Title: Man of a Thousand Faces
Summary: "It's way too much and not nearly enough, all at the same time." || Or, Blaine Anderson and his insecurities. Angsty fluff?Warnings: Explicit sex.
Notes: This was written for a prompt someone left me. It gave me a lot of grief, but I think I finally wrestled it into shape.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.
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if you just hold in your breath
'til you come back up in full
hold in your breath
'til you've thought it through
you foolish child
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This isn't something they do all of the time.
They're still in that stage of exploration where each other's bodies are still new and exciting and, yes, even a little frightening at times.
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Blaine is kneeling over Kurt, face pressed into his boyfriend's neck, mouthing the sensitive skin there. His hands are around Kurt's waist, tight enough to leave little pink and white marks behind once he presses them down to the bed for leverage.
"Blaine. Blaine, please. God, move."
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Most of the time when they're both horny and willing— which, face it, they're teenage boys, which usually means whenever they're alone together— they go in for frottage. It's simple and easy, no fuss: just a little lube if they want to be fancy about it. Usually it's Blaine on his back with Kurt between his thighs, their hips rocking into each other, Kurt's hair falling into Blaine's eyes when he leans down to press their lips together.
Hands and mouths are always a plus. Hands wrapped around flesh, fingers pressing up inside. Lips and tongues below the belt, everything wet and hot and, sometimes, so much more intimate than it had any right to be.
Kurt isn't a fan of giving blowjobs; he worries too much about damaging his voice. Not to mention the one time Blaine grabbed his hair while Kurt was down there, he accidentally bit down.
Blaine isn't too big on Kurt giving blowjobs anymore, either.
On the other hand, Blaine gets obscenely enthusiastic when he has Kurt's dick in his mouth. He could spend forever on his knees, worshipping Kurt's cock. He likes the feel of it: thick and heavy on his tongue. He loves the taste: musky and male. He loves the way his eyes water when he tries to take too much at once. But he especially loves how he can make Kurt completely fall apart, knees shaking, fingers grasping, lips part in a high-pitched moan, all because of him. His mouth eager and sucking, and his fingers, one or two, always touching Kurt. His perineum, his hole. If there's lube handy, Blaine will push his fingers inside of Kurt, because that's always a surefire way to get him screaming for it.
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Blaine takes a deep breath as Kurt reaches around him to touch the place where their bodies meet, Blaine stretched out so tightly around Kurt, wet with slick and sensitive enough to give them both chills.
It's way too much and not nearly enough, all at the same time.
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Blaine is still a little uncomfortable with anal sex. Penetration. Specifically, being penetrated. It feels good, but not the same way it seems to feel good for Kurt.
Kurt can't seem to get enough of Blaine's cock, which isn't actually so much a turn on, but rather more of a point of insecurity for Blaine. He's always nervous about not being good enough, not being perfect enough. Does Kurt still like me or does he just like the sex? Is my penis big enough? Am I doing it right? Does he like me inside of him, or would any dick do?
But, for Blaine, there always seems to be more discomfort. He likes it when Kurt is inside of him— he really does. It's beyond intimacy. It isn't just sex; it's trust.
It's just that he prefers it when it only happens once in a while. It leaves him feeling raw and open. Not just mentally— ripped open and laid bare for Kurt, displaying all his faults and imperfections— but physically too, usually leaving him sore for a few days afterward.
Nothing ruins jumping on tables and couches more than a sore ass.
Kurt never seemed to find it painful at all. The first few times he said there was some discomfort, stretching where he wasn't used to there being stretching, muscles being forced to loosen and relax that were never normally made to go through what he was putting his body through. The first time Blaine been inside of Kurt like that, Kurt had been a little sore for much of the following day. And then nothing. He was fine.
Kurt had joked that he took to being fucked like a duck took to swimming.
Blaine felt like a duck who kept sinking to the bottom of the pond.
This isn't a position Blaine is unfamiliar with. But it was usually reversed. And more horizontal.
Most times, Blaine would be flat on his back, hands on Kurt's hips while Kurt fucked himself down onto Blaine's erection, taking charge and riding Blaine until he couldn't move any longer, until he was so close, his muscles tense and his toes curled, and then they would roll over. Kurt's long, limber legs would go over Blaine's shoulders and Blaine would fuck Kurt, grinding his hips down into Kurt's ass, thrusting until Kurt's mouth opened in a scream and they both came. Most of the time Kurt's own erection needed little to no attention; as long as Blaine kept up a steady rhythm, he could come without much more than the occasional thrust across his prostate.
