kisses him soundly on the lips and pulls back with a lazy smile. “Pretty much always.”

Kurt chases his lips, and Blaine is feeling cheeky so he continues to pull away until Kurt is pinning him to the bed. He lets out a little ha of triumph before claiming his lips.

Kissing Kurt reminds Blaine of hot cocoa and the warmth of his bed on the coldest day of the year. It’s warm and safe and he just wants to wrap himself in it forever. He knows it’s probably cheesy, but it’s exactly how he feels. Kurt’s kisses make everything from his fingertips to his toes warm. The warmth in the pit of his stomach doesn’t even begin to compare. It’s a slow burn, one he tries to shove aside at first in favor of making everything perfect for Kurt. By the time he acknowledges it, he’s whimpering into his mouth and closer to the edge than he thought.

This time is no different.

Kurt pulls away with a smile. “You so get off on communication.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Blaine says, ducking his head. “We’re going to be doing a whole lot of communicating in the fall.”

“Mm,” Kurt agrees. “But will you be getting off on it?”

“Depends on how present your roommate chooses to be. “

“Here’s hoping he has an off-campus girlfriend and a heavy focus on extra-curriculars.” Blaine seals the deal with a kiss.

Kurt still has him pinned to the bed and while the familiar weight of him pressed up against Blaine in all of the right places is nice, his mind is elsewhere.

“So I was thinking...”

“It would work better with less clothes,” Kurt says, already getting started on the (thankfully) simple t-shirt he has on today. His boyfriend’s clothes have outsmarted Blaine a time or two.

It’s Blaine’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m perfectly aware of the amount of clothing required for such... activities.”

“None!” Kurt cheerfully reminds him and he climbs off Blaine and to the other side of the bed to shuck off his jeans. Blaine is thankful for this. Kurt’s jeans are like a rubik’s cube and have been known to bite.

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” Blaine asks as he takes care of his own shirt and jeans, which land somewhere on the floor. The room will look all the more conspicuous later, if they are scrambling to race against time after hearing a garage door or front door open, but he enjoys the calculated risk.

“It’s not so much a matter of think as... I am,” he smiles as he crawls back up the length of Blaine’s torso. “I’m adorable. You get lost in my eyes, you draw hearts in the margins of your notebooks, and you’re going to be with me forever. Get with the program, dummy.”

“Mmm,” Blaine murmurs. “You’re getting too big for your britches.”

“My britches are perfectly tailored, thank you very much.”

“Your britches,” Blaine parrots back, a habit picked up out of a silly little love for the sound of his boyfriend’s voice, “are on the floor.”

“Astute observation,” Kurt notes. “It seems they are. Something you’d like to do about that?”

The only response Blaine can think up is to gently nudge at Kurt’s shoulders until he takes a hint and lays on his back. Blaine can’t think of a graceful way to tackle this, so he kneel to the side of Kurt for a moment, eyes raking up the length of his body.

“You should know by now that it doesn’t bite,” Kurt murmurs, eyes dancing with amusement.

For that, Blaine swings a leg around Kurt’s torso and plants his hands firmly on Kurt’s thighs. He can feel Kurt squirm beneath him under the scrutiny of the new position.

“This is, uh.”

“Uh?” Blaine echoes, ducking his head to press his lips to Kurt’s thighs. Slowly but surely, he lowers his weight completely on top of him, stretching his legs on either side of Kurt’s broad shoulders. He has to kick up his heels to avoid hitting the headboard, but it’s worth it. Kurt can remain with his head resting comfortably on the pillow. Kurt being comfortable has always been Blaine’s primary concern.

He’s not used to seeing Kurt from this angle, but he’s also not used to hanging from the ceiling upside down either. It doesn’t mean it’s bad, it’s just different. Curiously, he presses the heel of his hand to where Kurt is already hard in his boxers. A product of their conversation, the anticipation. He hears a sharp inhale follow the motion, and he feels Kurt’s long fingers tugging at the elastic of his own briefs.

He should have removed them beforehand. Blaine, more often than not, doesn’t have the foresight to think these things through.

Fortunately, Kurt seems to be too desperate to chide Blaine for his improper planning. He’s doing his best to lift Blaine’s hips to tug his boxers to his knees. It reminds him of rushed blow jobs in the backseat of Kurt’s car and that gives him an entirely new thrill.

