At first, Kurt worries that it has something to do with him. That maybe Blaine doesn’t like what he sees. Is he not good enough? Sure, he might not be ripped, but he’s toned and he feels pretty good about his body these days. He sometimes worries that his skin has the potential to glow in the dark, but then he reminds himself that a pale skin tone was once a sign of royalty.

And Kurt Hummel, is royalty.

He drags his hips back slowly, and changes up the pace by slamming back into Blaine. His back arches and he moans in time with Kurt’s thrusts, but his eyes stay screwed shut.

Who is he thinking about?

His pace becomes merciless, and he knows Blaine is going to be sore tomorrow, but he wants to fuck whatever fantasy Blaine is relying on to get off out of his head completely.

“Look at me,” Kurt groans as he grinds his hips harder into Blaine’s ass. “Look at me, look at me, look at me.”

When Blaine opens his eyes, they don’t look unfocused in the least. He’s staring directly at Kurt in a way that makes his heart start to ache. He’s so beautiful and so confused.

Kurt is only treated to a moment of Blaine’s gorgeous eyes before they fall shut again. Curiously, Kurt reaches out to brush his thumb over one of Blaine’s eyelids. Where are you? he wants to ask.

Blaine is leaning into the touch and his hips are working up against Kurt’s own harder, like he wants it hard, faster, but doesn’t know how to ask. He has to coax a lot of things like this out of Blaine, but luckily he can depend on his body language for some of it.

His eyes screw back up tight as he starts to come, and that’s when it hits Kurt.

The way his hands are constantly roaming during sex, trying to feel everything.

How Blaine is always encouraging him to be more vocal. Love to hear you, need to hear you.

When he’s working his way down Kurt’s torso, he never stops mapping out his skin with his tongue. There is no rhyme or reason to his motions. It’s almost like he’s trying to read Kurt by touch.

Blaine gets off on the sensory deprivation. Keeping his eyes shut has nothing to do with Kurt, he loves relying on his other senses.

And that is why Kurt leaves a discreet looking, black silk blindfold on Blaine’s pillow the following week.

from Blaine:
So what’s this about?

from Kurt:
Closing your eyes like that is going to give you wrinkles, Blaine.

from Blaine:
I can take a hint, I’ll try not to do it...

from Kurt:
No.

from Blaine:
No?

from Kurt:
You’re amazing. Why would I not want to be a part of that? How does it feel?

from Blaine:
Like I can feel everything.

from Kurt:
So I take it you like my gift?

from Blaine:
I think I’ll like it better if you can find us an empty house and at least an hour of free time.

from Kurt:
A whole hour? Bold words, Anderson. :)

from Blaine:
Shut up. :p

Kurt smiles at the last message, swearing he can hear Blaine’s words in his head. When he says shut up, usually it means he’s feeling particularly bashful about something. Or he’s feeling shy when a compliment or two is thrown as well. Especially the ones he doesn’t feel deserving of.

You were wonderful. Shut up.

So smart. Shut up.

So brave. Shut up.

Blaine has issues with his words. He can put enough emotion to last a lifetime into a song, but when it comes to talking one on one, he often resorts to nervous chuckles and evasion.

Kurt once thought he would be doomed to a lifetime of play the ‘sing your feelings’ game.

But perhaps touch is just another one of Blaine’s languages. When his eyes are closed, the sensation is heightened. He can only rely on the skin beneath his fingertips.

Kurt might not be fluent, but he likes to think he has a simple grasp on the language. He knows certain touches mean more and there are a few that even mean please don’t go.

These touches aren’t always during sex, either. When they’re out and something makes Blaine nervous, his fingers will almost immediately find Kurt’s wrist, even if he isn’t looking down to find out where his hand is. A cheesy part of Kurt likes to think that there are magnets under their skin, but he knows Blaine probably just relies on that fact that his wrist is connected to his arm to make the connection.

Magnets sound more romantic than logic.

-

The idea of blindfolding his boyfriend might have initially been a little out of the norm for Kurt’s tastes, but the image of Blaine on his bed in nothing but that piece of black silk covering his eyes with no idea what was coming next wasn’t exactly unappealing.

