A/N: So. Today's episode... I liked it. Good job, Glee. I mean, putting aside the entire concept of characterisation and the fact that everyone in New York seems to be very blasé about sex, it was good...
Who am I kidding?
Let's be honest: I just like that Klaine had sex. So I wrote this.
Enjoy!
(Not) A Problem
...
The problem with Kurt is that, to Blaine, he's all skin.
He's a long line of unmarked neck and round, pink swells of cheeks. He's soft-feeling fingertips that push hard and pull tight, that go rigid against Blaine's back. And Blaine lives for that sensation, whether it's the ghost-touches he imagines every night or the real, hot embrace, that he doesn't have to fantasise, that he actually can have, just this once.
Kurt's skin is everywhere, the scent of it singing to Blaine. The percussion is played by the staccato hisses of his breaths, the melody kissed in a long, unbroken trill across Blaine's chest. The song devours Blaine, engulfs him in its beauty, in its heat. It seeps through his own skin - so rough, so marred, so unlike Kurt's, which is marble-pale and marble-smooth and perfect, perfect, flawless - and into his bones, his intestines, his soul. And so Kurt's song sits there, safe and warm beside the beat of Blaine's heart, and waits for times like these, when finally it can be sung again.
Blaine rejoices in Kurt's skin. He revels in it. Touches, feels, holds what he can, wanting to hold it forever. To somehow discover the real tune of this song, to someday play it back to Kurt and prove that he is perfect. Prove that he is everything to Blaine.
To Blaine alone, Kurt's skin is more than a single sensation. It's a sight and a smell and a feel and a salty-sweet taste, so, so soft against his tongue. It's a song that's locked in his heart, unable to be played by anyone else. Unable to be heard by anyone else.
It is part of the reason - one of thousands, millions of reasons - that they belong together.
Because, to Blaine, Kurt is all skin. But, God, oh God- no. No. It certainly isn't a problem.