One Last Embrace

He's not entirely sure he knows the way to Kurt's apartment, but luckily the driver he flags down has heard of Rachel, and tells him stories about her and the 'pretty boy she's obviously head over heels for', sympathy for Finn and how obviously he's been quickly forgotten jarring in his chest, hoping against hope that his situation with Kurt isn't similar, as he drives him to the apartment.

He shakes his head with a warm smile when Blaine tries to give him the fare. "Any friend of Kurt and Rachel's is a friend of mine," he says with a companionable wink. "Call the same company when it's time for you to leave and ask for Teddy, I'll take you back to the airport too."

"Thank you very much," Blaine says gratefully, climbing out of the taxi and checking his hair one last time on the reflection of the smeared window. He doesn't look too heinously awful, in his opinion. There isn't really a set dress code for getting one's ex-boyfriend back, but he's gone with looser jeans than he'd normally wear, just to assure Kurt that he hasn't come looking for anything physical, and the cashmere jumper Kurt gave him for last Christmas, which might be seen as cheap and shameless pandering, but Blaine just regards as being tangled up with happy memories, of long winter's nights cuddling and dreaming by the fire.

He remembers the door number, remembers standing outside with four dozen red roses in hand and regret weighing leaden in his heart, waiting to tell Kurt of the worst thing he's ever done. Now, the door is slightly ajar, a pair of shoes abandoned just inside, and while Blaine stands there, rocking awkwardly from foot to foot and wondering whether it's futile to knock, whether he'll be overstepping new boundaries to just walk in, when he hears a cry from within. It sounds distressed, and, like any hero, Blaine rushes inside and follows the series of rhythmic thuds to Kurt's 'room' without thinking about the chances of consequences.

He stops short, horror flooding over him, cold creeping icily into the pit of his stomach, when he's greeted by the sight of another man on those sheets he cried into that night, broad-shouldered and tall enough to make him hate his own shortness, muscled back glazed with sweat, down to the hips thrusting hard and fast into Kurt, lying under him with eyes closed and jaw slack.

"Shit, babe, you're so fucking tight," the stranger growls out grabbing Kurt's hips and tugging him back in time with his thrusts. "Such a perfect fuck."

Hovering and hidden in the shadows, not that the pair would notice him even if he hid in the plainest of plain sights, Blaine watches Kurt, how his eyes are screwed shut as some random man fucks him into the mattress and calls him 'babe' and tells him how tight he is.

Kurt loves being complimented during sex, it's true, but more in the vein of how beautiful he is, how good he makes Blaine feel, how soft his skin is and how pretty and hot his soft cries and wanton moans are. And Kurt hates being called 'babe', he thinks it's degrading and sounds like something from a bad pornography. And he's never liked being flat on his stomach and pounded into the mattress, he likes having sex face to face, whether he's on the top or the bottom, looking into each other's eyes and kissing slowly as they fuck in gentle, measured thrusts until the begging for harderfasterdeepergets desperate.

Kurt likes making love. He likes entwining their hands on the mattress, whispers of tenderness and forever exchanged between swollen mouths. He likes Blaine marking him and grazing his skin with his teeth, but he loves Blaine kissing and licking over the bruises afterwards, soothing the skin. He likes to drag it out, go slow until neither of them can see straight and they collapse into each other, slick with sweat and panting raggedly, kissing frantically and murmuring, "I love you, I love you," until the words are almost a reverent breath.

Kurt's eyes fly open, mouth dropping wide around a moan, and his hazy gaze, the look in his eyes Blaine knows to mean his head is swimming to the point of incoherency with lust, falls over him, hidden in the shadows of the doorway. But obviously not hidden well enough, because Kurt visibly tenses, exclaiming, "Blaine?!" in a way that echoes in the relative silence of the apartment. Blaine tries desperately to think of something to say, wondering if he should just take his chances and bolt, his heart aching in his chest, seeing Kurt's eyes on his as he shifts restlessly beneath a stranger.

He can see that this man doesn't know Kurt's body, hasn't taken the time to lay him out, flawless pale skin against innocent white sheets, and slowly explore every inch of his body, find the ways to pleasure him, to make him gasp and writhe, where he's ticklish and where the slightest touch can make him scream. "What happened to you?" he asks softly. "You're better than this, Kurt. Having sex with a stranger who doesn't even know how to make you feel good."

