A/N: A "Heart" speculation fic is what you find below… Basically, in the promo, Kurt Hummel drops to his knees on stage to sing "tin roof rusted" and his voice is just unbelievable and it made me all tingly so I decided it would Blaine even crazier! Crazy enough to corner his beloved boyfriend in the bathroom of McKinley and give him a blowjob.

Enjoy!

It wasn't his fault.

Honestly. It just wasn't.

He'd been in that bed for what felt like months, feeling gross and being in pain. Even when Kurt had been there with him, all they'd done—all he'd had the energy to do—was cuddle, watch movies, and talk. Earlier, pre-surgery, there had been blowjobs and handjobs and whispering naughty things to each other. They'd even had phone sex again, which was, quite frankly, fucking awesome. But then Blaine had gone into surgery. And then recovery.

So Kurt had hung out with the girls and with Finn and Rory while Blaine was bedridden. He'd dropped by to check on him a few times, kiss his forehead, tell him he loved him and couldn't wait for him to be back at school, but that was it. Nothing else. Just. That.

And so when Blaine got to take off the patch, he felt elated. Overjoyed, overwhelmed even, with the fact that he got to go back to school and see Kurt.

But back to the fact: it wasn't his fault.

It had been so long and Kurt was so hot—his voice, his body—

He'd fallen to his knees on stage to sing those three words and his fucking voice when he growled out "rusted" had made Blaine suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he was sporting a very difficult to conceal erection but he had just…frozen. His jaw on the floor, his eyes popping out, practically drooling—

Because Kurt Hummel was the finest male specimen to ever exist. And he was Blaine's.

So when Blaine yanked him off that stage and pulled him through the crowd without so much as a word, it really wasn't his fault.

Hormones. Definitely hormones.

It was the fact that he was a teenage boy with a hot boyfriend that he had sex with and so, really, who could blame him for having an extremely physical reaction to the fact that said boyfriend was on his knees, head tossed back in the head, holding a fucking microphone—phallic symbols, anyone?—and belting out delicious notes with his hot as fuck voice? No one. Not a soul on the planet could blame him. Because, for the last time, it wasn't his fault.

"Blaine Anderson!"

"Shut up, Kurt," Blaine said for what felt like the hundredth time. His hand had captured Kurt's moments before and then they were stumbling through the people, half running, half tripping, getting out into the hall, and racing towards…something. Blaine just hadn't figured out what yet.

"But, Blaine—"

The choir room was locked. All of the classrooms were locked. The only thing Blaine could think of that would be available… Huh. Cliché, but not unwelcome. Not if it got him exactly what he needed.

The shorter boy halted, pulling Kurt towards him and laying one on him. It was fast and closemouthed but Kurt was so surprised by the gesture that he took a step backwards with shaky legs, saying, "Blaine, we're at school—"

"Do you trust me?" Blaine interrupted. Somehow their hands had fallen apart during the kiss and so he held his out again. His eyes were intense—dark with blown pupils—and his lips were open and wet from when he had licked them after the kiss.

Kurt's gaze went from Blaine's face to the hand and back again. They were in the hallway of McKinley—something that shouldn't have made Kurt so uneasy but it did because they had just kissed and yet no one was yelling at them or mocking them so that was kind of weird—with lockers lined with pink, red, and silver balloons, teenagers paired off and making out in random corners or wherever they could get privacy and… It was surreal.

"Kurt?" His eyes focused on Blaine's again. "Do you trust me?" he repeated.

Without hesitation—because he suddenly felt extremely safe—Kurt slipped his hand into Blaine's. "Of course."

Grinning, Blaine pulled him farther down the hall and then, barely twenty paces later, they were shoving open the door of the men's restroom and Blaine was walking down the row, kicking open stall doors.

Kurt stood there, staring. It was ridiculous. Blaine couldn't be planning—they couldn't—at school—practically in public—

But the evident hunger in Blaine's eyes and the suddenly obvious strain of his trousers told Kurt otherwise. He was about to open his mouth to say something, anything, because he just needed to make sure he understood what was about to happen, but Blaine's hands were on his shoulders, shoving him against the wall off to the left of the sinks and the door, before he fell to his knees.