It was amazing.
Blaine had used the word 'beautiful' to describe the way Kurt's back would arch and his eyes would roll up in pleasure one too many times for Kurt's liking, and as such, Blaine was banned from using that word in bed during and after sex. It used to be banned in bed completely, but Blaine had appealed to Kurt's vanity.
"You're very handsome," he would say, "but that's not a word to describe the way your eyes look when you just wake up." Or, "'Gorgeous' is always a thought, but doesn't have the same sort of breathtaking undertone to it that 'beautiful' has."
In the end, Blaine and 'beautiful' won out.
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Blaine rocks his hips, gasping for breath against Kurt's shoulder when the movement sends a spark of pleasure and a little bit of pain through him. He sits back, just enough to look at Kurt, and presses his fingers to Kurt's mouth, sighing happily when Kurt kisses them. He drags them lower, tugging down on Kurt's bottom lip, and, rocking his hips, leans forward and captures Kurt's mouth with his own. Kurt tastes sharp from the cinnamon mouthwash he prefers.
Blaine's kiss swiftly morphs into a low groan as Kurt's fingers dig into his ass, urging him on to move faster, harder, more.
Blaine pulls back, mid hiss-of-discomfort, and slowly drags himself up and off of Kurt completely.
"Blaine?" Kurt looks wrecked and confused.
"More lube," he explains.
Kurt fumbles for the bottle and flicks open the cap with all due haste.
"Roll over," he says, gently nudging Blaine's hip with a guiding hand. With a careful touch, he coats two of his fingers in lube and presses them to Blaine's hole, which is sore, clenching reflexively around the intrusion.
Blaine is now kneeling over Kurt's legs, hands on his calves and ankles, stroking broad sweeps over the pale, wiry hair there and around the curves of his muscles. Blaine lowers his head to the mattress between Kurt's legs and places a kiss to Kurt's instep, then higher up to his inner ankle.
"That tickles," Kurt says, toes twitching. It's not quite a complaint, but Blaine doesn't want a ticklish foot kicking him in the face by accident. He lays his head back down and goes back to petting Kurt's legs, stifling the noises that come naturally to him when Kurt's fingers are inside him.
"Despite the danger of sounding like we're in a bad porn, you are really tight," Kurt says, drizzling more lube directly between his fingers. Blaine jerks away a little at the shocking cold, but Kurt leans into it, fingers never leaving Blaine's body. "Do you want to stop?" Kurt asks, stilling his movements, but not withdrawing.
"Nah," Blaine says, shaking his head even though he doubts Kurt can see. "No. S'just cold."
He's vulnerable right now. Physically. Emotionally.
You don't get much more vulnerable than having another guy's hand up your ass. At least, that's what Blaine's thinking right at that moment. He's a little biased.
He feels Kurt place a kiss at the base of his spine. Those fingers start to move again, pressing more slick into him, stretching him open wide. A third presses in and Blaine closes his eyes, taking in the sensation.
Kurt is incredible with his fingers. They're long and strong and, somewhat surprisingly, not very dainty at all. No matter how much Kurt may try to pass them off as such.
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"A good moisturizing regimen and regular manicures do wonders for the hands," Kurt would say. Blaine had nodded along dumbly, smiling the same smile he wore whenever Kurt started talking about skin-care and moisturizers: slightly confused and a bit lost, but interested in what Kurt had to say.
Blaine used lotion only when his skin felt dry or chapped, and it was whatever brand his mother bought him. He couldn't even pronounce half the labels on Kurt's many bottles and jars.
And he had absolutely no idea what toner even was.
He had, however, sat with Kurt to watch the RENT: Filmed Live on Broadway DVD together and had allowed Kurt to give him the manicure Kurt insisted he so desperately needed. It had been nice, having Kurt's hands and attention on him the entire time.
The only thing he hadn't liked was the way Kurt scraped at his nails, but Blaine figured there had to be some sacrifices made for love. Bordering-on-painful manipulation of his fingernails was a small price to pay for an afternoon together on Blaine's bed, mocking the Roger's lack of any real talent and gushing over how cute Tracie and Eden's Joanne and Maureen were together.