The man stands up, making Kurt cry out with how quickly he pulls out of him, and tugs his clothes back on, leaving Kurt scrambling to cover himself with the sheet, blushing furiously, a devastation of rejection in his eyes. "Paul, wait, I can explain-"

"No, no, you just enjoy yourself with the ex you're still in love with who just happens to turn up at the apartment while we're having sex after you came on to me and invited me back here," Paul spits right into Kurt's fallen face. "What a happy coincidence for you. Do me a favour, if you're ever looking for a hook-up again, don't call me."

He storms out, straight past Blaine without even acknowledging him, and the door slams loudly behind him, shaking the floor beneath their feet. Kurt curls up in the bed, the sheet falling wrinkled and draped around his hips, his knees pressed to his chest and his hands curled into his hair, eyes squeezed shut. "Kurt, I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

"No you didn't think!" Kurt snaps at him. "What are you doing here? You didn't think of calling ahead like a normal person to let me know you'd be visiting? You didn't think that I might have something else going on?!"

"Like trying to get over me with some stranger who doesn't even care about making sex good for you?!" Blaine almost shrieks in Kurt's face. When he meets Kurt's eyes, they're glassy with tears, and guilt settles hot and prickling into the pit of his stomach. "No, Kurt, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry. I should've called ahead."

"It wasn't anything important," Kurt says, shaking his head, fingers clenching slightly into the sheets. "Nothing much, just someone I met a few nights ago and I invited him over today. I wanted to try, to see if I could be with someone else too." Blaine winces obviously at Kurt's words, because they're venomous and spiteful and it physically stings. "I'm still furious with you, Blaine."

"You have every right to be," Blaine says softly. "But I still love you, Kurt. I always have, and I always will, and I'm so sorry I ever even thought of doing something with anyone but you, and I still feel terrible for doing it, I hate myself for it, and I miss you so much and I want you back, and you're perfect, Kurt, and you deserve so much more than this, so much better than being fucked by a stranger who doesn't even take the time to make sure it's good for you. I know your body almost better than I know mine, and I know every sound you make, and I know that you weren't enjoying yourself because he wasn't touching you or kissing you, he just had you face-down in the bed and he was too rough and you were faking those moans for his benefit, I could tell, because when you moan it's not that high."

Kurt blinks at him in apparent astonishment, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You still remember all that?" he asks softly, and Blaine doesn't understand how Kurt can thinking anyone would forget him so easily, the whirlwind and the candle and the blackbird all wrapped in the perfect porcelain skin and lithe frame and oceans-deep eyes, and he knows every inch of Kurt, inside and out, they were soulmates, they were going to spend every day together until the hourglass ran with nothing but cold air.

"I remember everything," he whispers reverently. "And I know that look in your eyes in the same one you wear when you're caught in the act and have no idea where your clothes are." He smiles fondly, dragging his jumper and shirt over his head and handing the shirt to Kurt, pulling the jumper back on and trying not to preen at the way Kurt's eyes linger on the expanse of his chest exposed by the deep Vof the neckline as he buttons the shirt with skilled fingers, shifting slightly so the sheet falls down around his hips, exposing part of his thigh and the swell of his ass pressed into the mattress. Blaine looks courteously away as he listens to Kurt rustling around for something to cover his lower half with, all the while biting his lip to hold back a smile, knowing that Kurt could easily clothe himself in his own things, but chose to take Blaine's shirt and wear it with an unbidden grin twitching his lips. "I remember all your smiles and all your glares and how you could disguise your hurt in everything but your eyes, and I remember how you kept your nails deliberately long because you loved seeing the shape of them in my back or my arms after you clung to me, and I remember how you always insisted on no hickies, and you were serious, but you secretly loved it and you never protested no matter how much your neck was going to be on display. I remember you."

"So how did you know I wasn't enjoying myself?" Kurt asks haughtily, almost turning his nose up at him, now fully-dressed in the tightest yoga pants Blaine has ever seen, clinging to Kurt's long muscular thighs and calves, stopping short of his pretty ankles and his perfect, pale feet, and Blaine's too-small shirt clinging tight around his biceps, his chest, riding up to expose the Vof his hips and a little strip of his stomach that Blaine just wants to nuzzle along with his nose, trail kisses along the waistband, lick long and warm over the soft skin until Kurt's shuddering and pleading.

"You hate being called 'babe', you think it's degrading. You don't like being fucked into the mattress, you like lying on your back or me lying on my back so we can face each other and hold hands and kiss and look into each other's eyes. You don't like being told how, in his words, 'fucking tight' you are, you like being told how beautiful you are and how amazing and hot you sound and how good you make me feel. And when you're really turned on, you can't move, you just scream and moan and beg for more, and you don't move again until you come."

