i
Blaine's skin tasted tangy; sweat mingled in with the taste of sex, leaving behind an erotic flavor in Kurt's mouth. One he kept coming back to as he licked hot, wet stripes along the base of Blaine's neck. Blaine's skin felt warm, tasted warm: like warmth. It tasted alive, a pleasant reminder that caused a shiver to run up the spine of Kurt's back, teeth scraping alongside the rough texture of his tongue on Blaine's chest. The skin tasted alive, reminding him that this was real. This was reality.
ii
It was filthy, in the good way. Oh, in such a good way. The organ stuffed in his mouth pulsated hotly, bitter saltiness overriding his taste buds as he swallowed around Blaine. His eyelashes fluttered, making a low sound of protest deep in his throat as calloused - but gentle - hands winded themselves in his not-so-perfect-anymore hair. Sucking in his cheeks, he caused them to hollow out, watching as Blaine's head tilted backwards, a guttural groan escaping. Kurt's cheeks took on the same tint of red that Blaine's cock was, his tongue swirling around the tip in his mouth as if he were a little kid, sucking on his favorite flavor of lollipop. The heavy weight of Blaine's cock was addicting, and usually he'd find something so musky repelling, but this he could just not get enough of. Especially when he could watch Blaine slowly unravel, unwind, and relax, looking up at the curly haired boy even as he was marked by warm, white wetness.
iii
Nipping and licking across the sweet trails of Blaine's skin, and swallowing, sucking his bitter - addicting - seed compared to nothing, nothing when pitched against Kurt's favorite. Kurt's favorite was undoubtedly the taste of peppermint. Peppermint mixed in with the sharp taste of black coffee. Sometimes something new was added to the mix, more often than not Blaine's cherished Red Vines. A flavor he got when he rode Blaine from a soft, sweet and gentle rocking to a rough, sharp thrusting. A flavor he tasted whenever moans bubbled up from the depths of his throat, his chest, and something had to keep him quiet, something had to drink his noises in and keep them there forever, all the while eliciting more of the sweet music. Something he cherished and gave back with a flavor of his own when they were close, so close, and he would be so near to Blaine, that he could count all the speckles of green in his irises. It was his favorite flavor because it was the taste of boys lips, of Blaine's lips when he kissed him soft and sweet, a hand snaking across his waist and grabbing hold of Kurt's cock, pumping him to climax as he whispered, with so much fondness, "I love you." And they would come, together, their groans intermingling and wisping away into the air, bodies going lax and limp.
iiii
Once upon a time, there was a young teenage boy named Kurt Hummel who asked a girl what a boy's lips tasted like.
It wasn't until he met Blaine that he realized they did not, in fact, taste like root beer or armpits.
They tasted like sweet peppermint. They tasted right. And above it all, they tasted like love.