Are you ready for, ready for ...

A perfect storm, a perfect storm …

'Cause once you’re mine, once you’re mine …

There’s no going back …

“Ugh,” Blaine groans, reaching out a blind hand in search of his phone. When he can’t locate it by touch alone, the rest of his body follows – his head turns on his neck, his shoulders roll, his torso mirroring a half-minute later. “Where the fuck …?”

“No. You’re moving,” Kurt grumbles. “Why are you … why are you moving?”

“Don’t you hear my alarm?”

“I hear it,” Kurt says. “I just choose to ignore it.”

“Kurt …”

“It’s Katy Perry,” Kurt points out. “Between you and Rachel, that woman seems to run on a never ending loop in this place. She’s easy to block out.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Well, you’re latched on to me like a lamprey …”

“That’s a very unflattering image, thank you very much.”

“… and I really need to get up now.”

“No,” Kurt pouts, rolling on top of Blaine’s legs to keep him pinned. “Stay home.”

“I can’t.” Blaine chuckles. “I have to go to class. And you do, too, I might add.”

“All I have this morning is Intro to Opera and Freeform Jazz Tap. And you do, too, I might add,” Kurt mimics, “since you decided to weed your way into eight of my ten classes. We can miss them just this once. Show up in time for Mime.”

“But we really shouldn’t miss them,” Blaine says. “Finals are just around the corner, and I, for one, need all the help I can get.”

“Yeah, right,” Kurt huffs.

Blaine tosses the blankets off the both of them, trying to prompt Kurt to get up. When the chill in the air hits an exposed sliver of Kurt’s back, he peeks up at Blaine and scowls.

“It’s too cold,” Kurt complains, grabbing for the blanket with one hand and dragging it back over them.

“It’ll be warmer at NYADA,” Blaine says, tossing the blanket again.

Kurt whimpers, but Blaine refuses to be swayed. He moves one leg, trying to get his foot on the floor, but Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s legs and holds on so tight, Blaine hears Kurt’s elbow crack.

“Kurt Elizabeth Hummel!” Blaine scolds, but with a giggle. “Stop playing games and get out of this bed right now!”

“Playing games,” Kurt mutters. “I’ll show you playing games.” He pulls the blanket up over them again, but this time, he tucks it in on all sides.

“That’s really mature,” Blaine remarks.

“Well, if you want me to be mature, you should have just said so,” he hears Kurt mumble from beneath the blanket. “I’ll show you mature.” That’s when Blaine feels Kurt’s mouth cover his flaccid cock over his pajama pants, the heat of his breath bleeding through the flannel. Blaine sucks in when Kurt’s tongue snakes to the underside of his crotch to lick and tease.

“Uh … uh, Kurt,” Blaine stammers, his voice hitching up a notch when Kurt adds more pressure. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m being mature,” Kurt growls against Blaine’s cock, which isn’t so flaccid anymore.

“Th-that’s …” Blaine clears his voice, trying to get back his authoritative tone “… that’s not quite what I meant.”

Kurt doesn’t answer. Slowly, his long fingers crawl their way to Blaine’s waist band and tug down.

“Kurt?” Blaine whimpers, realizing that whatever control he thought he had in this scenario has flown straight out the window, even more so when Kurt’s lips find his cock and begin suckling the head. “Kurt,” Blaine moans, grabbing the sheets and holding on for the ride. But really, were they in any danger of making their morning classes today? The second Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s legs, it was pretty much decided. “That’s not … you’re not playing fair.”

Kurt switches from suckling to light licks and long sucks. “Who said anything about fair?”