A blush nestles high in Kurt's cheek, and he smiles, wide and bright and dizzyingly happy, and Blaine can't help but smile back, warmth swelling in his heart and spreading through his body, right to the tips of his fingers and toes, because it's the first time he's seen Kurt smile at him since they broke up, and it feels like the whole world has just been placed into the palm of his hand.

He looks at Kurt, sees the black material stretching over his legs, the skin exposed by the too-small shirt, patches of his chest showing in gaps between buttons, his loose hair falling over his forehead and lending a false innocence to his appearance, lips wet and swollen and bitten red, eyes still a little dark and hazy, and his heart pounds so fast he thinks it might fly right out of the cage of his chest, and his head swims a little, and he just wants, wants to reach out and touch and taste and give and take until they can barely even remember their own names.

He doesn't see how Kurt's eyes darken with his, his tongue darting out to lick over his lower lip, and he doesn't feel it until Kurt's hand clamps down over his thigh and Kurt's lips are on his, hot and wet and wonderfully familiar, sucking hard over his top lip before parting them and sliding his tongue into Blaine's mouth as Blaine groans faintly, hands flying up to bunch into the fabric of Kurt's shirt, clinging tight to him and trying to press into him, wanting more, moremoremoreof this precious feeling and this precious man, wrapped up in each other until they can't tell where one of them ends and the next begins.

"One last time," he breathes out into Kurt's hair as Kurt pitches forward, lips attaching themselves to the hollow at the base of his neck, kissing and licking there, scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh. "Please, let me make love to you one last time. I can't bear the thought of never getting to touch you again."

Kurt starts back, and his eyes are molten with lust, and they hold some facet of betrayal, anger, miserable bitterness, but they're heavy-lidded with want and maybe, if Blaine looks hard enough, he can find some grain of love deep in those irises too. "Okay," he says, barely a breath in the still quiet of the apartment. "A last time."

Blaine scrambles without an ounce of dignity to rid himself of every barrier between his naked body and Kurt's naked body, and it would be humiliating, the way he nearly trips over himself wriggling out of his jeans, and very nearly hits his head off the dresser pulling his socks off, if Kurt's eyes weren't heavy on him, fond and shameless in their wanting for him. Kurt strips too, although he's barely redressed himself, tossing the shirt and yoga pants aside without a second thought and opening his arms and his heart as Blaine almost collapses on top of him, kissing fervent and passionate, fisting his hands through the silky smoothness of Kurt's hair and trying to press him closer, feel every inch of Kurt's mouth against his as his already hard cock rubs over Kurt's hip and they groan together, Kurt's hand leaving his back briefly to grope blindly before pressing a half-empty bottle of lube into his hand.

Blaine takes the bottle, but lays it down by his thigh, winking mischievously up at Kurt's perplexed face, his brow wrinkled adorably. "Not yet," he whispers, kissing a trail down Kurt's chest and pillowing his chin of Kurt's stomach, looking up to see his head tilted back, exposing the sinful curve of his unmarked neck, his eyelashes brushing his cheek and a faint moan dancing in his next exhale. "I'm going to make this perfect for you."

He kisses everywhere he can, everywhere he knows, sucking a dark bruise beneath Kurt's right nipple that has him arching and whining softly, his nails digging viciously into Blaine's back as he clings to him, scraping long red lines along the skin as Blaine moves down, licking over Kurt's stomach just like he wanted to, tracing the lines of his hipbones with delicate fingers, kissing the soft skin on the insides of his thighs before turning his attention to Kurt's cock, flushed dark and jutting proudly up towards his navel. "God, can there be anyone as beautiful naked as you?" he asks himself as he licks over the head of Kurt's cock, tasting the precome pearling at the tip and revelling in Kurt's gravelly moan. "You are so beautiful, Kurt. There's no one like you, I promise."

Kurt's fingers wrap greedily through his curls, still crackling with gel, as he tugs hard to drag Blaine up for a kiss, shuddering beneath him as Blaine draws slow circles around his nipples, pinching them between finger and thumb and groaning with Kurt when his hips thrust up into Blaine's slightly, slotting their cocks together just right.

"Take me now," Kurt whispers, voice thick with lust that spins heady around them, blurring Blaine's vision and making his head swim with sheer need. "Like this, on top of me and looking at me and all around me. Please, Blaine, just be mine."