That’s how they came to where they are now, with Kurt gently securing the knot of the blindfold and kissing Blaine’s cheek, right below where the fabric ends.

He misses his eyes, but he knows what lies beneath the cloth. They’re probably darkened and darting around curiously as he adjusts to his new circumstances.

Blaine’s hands, those searching hands, reach up to grasp Kurt’s shoulders. They’re not guiding, just curious. He wants to know what Kurt is up to. Whether he’s going to slide down to lick him open or maybe something else entirely. Kurt can hear the question in the way Blaine’s fingers press into his shoulders, the way a small noise escapes his lips.

Kurt smirks. Blaine is already hard and his hips are twitching. It’s the anticipation.

He whines when Kurt climbs off of him and rolls onto his back on the other side of the bed.

“You aren’t going to leave me here like this, are you?” he asks shakily. “Because that would be really mean.”

Blaine’s nervous. It must be intense, trusting someone with this. Especially when he could rip off the blindfold at any moment and see what is going on for himself.

But that’s the thing, Kurt is pretty sure that Blaine doesn’t want to do that.

“No. I’m not.”

He clicks open the cap of the lube. Blaine gasps.

When Kurt’s fingers don’t come moments later, he moans.

“Are you going to ride me?” he asks, and for the first time, Kurt sees his hands come up to grasp the knot of the blindfold.

They’ve never tried it this way before, so Kurt can’t blame him for wanting to see, but--

“Leave it on,” he commands softly. Blaine complies.

Kurt watches Blaine squirm against the bed as he traces a finger around his rim. He’s not even touching Blaine, so it’s kind of hot that he’s having this effect on him from a foot away.

He could probably have Blaine stretch him. He loves his fingers. They’re broad and strong but still elegant in a way suited to piano playing and hobby origami folding.

But blindfolded fingering sounds a little too risky for tonight’s agenda.

Besides, Kurt would be lying if he said he didn’t live to see Blaine squirm every once in while.

His legs fall open as his first finger pushes in, and his calf brushes Blaine’s own. Blaine’s leg quickly hooks around Kurt’s eager to make some kind of connect. Other than that, he looks like he’s fighting to keep still. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip and his hands and fisting in the sheets. Blaine is there for the taking, there for whatever Kurt wants to give him.

He knows the squelching sounds have to be giving him away, but he doesn’t have the energy to feel self-conscious about a single thing. Not with the way Blaine’s mouth falls lax as his name slips out. A simple plea.

Kurt cranes his neck to kiss Blaine’s slack mouth, his tongue stroking Blaine’s softly at first. It gets increasingly sloppier as Kurt moves to add another finger.

He’s moving too fast, but he’s focused on the phantom feel of sinking down onto Blaine’s cock for the first time. Normally when he’s alone, he prefers a slow stretch. Ideally, his fingers would be carefully lubed and he would focus on just where to stroke to make his knees quake. But with Blaine waiting for him, it’s all about hasty preparation with too much lube and enough of a burn to make him hiss.

“You okay?” Blaine murmurs again his mouth. Because only Blaine Anderson can find it in himself to be concerned for his boyfriend when he is blindfolded and naked on his bed. It figures.

Kurt tries to bite down on his lip, but ends up nipping Blaine’s instead. He hums an affirmative, because words seems like dangerous things right now.

Blaine’s hands are stroking down Kurt’s chest. His thumbs brush past his nipples, which are not nearly as sensitive as Blaine’s own, but Kurt appreciates the attention nonetheless. He’s creating a map with his hands, palms smoothing down his belly. He doesn’t avoid the ticklish spots, and this causes Kurt to let out an untimely giggle.

His hands pause at Kurt’s hips, and Kurt wonders if he’s waiting for something. After a few seconds, they start to map out the inside of his thighs, moving higher and higher until he has two fingers poised at the rim of Kurt’s hole, tracing around to count his fingers.

“One.”

Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Two...”

“I can count, uh, Blaine.”

He stops on the third one. “You should fuck me.”

