In retrospect, Kurt shouldn't have trusted other people's schedules. Shouldn't have left his bedroom door open, shouldn't have had the music so loud, shouldn't have been doing this to Blaine for the first time ever without absolute certainty of privacy for as much time it would take. And he shouldn't have lost himself so far in the act that he was oblivious to everything else but Blaine, Blaine, Blaine...

But he was lost, nearly as lost to it as Blaine was.

The seed had been planted several weeks ago when Blaine, so sweet and pliable after sex and in that hazy post-orgasmic state of nothing but trust and love, had confessed his desire to Kurt.

"You know how when you're fingering me before we..." Blaine trailed off to press the curve of his smile against Kurt's sweaty skin as they cooled down. "...fuck," Blaine finished lazily, savoring that word as if it were the most decadent and delicious thing he could possibly have in his mouth.

"Mmm?" Kurt replied, shivering a little at the growing chill across his damp skin. He felt stark and bare everywhere Blaine wasn't pressed against him or touching him or kissing him. He tightened the arm he had wrapped around Blaine, ran his fingertips lightly over the solid curve of Blaine's bicep.

"Have you ever thought about just doing that to me? Only more?"

Kurt considered it. He'd thought about doing a lot of things with Blaine. To Blaine. "You mean fingering you until you come?" Kurt asked. He had definitely thought about that, wondered if he could bring Blaine to orgasm without touching his cock, thought it might be easier to accomplish just using his fingers.

Blaine shook his head and pressed his forehead against Kurt's chest. "No, not quite. Like, if instead of stopping when I'm ready for your cock, you kept going, kept stretching me out. Gave me more."

"More?"

"Of your fingers." Blaine reached for the hand Kurt had resting low across his waist. He took each of Kurt's fingers, in turn, between his thumb and forefinger, slid that loose grasp down the length of each. Then started over again.

"Oh, you want me to use more than two?" Kurt's pamphlets had told him two was generally enough to enable anal penetration comfortably, and it had been working well for them so far. But he knew how the stretch felt good, liked to sometimes use three on himself while masturbating. "Three or? How many do you want?"

Blaine moved his hand on Kurt's, gathering Kurt's fingers and thumb together and wrapping his hand snug around them. "I want all of them, Kurt."

Kurt felt his eyes widen. "Oh," he breathed out with barely any voice behind it. "You mean—?"

"Fisting," Blaine said, because he always knew the right words for sex related things and was always comfortable using those words even when Kurt wasn't.

"Blaine," Kurt said. He wasn't honestly fond of the word; it sounded violent, like you were punching someone in the ass. But when he thought of it as simply giving Blaine more of his touch and inside, that was... Well that was hot. "You want my whole hand?" Kurt asked. "Inside you?"

Blaine dragged the grip on Kurt's hand down to Kurt's fingertips and off, and then he shifted, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down into Kurt's eyes calmly and with utter certainty. "Yes."

And that was how they ended up here, where they were now, with Blaine on his belly, spread out on Kurt's bed, and Kurt kneeling behind him, between his thighs, generously adding more lube to the gloved fingers of one hand (it seemed safer this way, for even though Kurt had given himself a neat, close manicure that same morning, just the thought of accidentally scratching Blaine inside made Kurt a little queasy, so he was wearing a thin surgical glove for this).

Blaine was now taking three fingers easily, so Kurt was tucking his pinky in alongside, and then holding his breath as he pressed back into the slick heat and clench of Blaine's body slowly, watching how marvelously Blaine opened up for him. His free hand he rested on Blaine's hip, as if that touch could somehow anchor them both. Kurt's pulse was high and rapid in his throat as his hand disappeared up to his second knuckles and he met resistance. "Still okay, baby?" he asked, stopping the push in and just holding steady against Blaine, squeezed his hip gently. Could feel Blaine's muscles trembling with fatigue, trying futilely to shut around his hand. Past that tension, Blaine was yielding and soft and so hot.

It took Blaine some time to gather himself enough to respond. He was panting against one of Kurt's pillows, shimmering with perspiration, and twitching with the effort to keep from squirming. His fingers were curled tight into Kurt's duvet, clinging to it like it was all that kept him afloat. Kurt watched what he could see of Blaine's side-turned face, saw the furrow of his brow, the way his tongue peeked out to moisten his lips, the flutter of his eyelashes as he forced himself to open his glassy eyes. "Yes," he said. "More, Kurt, please."

"There's no pain?" Kurt asked.

Blaine shook his head and mumbled almost drunkenly, though he was sober, "A little ache, but it's good. No pain. It feels so good, Kurt. I can take more."