Kurt gave an undignified squeak and Blaine looked up at him, pausing.

"Something wrong?"

Kurt had to fight past his thoughts—Holy shit, Blaine's going to give me a blowjob in a school bathroom; Wow, he looks ridiculously attractive in that hat, wait, why is he still wearing the hat? Oh, fuck, blowjob—to say, "The door doesn't lock."

Blaine's eyebrows shot up as if to say That's it?

"What if—?"

"Everyone's at the dance, Kurt."

"But—"

So then Blaine was on his feet again, kissing him soundly, pressing every inch of their bodies together so that Kurt could feel, against his thigh, just how hard his boyfriend was. When they broke apart, breathing heavily, Blaine whispered, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes. I—yes."

"You…" Groaning softly, he let his head fall to Kurt's shoulder, mouth placing lazy kisses along the fabric of his shirt and then up to his neck. Blaine's fedora was pushed around awkwardly until he finally took it off, throwing it onto the ground without interrupting the gentle kissing. "You took such good care of me, Kurt. Now I want to take care of you."

"You don't have to—"

"I know." Blaine's voice was suddenly serious. His eyes, when he looked up to Kurt, were less black and more of that beautiful, creamy, golden brown that Kurt loved so much. "But I want to. Let me?"

"I… I suppose so…"

Blaine's smirk was more than amused. He was pleased. He was grateful. And when he fell back down to his knees, he gazed up at Kurt with admiration, trust, love—and Kurt felt his heart expand in his chest.

One thing that Kurt had learned early on was that Blaine's internal monologue was suddenly very external when he was doing anything to Kurt. Whenever he was naked, it was like his filter was just completely gone. Rambling and ranting and moaning and panting and begging and pleading—Blaine did it. All of it. And so it really wasn't a shock when Blaine got his hands into Kurt's pants and began the speech.

"You're so hot, Kurt," he muttered, yanking Kurt's waistband down to mid-thigh. "You have no idea. I think about this all the time. About being on knees in front of you, about blowing you, about having you across my lips, in my mouth, on my tongue, and then in my throat. It's what I think about in class when I just can't focus on anything but how hot you looked when I kissed you good morning in your car. It's what I fantasize about at home. It's what I want all the time, Kurt. I just want to keep you in my mouth all the time."

"Blaine," Kurt whined, head falling back against the wall behind him. "Oh, god—"

"Gotta be quiet, baby." And with that, Kurt was in his mouth and he was holding onto Kurt's hips.

Kurt hadn't even registered the fact that Blaine had managed to get his pants and his boxer briefs down far enough. He'd been too focused on the words coming from Blaine's lips—the lips that were now tight around him, taking him into the hot, wet perfection of his mouth—

"Blaine," he rasped, dragging out the sound so that the middle of his name sounded like a moan.

Blaine's hips arched into the air, searching for friction, for relief, for something because he was going to die if he didn't cool down just a little bit. But it was, at the same time, an exquisite blend of torture and fulfillment. The noises Kurt was making were beautiful no matter restrained they were. When Kurt's hips jerked forward involuntarily, Blaine couldn't help but moan.

Kurt hissed Blaine's name again, hands falling onto the other boy's shoulders. "You—fuck—Blaine!"

He didn't stop. Wouldn't. Couldn't. He made indecent slurping noises, guttural moans, lewd whines, and then a hand from Kurt's hip came down to his own jeans, palming over his crotch for a moment. Just that was fantastic. Already, he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin, because it had been too long since they'd done anything, and so he just wasn't going to last. Plain and simple. What was not so simple was the fact that he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Kurt didn't last either.

"Blaine, please—"

The hand that wasn't urgently fumbling with his own belt squeezed Kurt's hip before he sunk further down and swallowed around the bit of Kurt that was in his throat.