"They look like they're really in love," Kurt had sighed, staring down at Blaine's nail bed with dismay. When he looked up at the tail-end of that sentence, Blaine's breath had caught, because it wasn't just the characters on the screen who were hopelessly in love.
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Kurt crooks his fingers a little, he pushes in past the resistance, and—
Blaine moans in pleasure, loud and unable to think enough to be ashamed at the noise coming from his mouth. His grip around one of Kurt's legs tightens and he scratches at the skin without trying.
"You are so hot like this," Kurt says, sounding inches away from pushing Blaine down into the bed and fucking into him. His voice is thick, and deeper than his usual airy tone, and his fingers are still pressing against Blaine from the inside, opening him up.
Blaine lets out an embarrassed laugh and caresses Kurt's leg where he's now aware of scratching, then tucks his hand under his own body, between his legs. He wraps his hand around his dick, grip tight, and jerks himself lazily. He'd softened a little when he was riding Kurt, the pain of too much friction stinging in an unpleasurable way. Now, all the careful attention Kurt is plying his body with is gradually getting him back to full hardness.
"I'm going to use some more lube," Kurt says, warning him this time. Blaine isn't startled, but he still feels a chill run down his spine when the cold, wet feeling hits him. Kurt pushes the slick deep inside of Blaine, snapping the cap shut and laying the bottle down on the bed.
He rubs Blaine's hip with his clean hand and says, "Do you think you're ready now?"
Blaine can tell Kurt isn't trying to rush him, but his voice is tight. They've both been hard for so long.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Blaine pushes himself upright, Kurt's fingers slip out of his ass, and Blaine turns around. He places his hands on Kurt's shoulders and presses down. Kurt gets the hint and lies back, forced to shimmy down the bed a little to avoid hitting the headboard.
Blaine slides down with Kurt and plasters his body against his boyfriend's, joining their mouths together. Kurt's already-slick hand goes straight to his erection and helps guide Blaine down onto him, holding the head of his cock to Blaine's hole.
Blaine forces his body to relax, slowly pushing back against Kurt's condom-clad cock. He has to stop, not even halfway down, giving his body time to get used to the full feeling. As he bears down, lowering himself the rest of the way onto Kurt, he has to sit back up, missing the taste of Kurt's mouth instantly.
But he is appreciative of the fact that he can now watch Kurt's face, and Kurt's moans are unstifled and open to the air as he grinds down into Kurt's lap.
Kurt gives his wet fingers a cursory wipe on the towel they have down on the bed, getting off all the excess lube on it.
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They use a towel every time they have sex now, ever since the one time Blaine wiped his fingers off on Kurt's sheets. Kurt had squawked unattractively the moment he noticed, and there had been a nasty argument and withholding of sex from both parties until Kurt bought a couple towels specifically for that purpose, and Blaine replaced Kurt's sheets.
(Which were Dior. Blaine hadn't known Dior even made sheets.)
Kurt had sighed at the replacements and said that they weren't the same. New sheets didn't feel as nice as old sheets and, besides, Blaine had gotten the wrong shade of eggshell blue.
Blaine had pushed Kurt against a wall after that remark and dropped to his knees, sucking Kurt's brain out through his cock so thoroughly that Kurt completely forgot that his replacement sheets weren't up to his personal standards of perfection. Kurt decided to let the matter drop once he had more than two active brain cells to rub together again and remembered why he'd been annoyed in the first place.
He doubted Blaine would have the same reaction twice in a row, and contrary to what some people might believe, he did know how to pick his battles. Occasionally.
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Kurt's hands move to Blaine's hips, helping to steady Blaine's shaky movements as Blaine works himself up and down over Kurt.
He feels shaky and strung-out, like he's taking too much and not enough all at once. He doesn't know how Kurt does this so often, because his legs are already tired and sore.
This is like the best workout ever.
Kurt's hips are jerking up against Blaine now, unable to keep still any longer. His fingers dig into Blaine's hips and then it's only a few awkward thrusts up into Blaine's ass before he's crying out, freezing up.
Blaine smiles as Kurt comes apart, fingers loosening their grip and hands falling to the mattress. Blaine grinds down until Kurt is finished, the both of them carefully rolling over until Blaine is on his back.