His phrasing is a curious thing, in Kurt’s mind, because he assumed that with the way things were going, he would be the one getting fucked, not Blaine.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt chokes out. “Did you want me to...” He trails fingers up the inside of Blaine’s thigh like a question.

“No,” Blaine says. “No. I want you... like you said you were going to.”

It makes sense, when Kurt thinks about it. Blaine is laying on the bed with nowhere to go, no choice but to take whatever Kurt chooses to gives him.

He’s never thought of fucking Blaine aside from the literal definition of the word, up until now.

Kurt pulls out his fingers and wraps them around Blaine’s cock. It’s hard to ignore that nagging, empty feeling, but he knows it won’t be for long. He grabs the lube from its spot nearby and drips it over Blaine’s cock, ignoring his hiss at the shock of cold. Under normal circumstances, he would warm it up as a courtesy, but their circumstances are anything but normal.

Fucking Blaine, to Kurt, has always meant being inside of Blaine. But as he straddles his hips and grabs hold of the base of his cock, lowering himself down inch by deliciously thick inch, he can see how this could be considered fucking. The burn in his thighs is more intense than it has ever been when Blaine has bottomed in the past. He knows he’ll be feeling it tomorrow.

When they sit in the choir room a few days from now, their chairs spaced apart in a way that works well for the oftentimes poor circulation in the room, the other members of their show choir will have no idea what they’ve been up to.

Kurt gets a quiet thrill out of that.

Blaine doesn’t reach for the blindfold again. Instead, he grabs Kurt’s hips. Kurt can feel the bite of Blaine’s fingernails against the skin, but he’s more focused on the stark contrast of his trembling thighs to his neglected cock.

The breath caught in his throat comes out in a rush. He feels so full. “Blaine.”

“You feel...”

“Tell me,” Kurt chokes out. “Tell me.”

“So good, baby. So perfect.” Blaine’s hands are everywhere. Kurt’s hips, his thighs, trailing back up to press his thumbs just above his hipbones. This is the place where Kurt’s stomach is just a little softer and it usually makes him squirm and tug Blaine’s hands away, but he can’t find it in himself to take away his sight.

Instead, Kurt preens under the praise. He grinds down a little harder, enjoying the way the action makes Blaine’s hips fuck up into him. Blaine is gorgeous like this, and he’s starting to feel bad that he’s missing out on the view. He reaches down to fumble with the knot of Blaine’s blindfold, but Blaine bats his hand away. “I can see you just fine.”

Kurt stills against Blaine’s hips, buried deep and as close as he can get. “What do you see?”

“You.”

“Well I’d hope so,” Kurt chuckles as he lifts his hips, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his thighs seems to be screaming with the exertion. “That blindfold isn’t an excuse to substitute me for someone else.”

“I would never,” Blaine says in a way that is painfully earnest. “It’s only ever you.”

Kurt’s hand comes up to cup Blaine’s cheek, and he swears he can see Blaine’s long lashes flutter beneath the blindfold. It’s like his eyes are trying to find Kurt’s own, despite the boundary between them. He loves him more than whispered words in the heat of the moment could ever really show.

He wraps his hand around the back of Blaine’s neck tugs him up for a messy kiss. There is too much going on to make it a smooth sweep of tongues. It’s about plunging, taking, tasting while Blaine’s hips fuck up harder into Kurt. Blaine’s hands are roughly pulling apart his cheeks, his fingers stroking around where his cock is sliding in and out of Kurt’s ass.

When Kurt pulls away, a trail of saliva is connecting their lips. He ducks back down to lick Blaine’s lush bottom lip. It should be gross, but these are the lips that have been wrapped around his cock, rimmed him after a few particularly decadent showers, and even sucked his fingers one by one in the back of a nearly empty theatre.

(He doesn’t remember the movie. Something foreign. He had thought it would be an adventure in culture. In reality, they ended up giving each other giggly hand jobs in the back of the theatre, pressing their lips into each others necks to muffle any telltale moans.)

Kurt loves being able to control the pace. When he drives his hips back down slowly, Blaine whimpers and his hands stop kneading Kurt’s ass in order to fist in the sheets. If he does it any harder, he’s going to tug one of the corners off the fitted sheet completely. (Smugly, Kurt thinks he might need to change them after they’re through.) When he slams down fast, Blaine seems to get the breath knocked out of him.