"Yours, Kurt, always yours," Blaine promises, kissing the most apparently random of places: the scar on Kurt's neck, the scar slashed across his shoulder from a particularly vicious locker shove, the scars on his wrists, a bruise low down on his ribs that Kurt giggles over and whispers is from knocking his hip against a door during a hasty departure when he was late for work. "No one else's." He means it, he does, because warming lube between his fingers and kissing skin and laughing as a boy squirms away with a bell toll of breathless giggles will never feel as right as it does with Kurt, can never feel the same, holds with it companionship and warmth and love rather than clinical cold and aching regret, as it was the last time he lay in bed with someone else.

"Shit," Kurt gasps sharply when Blaine's first finger slides into him, his nails clenching into Blaine's back, no doubt leaving behind reddening crescent-shaped marks in the wanting flesh. "Oh, Blaine. Bef-before...before October, thought about you every night. About us. About this, oh."

"You had the time and the space and the privacy to jerk off while living with Rachel Berry in an apartment with no walls?" Blaine asks, faintly impressed, as he grins down at Kurt. Kurt slaps him across the back and Blaine laughs loudly, pressing a kiss to Kurt's mouth just because he can, because his heart is swelling with love for him.

"You have no idea how quiet I can be," Kurt teases, then groans loudly when Blaine retracts his fingers to add more lube, shaking his head and begging, "No no no no, put it back in, put it back in!"

"Mm, too bad I like it when you're loud," Blaine observes with an arched eyebrow, leaning back over Kurt to kiss him as he pushes two fingers into him carefully, twisting and scissoring and stretching, adding a third, then a fourth, going with the rhythm of Kurt's moans, the aching twist of his body and the desperate fervour of his occasional spoken pleas to dictate what he does, focusing on all the ways he knows to make Kurt arch into his touch, writhe and squirm and nearly bite through his leap to muffle screams of pleasure. "Don't keep quiet for anyone's sake, baby. I want to hear you."

A white-hot flash of pleasure crosses Kurt's face, shines bright in his eyes, and a scream is ripped from his lips, pressing back against Blaine's fingers, head tossing from side to side and fingers curling, clenching into the sheets. "Blaine, oh God, right there!"

"Condoms?" Blaine asks desperately, arousal pulsing like lightning through him as Kurt screams for him, body thrashing and back arching so high it looks almost painful, for him. Kurt points to the nightstand wordlessly, crying out when Blaine has to pull his fingers out to dive desperately for the drawer, wrestling with the handle to grab a condom out of the open box, rip the wrapper open with trembling fingers, so turned on and so desperate he can hardly see straight, and roll it onto himself.

He turns back to see Kurt thrusting his own fingers in and out of his slick hole, eyes closed in ecstasy, a growl rumbling deep in Blaine's chest as he bats Kurt's hand away and curls his hands around Kurt's shoulders, pushing down gently as he pushes in until he's fully-sheathed, both of them trembling and holding each other's gaze. After a moment for them both to adjust to a sensation they've thought of in dreams, realising the reality is so much better, Kurt raises his head to brush his lip gently over Blaine, barely a kiss as much of a caress. "M-move."

Blaine obeys, tangling their fingers together and lowering his head to kiss Kurt slow and passionate as he thrusts slowly and rhythmically into Kurt, eyelids fluttering at the return of this moment, his entire being awash with love and passion and the flood of Kurt, tight and hot and perfect around him, so beautiful beneath him with his hair wild, his skin slick with sweat, his eyes dark, his lips parted and wet and swollen and begging, and bruises blooming beneath his nipples, on the side of his neck, the inside of his thigh, his shoulder, his bicep, ringed with the marks of Blaine's teeth.

Kurt screams out then, against Blaine's mouth, his fingers tugging hard on Blaine's hair almost painful as he stills, so turned on he can't move, frozen into the bed and screaming, his shriek echoing off the walls of the apartment. It's not even coherent words, just half-expletives and utterances of Blaine's name and long strings of vowels, his nail digging deep into Blaine's back as his fingers scrabble desperately at the sweat-slick skin, and he comes with a high, thready shout, his nails ripping red lines into Blaine's back, muscles tightening around Blaine's cock to just the right side of painful as Blaine comes into the condom, collapsing onto Kurt, surrounded and savouring and spent. "I love you, so much," he whispers exhaustedly.

"I can't say it back," Kurt says hesitantly. "Not yet. I'm not sure, Blaine. It still hurts, and I'm still angry, but I...I want to try again with you." Blaine sits immediately upright, a smile spreading across his face.

"Really?!" he exclaims, voice higher than usual with excitement. Kurt smiles fondly at him and squeezes his hand.

"Really really," he promises. "You're hard to let go."