He’s gotten so much stronger over the past year, and sometimes Blaine thinks he’s lying about his workouts being limited to DVDs in his bedroom. He had to lift something, from time to time, because he can lift Blaine’s hips with impressive ease.

Blaine feels like he should have the advantage being the one on top of Kurt, but Kurt is known for zigging when Blaine is fully expecting a zag. Even though Blaine is situated above Kurt, that hasn’t stopped Kurt from shucking off Blaine’s boxers with as much ease as someone in his position could muster. Had Blaine been in his position, he would have likened it to monkey bars and shark pits.

The boxers are still dangling around one of his ankles, but Kurt’s words about someone getting kicked are still fresh in his mind.

All Blaine himself is faced with is the task of tugging down Kurt’s boxers. It should be easier, but Kurt is already craning his neck and mouthing at the base of his cock. He braces his hands on the back of Blaine’s thighs, fingertips kneading his ass.

“Kurt,” he groans. “This is counterproductive.”

“Then be more productive,” Kurt chuckles. Blaine can feels the vibrations against his thigh, but he’s not prepared for the way Kurt almost immediately is mouthing back up his shaft, his tongue tracing the predominant veins.

Blaine takes great care in tugging Kurt’s boxers down, letting them rest on his thighs and just looking for a moment. He knows it’s silly, but he’s always thought that Kurt has a pretty cock. it reminds him of Kurt, long and proudly curving up towards his stomach. He’s almost certain that he sounds silly, so he never voices his observations.

He knows he doesn’t always measure up to Kurt for reasons that has nothing to do with size, but that’s hard to remember with the way Kurt’s tongue is tracing figure eights around the head of his cock, occasionally dipping into the slit for a taste.

Blaine knows he’s still hovering, and that must be unnerving for Kurt. That must be why he’s doubling his efforts. But it’s hard to focus with all of the attention that is currently being focused on him.

Focus.

He leans down and sucks the head of Kurt’s cock into his mouth, presses his tongue to the ridge right underneath head of his cock and lets his tongue drag down. He takes him as far as he knows how. He wishes he could do more, do better, but he knows it takes time. Practice. Patience.

He gets ahead of himself, sometimes, and he pays for it in the form of a triggered gag reflex and a giggle from Kurt’s end.

Their sexual relationship can be summed up as Blaine’s constant efforts to make Kurt feel at least half as good as he makes Blaine feel every minute of the day.

Kurt’s grip on his hips is strong and with the way his fingertips are pressing in, he’s already visualizing tomorrow’s bruises. He thinks they’ll be faint ones, the kind he has to press down on to even feel.

He sucks Kurt down hard and sloppy and he can feel his lips and the corner of his mouth starting to become slick with spit. This is the only time he’s not worried about image. He’s not fretting over a hair being out of place or controlling his facial expressions. (Performing, of course, is a different story...) The center of his universe is making Kurt feel amazing.

It’s hard, getting used to the new position. He can’t look up at Kurt for approval, because god he loves his approval. He gets it in the form of the way Kurt’s face screws up when he’s close. The way his tilts his head back, baring his neck. The one Blaine aches to mark. (But it isn’t scarf season, wait for scarf season...)

He only has sense of sound to rely on when it comes to gauging Kurt’s reactions. Sounds partially muffled by the way Kurt is currently working over his cock at a feverish pace. Blaine is trying to picture Kurt’s spit-shiny lips, the way they must look stretched around his cock. The tugging in his belly is becoming more urgent, and he presses his nails into his own palm to hold it off.

Blaine tries in vain to control the hitching motions of his hips, but if anything, Kurt seems to be encouraging him. His grips Blaine’s hips a little tighter to egg him on, and Blaine rocks his hips into Kurt’s mouth a little surer.

He moans around Kurt’s cock.

The sound triggers a similar reaction from Kurt, who on top of that, digs his fingers into Blaine’s ass a little harder.

They’re stuck in an endless loop of sensation and feedback. For every press of Blaine’s tongue, he is rewarded with a moan or doubled-effort on Kurt’s part.

He feels like they’re in a competition. Kurt’s trying to take him deeper, faster, harder.

Blaine gasps at the realization. Everything is a competition to Kurt. Why would this be any different?

Competition has always been a rush for Blaine. Performing too, but that’s a story for another day.