Kurt made a sound as if he was in pain—a mix of a whine, a grunt, and a sob—and Blaine knew that Kurt was close. So he backed off, letting Kurt slide back over his tongue and out of his mouth until he was lapping at the head.

They were making far too much noise. Anyone could walk in, anyone could catch them, and maybe that was why there was that sense of urgency. But more than likely it was the fact that they just really, really needed to come.

"I love you so much," Kurt gasped.

It made Blaine's heart ache. They'd said it a million times—whispered it into skin, proclaimed it at the top of their lungs all alone in the park at midnight, said it with goodnight or goodbye, meant it every time—and yet it never failed to make Blaine fall even more in love. He was pretty sure that he would've reached the limit by now. He loved Kurt to the ends of the galaxy, loved him with everything he had, loved him desperately and deeply, loved him so much that it hurt, but it grew. All the time.

Nuzzling Kurt's hip as he worked his hand into his pants, he whispered, "Love you more, Kurt."

"Blaine," Kurt laughed quietly, "your voice."

It was deep, raspy, broken, and Blaine grinned proudly. "You're right. I shouldn't talk anymore."

It was a whirlwind of heat. Blaine's mouth over Kurt, his hand working diligently in his own lap, both of them making filthy noises, everything felt a million times hotter. It was intimate, serious, and when Blaine managed a rhythm between his mouth sliding over his boyfriend's beautiful dick and his hand over his own, he was sure he was going to fall apart in an instant.

Kurt's fingers clamped down on his shoulders. "Shit, Blaine—"

Quiet, quiet, quiet, Blaine chanted in his head. They were so close. Nothing could ruin it now. They couldn't afford it.

Everything was faster, deeper, more, more, more, and Blaine was so close; right there, right on the edge, right about to fall over into peaceful oblivion, but he wanted Kurt to get there first. When Kurt came, Blaine would. So he worked harder, used what he knew, did what drove Kurt crazy, and it was wonderful. He loved it, doing this to Kurt. He loved being the one that could drive Kurt positively insane. Loved having Kurt like that—so intimate, so perfect. Everything was perfect.

Everything was bright and pulsing and hot and god, if they were at home, if they had time, there was no way Blaine wouldn't tackle Kurt to the floor and do everything he wanted to him. Feel him, love him, enjoy him, treasure him, make him scream…

It wasn't a shock when Kurt gasped and jerked, body shuddering as he came into Blaine's mouth. Blaine swallowed eagerly and finally, finally, thrust into his own fist twice more before coming.

Everything was dark and spotty. It was all slow and thick, dreamlike, and when Blaine finally came back to himself, Kurt was cleaning his hand for him. The taller boy's cheeks were flushed, his mouth open as he caught his breath, and his lips swollen from his teeth sinking into them. He was the picture of debauchery and corruption. And Blaine wanted nothing more than to find out just how corrupted they could become.

"You are insane," Kurt told him.

"It's not my fault. You're hot. I'm a weak man."

Kurt raised his eyes to Blaine's before dropping his hand. "How you managed to not come on your shirt is beyond me."

Blaine smiled smugly. "It's a gift. Just like how you were practically screaming and yet no one barged in on us."

"Oh," Kurt moaned, going even redder with embarrassment. "Was I really that loud?"

"Yes. It was hot." Without warning, he launched himself at Kurt, kissing him thoroughly.

"You taste like—"

"I know."

"That's so hot." Kurt's hand held onto Blaine's face, kissing him again, just as deeply as before.

"Okay," Blaine laughed, pushing Kurt back a moment later. "Let's go home so we can continue this in private. You can be as loud as you want as soon as we find a door that locks, okay?"

Kurt nodded eagerly. "Oh, god, please, yes."

"I've missed you, Kurt."

"You too, Blaine."

"Love you."

With a soft, even smile, Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine's. "Love you too."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! You should all go thank Cap'NCupcake because she was the one who told me to write this sooooooooo :)

Every time someone reviews, Kurt and Blaine have sex.

Love,

E. M. Zeray

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