"Okay," Kurt said and stared down at his hand as he added a little pressure back. But not, he hoped, too much. He didn't want to break Blaine, and Kurt was being so very, very careful. But it was still daunting, to be trusted to give someone this much. "You feel incredible," Kurt said. "It's amazing, touching you like this."

With those words, Kurt felt Blaine's body give in to him a little more, just enough so that Kurt's hand slid deeper as Blaine unfurled impossibly more for him, and Kurt watched Blaine swallow him up to his third knuckles. He stopped then, gawking, astonished. Rubbed Blaine's overheated skin with his thumb and shifted his hand, pulling out just a fraction, and then pushing back in to sultry enveloping heat.

"Wow," Kurt said softly at the way Blaine was yielding to the thick intrusion. "Oh." Kurt felt dizzy, transfixed. His free hand he slid from Blaine's hip and flattened across the small of Blaine's back, holding him steady as he moved the other, twisting a little as he eased out, flexing his fingers best he could against the tight constriction before pushing back in as far as he could reach.

Blaine was moaning, long and low. "Kurt... oh god. Kurt," he whimpered, writhing into the bedding, gasping and groaning and nearly choking on the air.

"So beautiful," Kurt said, making short, easy stokes in and out of Blaine's ass, opening him up a little more so Kurt would be able to give him everything. "So amazing."

Blaine was beyond words, beyond hearing the praise. Each breath punched out of his lungs as a staccato, "Ah!" Every inhale was a harsh, labored drag.

"Feels good, baby?" Kurt asked.

Blaine's reply was little more than garbled, desperate sounds of entreaty.

"I think you're ready for the rest," Kurt said. He could feel it now that they'd been doing this tonight, just how Blaine's body adapted to his touch, gradually moving from opposition to acceptance. Kurt took a deep, slow breath as he eased his hand out far enough he could fold his thumb in. He couldn't take his gaze off Blaine's rim, how it clung and valiantly still tried to close as the thickness of his fingers tapered down to to his fingertips. Then he watched how it expanded as he reversed the movement and pressed back inside. When he hit resistance this time, Kurt didn't pause, just eased up. Blaine made an unnerving noise, a low-pitched, full-throated, endless seeming wail as Kurt got to the widest part of his hand. It seemed like forever they were caught there, Blaine forced open so wide around his entire hand, sobbing, tormented, pleading.

And then Kurt was through and sliding in. He gaped as his hand disappeared, as the perfect sublime heat of Blaine welcomed him so deep inside. He felt Blaine flexing all around him, throbbing, vital, and luxurious. Kurt watched the bump of his wrist bone pressing flush against Blaine's flesh in a wholly new way, and he was simply dumbfounded by it all.

That was when Kurt should have heard the front door, but he didn't. He was wholeheartedly captivated, and Blaine was so far gone, in some altered state of ecstatic agony, a nuclear bomb could have detonated and he wouldn't have noticed.

Kurt started to move his hand, uncertain exactly how to best proceed, if he should reach deeper and reform his fingers into a different shape, or just do this relatively gentle slide for a while. He tried thrusting a little quicker, a little longer, working himself up to pushing forward again, past his wrist. And Blaine keened like a banshee, stumbling over fragments of words, aborted sentences, and Kurt's name. Kurt rubbed Blaine's lower back and opened his mouth to say something, anything, when—

"Kurt?" his Dad said from behind him.

A nuclear bomb would have been less horrifying.

Kurt froze, and for that he was proud of himself. How easy it would have been, in his abrupt state change from blissful daze to abject panic, to have snatched his hand back to himself, leaving Blaine... It wasn't worth thinking about. So Kurt froze. He had the wherewithal to move the rest of himself to break the line of sight from his open door to where they were connected.

"Dad?" Kurt squeaked. Squeaked.

At that, Blaine came back to himself enough to manage a "Wha...?" He tried to get his legs beneath himself, groaned like an injured animal, and Kurt pressed firmly against his back to stop him moving farther. Kurt wasn't sure what to do about his other hand, the one inside, so he just left it there, didn't move a muscle. "Shh, honey, wait," Kurt said to him softly, wasn't certain Blaine could hear him.

Oh, god. Of all the things for his Dad to walk in on. "Dad? Could you please—?"

"I'll, uh, be downstairs," his Dad said, and Kurt, mercifully, heard his door click shut.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, worried. He hoped Blaine had reassembled his neurons into a mode up to accomplishing basic language processing. "Honey?"

"Was that your Dad?" Blaine asked, trying once more to get up, and ending up collapsing with an emphatic, "Fuck."