(Like the time they gave into the irony and got each other off in a coat closet during a party at Santana’s house. The idea that someone could be listening, as unlikely as it was, ultimately tipped him over the edge.)

But this is a different sort of competition. The kind he isn’t afraid to lose. Because losing to Kurt is the sweetest kind of loss there is.

Kurt’s pulls back just enough to suck around the head of Blaine’s cock, his fist tight around the base. For as much as Blaine has come to adore Kurt’s prowess when it comes to the way he can take him deep, Blaine loves when he pulls off and lavishes the head with attention. He could come from this. He likely will come from this.

Blaine knows that Kurt can read the trembling of his thighs and must know he’s close. His hips try to fuck into Kurt’s tight, heavenly grasp weakly, but to no avail. Kurt chuckles around his cock, and the vibrations make him ache.

He’s aware that he has stilled on his end, but he’s too close to focus. The head of Kurt’s cock rests against the soft palette of his mouth and he is breathing harshly through his nose.

When Kurt releases his hold on Blaine’s hip, he can still feel the imprint of his fingertips. It’s a mere shadow of the touch, but it’s there.

He wonders what he was so scared of. Even if he hadn’t been on the same page as Kurt, they would have worked it out. They always do.

Blaine’s orgasm sneaks up on him, and he can’t even blame it on the multitasking, because he’s failing at that miserably. (And while he hates to fail, he thinks he can let it slide just this once.)

The only part he doesn’t like about this position is the fact that he can’t see Kurt’s throat work as he swallows, he can’t see the bit of come he hasn’t licked off his bottom lip. He can almost picture it if he thinks back to the last few times Kurt sucked him off. These are images he has known to catalogue for a rainy day. He loves to watch him when he’s at work, doing one of the things no one else will ever know he does best.

He comes back into his own mind to the sound of Kurt muttering against his hip, his sure grip still working Blaine through the last of the aftershocks. “Please please please.”

And Kurt never begs.

“Fuck, baby, I love it when you--”

“Shut up,” he pleads, dragging his teeth down Blaine’s hip. He wants Kurt to bite, he wants the bruises littering his hips to be punctuated with marks from Kurt’s teeth. “Please, shut up.”

Luckily for Kurt, Blaine can think of a better use for his mouth.

Without the earlier distraction, Blaine can focus all of his energy on making this amazing for Kurt. Sure, an encounter where they both were able to come in perfect harmony would be ideal, but then they would be missing out on the gorgeous reward that is watching the other fall apart. It’s all drowned out in the white noise.

He missed the first time Kurt came by his hand because he was too focused on rutting into the sheets. He’s been trying to make up for lost time since then.

It’s sloppy and loving and he’s pouring everything he can into it. He wants Kurt to feel forever in the way he touches him, he hopes he does. He wants presses of fingertips to suffice for the stories he can’t tell him just yet.

Kurt doesn’t warn him. Usually he does with a sharp tug of his curls, which tends to spur Blaine on more than anything, but this time his hands seem to be stilled at his sides. He wishes he could see the way Kurt’s face screws up tight, but he swears he can feel Kurt’s toes curl up in the bedsheets.

Swallowing isn’t his favorite thing, but he can’t stand to ruin a single second of the afterglow seeking out a tissue or a towel. Kurt tastes warm and bitter, but he hardly notices it. Blaine is too eager to swallow him down and wrap him up in his arms. He loves the afterglow. Kurt is at his most open during this precious bit of time. He’s not going to miss a moment of whispered hopes for the future or shy confessions. (And he knows he often needs these moments for confessions of his own.)

A scramble of limbs follows as Blaine turns around and crawls back up the length of Kurt’s body to wrap his arms around him. They’re too hot and too sticky for it to be comfortable, but he needs to hold him. The contented sound that escapes Kurt’s lips lets Blaine know that he needs to be held too.

“I told you,” Blaine smiles. His limbs feel sleepy and heavy and he wants nothing more than to stay wrapped up in Kurt forever. “I love what we do.”

Kurt hums and traces his fingers down Blaine’s back. He arches into the pressure of his blunt nails and wants to tell Kurt the light scratches feel better than sex, but he knows he would be lying.

He doesn’t answer him with anything more than a coy look through his lashes, and Blaine feels himself flush to his core because he understand him, despite the absence of words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”