He settles on a middle ground. He fucks down fast but pauses to grind against Blaine’s hips when he’s fully seated. Blaine’s groans are unrestrained when he does this, and Kurt can’t help but echo him.

As good at Blaine feels, hot and thick inside of him, it’s the noises he’s making that really do it for Kurt. Blaine is someone who is so controlled in what he says, does, feels. So to see him undone like this, because of Kurt is a little bit wonderful.

“The only downside to this,” Kurt pants out, “is that I miss your eyes.”

He catches another flutter of Blaine’s lashes through the cloth. Kurt cups Blaine’s face with his hands and brushes his thumbs over his cheekbones. He looks so relaxed like this, so unlike all of the times he has purposely scrunched up his eyes when he was too afraid to have Kurt take this sense from him.

Kurt wonders about Blaine’s little world of sensation, how everything must be zeroing in on Kurt riding him and touching him all over. There are no distractions.

One of these days, he might need to try it for himself.

Blaine doesn't need to tell him when he's close. It's an understanding between them. He can tell when his motions become more frantic and his hands move to grab Kurt's hips. He doesn't guide, never guides, he just holds him there.

Kurt sinks down all of the way. His eyes roll back and pleasure is sparking at the base of his spine. He feels it in his fingers and toes. He feels it when he looks down at a slack-jawed Blaine who looks like he’s in heaven. He only lifts his hips up enough to feel the burn, because he knows Blaine likes to be keep inside of him when he comes.

(Later will come gentle fingers slipping inside of his loose hole. Blaine's favorite part of forgoing the condom is getting to taste himself inside of Kurt. It's a luxury they don’t often allow themselves, but when time permits indulgent, exploratory sex, they take advantage.)

"Baby," he whines, pressing his lips to the closest bit of skin he can reach. This turns out to be Blaine's neck. Kurt usually isn't much for sweat, but in this context it makes him want to collect every drop with his tongue.

His cock is trapped between their sweat-slick torsos, but it's only enough friction to tease. Kurt whines against Blaine's neck until he takes the hint and slips a hand between them. Blaine's hand is clumsy and searching before wrapping around Kurt's cock. His grip is hot and tight, perhaps a little dry, but Kurt isn't complaining.

The opposite, in fact. That’s because Blaine is babbling and bucking his hips up into Kurt, and he can feel every bit of Blaine's body trembling. His fingers are shaking, catching on the head of Kurt's cock on the upstroke.

"God, you're so gorgeous," Blaine murmurs. "So gorgeous, so gorgeous." It sounds silly, because Kurt knows all Blaine sees is the darkness, but his tone is convincing enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

When Blaine comes, his hand doesn't stop working over Kurt's cock. (Blaine has always been a excellent multitasker.) He's still murmuring nonsense and Kurt doesn't catch half of the words, but he catches the way Blaine says them.

Kurt can still feel the aftershocks of Blaine's orgasm, pulsing inside of him when he comes. He collapses on Blaine's chest shortly after, weakly jabbing Blaine in the side when he mumbles something about Kurt being heavy.

When he lifts off of Blaine's hips so he can slip out, he tries not to wince at the way Blaine's come is dripping out of him. He feels filthy, but that's part of the reason they both love it so much.

With careful fingers, he finally undoes the knot of Blaine's blindfold.

He isn't expecting to see Blaine's eyes wet with tears.

"Baby," Kurt breathes out, immediately thumbing away a fallen tear. "Did I hurt you? Did I do it wrong?" He's panicking, he thought things were going so well.

"No." Blaine says quickly. "It was just... intense." He leans into Kurt's touch and nuzzles his hand. "Good intense," he adds.

Kurt is still half leaning on him, because post-sex always fills him with the need to be touching every inch of Blaine. "Mm, maybe I try next time?" He flicks a glance to the blindfold. "But not that one, black washes me out."

"I still have one of my old Dalton ties," Blaine suggests with a wicked grin.

"I always looked damn good in that uniform," Kurt smiles back.