"Yes," Kurt said. "Hold still, let me..." Gently, so gently, and so slowly, Kurt withdrew his hand. Blaine hissed at it coming out. Kurt couldn't imagine how it would feel, going from overfull to completely empty like that. He stroked Blaine's thigh with his clean hand. "I am so sorry," he said.

"Oh, no," Blaine mumbled as he turned to his side with a wince, and those two words, softly spoken, somehow were able to encompass the complete devastating mortification of the moment.

Kurt stripped off the glove and got up to put it in his waste basket. At least he still had his pants and undershirt on. Blaine was completely nude. Kurt grabbed the packet of hand wipes from the night table and knelt behind Blaine, giving his hip a gentle push.

"How much did he see?" Blaine asked, tipping forward far enough that Kurt could clean him up.

"I'm not sure," Kurt said, gingerly wiping up the lube between Blaine's buttocks, taking extra care around his anus where he was so swollen. "More than enough, I'd say." Kurt tossed the used towelette toward the trash and bent to kiss Blaine's shoulder before he got up and looked around for his shirt.

"Oh, god," said Blaine miserably. Kurt passed him his underwear.

"Are you all right?" he asked Blaine, pausing in his clothing hunt to reach for Blaine, to comb his fingers through Blaine's hair, coaxing him to look up at Kurt. "Physically, anyway?"

"Yeah, I think so," Blaine said, meeting Kurt's eyes and trying to rally a smile, but he only managed to look more miserable.

Kurt slid his hand down to cup Blaine's jaw. "I really hate to leave you like this, but I'd better, um." Kurt nodded toward the door. "Face the music."

Blaine turned his head, pressed a dry kiss to the heel of Kurt's hand. Then he looked back up and said, "Yeah, yeah, go. I'll just sneak out the window and never return? Find a circus to join?"

Kurt smiled tenderly at that. "No, don't do that. I'll try to smooth things out, make sure he won't say anything to you. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Kurt left Blaine on the bed while he pulled on his shirt and waistcoat, put his shoes back on. Then he went to the bathroom to wash up and fix his hair. Then he went downstairs.

He found his father standing in the kitchen, braced on his arms leaning against the sink, staring out the window. His Dad was in a dark suit, his tie loosened and his head bare. Just back from D.C.— he must have caught an earlier flight.

Kurt reminded himself neither he nor Blaine had done anything wrong. His Dad already knew they were sexually active. That didn't change the fact that of all the things he and Blaine had done together so far, this was by far most intimate, most private, and most easily misconstrued moment anyone could have possibly interrupted. Silently, Kurt wished there were a God so he could pray to be struck down by a freak bolt of lightning. No such luck, so he'd have to be brave instead. Brave for Blaine, he reminded himself. That made it easier.

"Hey, Dad," he said cautiously from the arch separating the dining room from the kitchen. "Uh, I really don't know what to say right now."

His Dad kept staring out the window.

"I didn't think you were going to be home until after dinner," Kurt said. "I'm sorry for whatever you may have seen."

His Dad turned, his expression unreadable. "I didn't see that much, Kurt," he said, and Kurt doubted that were true.

Kurt nodded and hugged himself. He exhaled shakily. "Okay," he said.

"Just, next time, you make sure you close the door, okay?" His Dad smiled weakly.

Something not entirely unlike relief washed over Kurt. "We will, I promise," he said, and he returned the smile as best he could.

His Dad stood, considering him for a long while, as if there were something else he wanted to say. Kurt's smile faltered and he dropped his gaze down to the floor, feeling so transparent and young and strange in front of his Dad.

"Kurt?"

"Yes, Dad?"

He heard his father sigh. "Whatever it is you guys decide to do together. I want you to be safe, all right? I don't want anyone getting, you know, hurt. 'Cause I promise you, Kurt, that's not a fun trip to the ER."

Kurt closed his eyes. "I know, and we are. Dad. We're always so very..." Kurt's breath gave out in a hiccup of embarrassment. He paused to inhale but finished in a whisper anyway, "...careful with each other"

"Okay, good. That's... Okay."

"Okay," Kurt echoed, making himself look back up, making himself speak as if this were all fine and normal. As if he were a confident adult. "I should go back up and make sure Blaine hasn't died of humiliation."

"Yeah, okay, go take care of him," his Dad said, more strength in his smile.

Kurt turned to leave.

"And Kurt?" his Dad called after him.

Kurt stopped. "Yes, Dad?"

"You tell Blaine he's welcome to stay for dinner."

"I will, Dad," Kurt said and twisted to look back over his shoulder. "And... Thank you," he said.

His Dad nodded. "You're welcome, son."

the end