Title: Love Is The Drug I'm Thinking Of
Media: Fic
Rating: light R
Spoiler:3x05
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Summary: Kurt tries something new, while Blaine takes care of business, as usual.
AN: Obligatory masturbation ficlet for this episode. Title from Love Is The Drug by Roxy Music.
Kurt settles into his bed uneasily that night. His palms are sweaty, which is silly, because he's only doing this for himself. He closes his eyes in the darkness of his bedroom, and his mind brings him to where he was just hours before, sitting on Blaine's bed and watching his boyfriend.
It makes Kurt giddy with affection to watch his boyfriend dance so freely, his eyes following the fluid movements of Blaine's figure as he chatters on about glam rock. It takes a moment for Kurt to realize he's been stroking at his wrists.
Stop it, he tells himself sternly, and he forces his hands down his naked thighs.
He has a plan, after all, and after tonight he'll be one step closer to actually doing more with Blaine.
So Kurt settles down, feeling a little ridiculous as he pets at his thighs and edges closer to his dick. Blaine's on the bed now, talking so casually about masturbation. Kurt feels goosebumps raise along his arms as Blaine's phantom voice echoes in his head, and the phantom bed tingles beneath him, the very bed in which Blaine lets go of his inhibitions and touches himself and Kurt is getting hard at the thought of Blaine naked, laying on the sheets sweating and jerking his hips like he does when he's dancing. The memory continues, and Kurt feels the electric spark of their lips touching. It's a peck of a kiss, but Kurt can't help but touch, run his fingers on his dick and squeeze, jerking up and down his length and canting his hips in tiny aborted movements, his sheets too slippery to gain proper purchase.
Kurt can't help the breathy ohs from escaping his lips, and he can, with almost complete certainty, see Blaine smile at his response. He strokes tight, then loose, shuddering when he presses curious against the tip of his head with a thumb. What undoes him is both startling and unsurprising; Blaine opens his eyes and smiles. It's just a smile, the squint of his eyes, the edge of teeth and up-lifted lips. It matters less that he's naked and holding his leaking cock, and more that he's staring at Kurt so intensely, that he's watching with love in his eyes.
He shudders through his orgasm in bliss, tiny rivulets of come seeping through his fingers, smearing on the sensitive skin of his wrists.
Kurt is smiling in satisfaction, sleepy and only a little guilty, and dreams about taking Blaine by the hand and showing him the sights of New York, kissing him in under the city lights.
Blaine settles on his bed, half hard and still a little damp from his shower, rubbing himself off at a leisurely pace, going through his mental catalogue of jerk-off material. Kurt looking debauched in the senior commons, Kurt leaning over Artie's chair to discuss his Officer Krupke scene, a lot of scenarios where Kurt is naked and writhing on top of him, hair mussed and eyes twinkling, mouth plush and wrapped in a triumphant smirk. Blaine grunts and tightens his fist, jerking rougher and wilder, because god does it turn him on when Kurt is confident and taking charge.
But then that afternoon is replaying in his mind, Kurt lying on his bed, watching him dance with eyes that crackled, dipped from a spectrum of grey to green to blue. Blaine couldn't contain himself, distracted his body with dancing to keep himself from jumping on the bed and ripping off his clothes, consequences be damned. Kurt sits up flustered and shy and getting him harder and harder, and this is where the memory turns to his imagination for help.
Kurt leans back against his pillow, flushing and unsure as he spreads his legs out on the bed. Blaine is frozen at the foot of it, on his hands and knees and heart fluttering to see Kurt tented in his pants. Blaine imagines crawling forward, hooking his hands underneath the leopard cardigan and peeling away layer after layer until there is nothing but an expanse of blushing skin.
Imaginary Kurt would whimper, shiver at the coolness of the room and hesitate before taking Blaine's shirt off. He'd put his hand over Blaine's heart, keep it there for a minute before he would push at him to lay down. Blaine would take his own pants off, everything at once, and Kurt would watch with parted lips, and Blaine moans aloud at the thought. Kurt would need assurance to touch, and Blaine pretends he is taking Kurt's hands in his to guide them down to his dick. He slows his own hand and replaces it with a softer palm and longer fingers. Kurt would touch softly, too softly, and Blaine moans a little more and above him Kurt turns a little pinker and his grip tightens and twists, and it inches Blaine closer to his breaking point.
And then finally it's all over, too much too soon and he's coming, with Kurt leaning over his body and stilling his hand and just pressing against him to whisper an "I love you" into his ear.
There's nothing but the white noise of blood pumping and shallow breathing as Blaine shudders through the rest if his orgasm. It's the hardest he's come yet, and the euphoria fades into a bone deep exhaustion almost instantaneously. He wipes himself down with his bath towel and crawls under his covers contentedly, almost anticipating how Kurt will come to him next time, as a sex kitten or sweet and slow, and it really doesn't matter how it goes or where it takes place, as long as it's with Kurt.