Kurt pulls out, careful to hold the condom in place, and Blaine lies there in bed, touching himself as he stares at Kurt move around on the bed, tying off the condom and tossing it into the bedside trash can that Blaine has begun leaving there for exactly that purpose.
"Sorry," Kurt says, looking embarrassed as he slides in between Blaine's legs, leaning down over him to touch lips. He slips a hand between them and touches Blaine's fingers, gently shooing him away to wrap his own hand around Blaine's cock.
"Don't be," Blaine says against his mouth. Kurt's hair is falling into Blaine's face, and it tickles, but Blaine doesn't reach up to brush it away, doesn't try to get Kurt to move. He likes how real it feels, Kurt's mouth on his, tongues sliding against each other. And meanwhile, Kurt needs a haircut, because if Blaine's eyes weren't closed, he'd have hair in his eyes. And Blaine likes that.
He likes that Kurt doesn't stop— stop touching him, stop kissing him. He likes that Kurt's kisses are lazy and tired, loose after orgasm, and he's got the weight of Kurt's body on his chest. He's pressed down into the mattress, pressure grounding him, everything so solid and weighted down.
Blaine doesn't have to think, he only has to lie back and enjoy what Kurt's doing to him. It's a nice feeling. No one's expecting anything from him right now, which is terrifying, but also fills him with a relief so sweet.
Blaine cries out, the noise muffled by Kurt's tongue in his mouth, and he comes. Kurt continues to touch him, jerking him off through his orgasm, come spilling onto their bellies and over Kurt's fingers. Blaine drags his head to the side and buries his face in the crook of Kurt's neck. His arms go around Kurt's waist, resting on the small of his back and holding him tight to Blaine's body.
"I love you," he mouths against the sweet, soft skin there. He doesn't speak out loud, not wanting to be heard. "I love you so much," he says without a voice.
"Hey," Kurt says, sitting up enough to see Blaine's face. He kisses Blaine's forehead with the utmost care. "You okay?"
Kurt sounds concerned, and Blaine smiles immediately, bright and cheerful, and the worry in Kurt's eyes eases.
"I'm spectacular," he says to reassure Kurt.
This is the easy part. He gets up to wipe himself off. He gets a wet cloth, warm and damp, to clean Kurt's filthy fingers, the spilled mess on his stomach. Blaine can push everything else away, everything but the need to take care of this task, the need to make sure Kurt is happy and comfortable.
"I love you," Kurt says, happiness shining through his voice.
"I love you, too."
That comes easy to him. I love you, too. Kurt puts it out there and he can say it back.
Kurt is pleased, and tries to drag Blaine down into bed with him. Blaine laughs and kisses him, but withdraws to the adjoining bathroom.
He needs to wash up. He needs a second to breathe.
Blaine takes a minute or two for himself, wiping himself down and drying off, ignoring the stinging he feels at the base of his spine. He frowns at his reflection in the mirror, fussing with the mess his hair has become. The wax and hairspray and gel he'd used that morning was mostly gone by this point, hair crusted and stiff, but out of its shape he had styled it into. Blaine combs out what he can, primping until he feels presentable for bed, and heads back to Kurt.
Kurt has already kicked the towel off the bed, the lube is sitting on Blaine's bedside table, and the blankets are up around his shoulders.
"In," Kurt orders him cheerfully, lifting up the blanket in invitation. Blaine climbs in and draws the blanket down behind him. Kurt leans in to nuzzle their noses together before rolling over, tugging on Blaine's arm to lie over him, holding Blaine's hand against his chest.
"Bossy," Blaine murmurs into Kurt's back, smiling into a shoulder blade.
"You know it," Kurt hums happily, squirming around to find the perfect spot, before finally settling down. "Set your alarm?" he asks through a yawn.
"Already done. Don't worry, we'll get you back home before your curfew."
"Don't want to turn into a pumpkin," Kurt mumbles sleepily, already sounding halfway there by Blaine's judgment.
"I think that only happens to the carriage," he says, but there's no response.
Kurt's breathing evens out and his body is warm under Blaine's touch.
"I love you," he says freely, with no one to hear him say it.
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The title is from Regina Spektor's song, Man of a Thousand Faces.
Quoted lyrics are from Regina Spektor's song, The Genius Next Door.
Comments/reviews/'you-missed-a-word's/con-crit are always welcome.