Warnings: explicit slash, weirdness, language, little bit of angst, spoilers for season 2 of Glee
AN This is my first (complete) fanfic, and my first attempt at writing smut, so posting it on here is kind of a big deal for me. Also, it's unbetaed, but I'd love one if anyone is interested.
This story, in case you're confused, is set sometime in season two, but before Silly Love Songs (ep 12), because I started it a while ago. I guess it's a little AU. ;) It's going to be a four or five chapter thing, I think, but the chapters will be relatively short. The entire story is from Blaine's point of view.
As an aside, I just got a account yesterday, but I've been ravenously reading stories on here for a few months, and it's been a great experience. It's good to know there are other people at least as obsessive about their fandoms as me! I have enormous respect and appreciation for all the talented and creative writers on here. Thank you!
Disclaimer: To my great sorrow, I do not own, in any way shape or form, Glee, its plot or its characters, and I'm not making any money off of this.
Sorry for the long-windedness. It's a habit of mine. Enjoy and pretty pleeaaaaaaaaaaaaase with pickles on top review!
Chapter One:
AN The first chapter is pretty much all Blaine's thoughts, but I promise there's a purpose to it and plenty of dialogue, as well as other stuff ;) later on.
I pushed Kurt backwards onto the bed, kissing him gently, but with a fierce longing behind my eyes.
I was so damn tired of acting like I didn't care, like I harbored no secret desire, no feelings of lust. Like my feelings were only platonic, those of a polite, helpful friend and mentor. I'm a teenage boy, for Christ's sake. I have a dick, and it had been making its presence known far too often of late. Ever since Kurt had transferred to Dalton, the number of cold showers I found myself taking had increased exponentially. But it was far more than that, too. The original plan had been to give Kurt time, to let him find his own way and not rush him into anything when he had already gone through so much in the last few weeks. I'd be the perfect supportive, totally un-pushy friend. Instead, I seemed to be alternately flirting outrageously and alienating Kurt. Gone was the steady support and sage advice I had effortlessly dispensed back when we first started hanging out and he was still at McKinley. Now, Kurt was around all the time, but we saw much less of each other, it seemed. I could tell I was hurting my friend, but I just couldn't seem to stop. I was feeling so conflicted. Wasn't I supposed to be out, and proud? Of course I was. And so was Kurt. And there was definitely something between us, a deep connection, a spark. For me, actually, it was more of a raging inferno. Why should this be so difficult? I was fucking sick of it. He didn't deserve this-the kid had been through plenty recently without his closest friend at his new school getting all weird and standoffish on him. But I wasn't positive how I felt, or if I could be what he wanted, much less what he needed. Even though my at this point extremely irritated with me friends kept assuring me he was totally into me. I thought so sometimes-I mean, he acted pretty flirty-but then I wasn't sure.
He was so inexperienced, so brave. Simultaneously delicate and tough. Transparent and seemingly completely honest with me, and yet an enigma. Soooooo sooooo ridiculously, unfairly, infuriatingly hot. I was scared of hurting him, I was nervous he wouldn't want me the way I wanted him, but more than that, I think I was just afraid to open up. It had been so long since I'd had a real relationship, and the last one hadn't gone so well. Even if it had, the fact would remain that I'd never felt this depth of . . . something for anyone before. I refused to call it "love", even in the inner recesses of my mind, because that was just too fucking terrifying. I was Blaine, the head singer for the Warblers, the straight (in the academic sense only ) A student, the loyal friend, clever, intelligent, amusing, attractive, but always cool, together, collected. Secure in his sexuality, in his academic success, in his talent, his social life, his family money, his position in the world, future, everything. I was able to open up around David and Wes a little sometimes, sure, but they were my best friends, practically my brothers. They alone could know I'm just as messed up and insecure as anyone. In general, I used my happy-sexy-and-successful persona as a shield between me and any bad things I encountered in the world. It was a shield made of real things, sure. I really was content in my life, for the most part. I didn't go around faking every aspect of my personality 24/7, or anything horrible and depressing like that. But vulnerability was NOT my thing.
So Kurt was a new experience. His hardships brought back a flood of memories, for one thing. Memories from a few years ago, before I'd transferred to Dalton, when things got really bad at my old school. I didn't tell Kurt any details of this, because I didn't want to burden him right then, but seeing his pain was causing me to relive things I thought I had gotten past completely. Yeah right. Apparently not. More than that, however, I was no longer sure how to act around him. My whole put-on (partially, at least) mentor thing didn't appear to be working out. It's hard to be mentor-ish when all you can think of doing is throwing your "student" onto the nearest soft surface and making wild love with him until he screams your name in adoring ecstasy. (Umm, yes, I had it bad.) I wanted to act perfect around him, but instead I was acting like a jerk. So I figured that at some point I had to open up, or things were just going to go downhill from there. And David and Wes would probably end up buying several rolls of duck tape and some of those heavy duty ear plugs construction workers sometimes wear to protect their ears, just to avoid hearing me moan about the situation one more time.
There for, I was on my bed, making out with Kurt. Except here's the thing-there's one little detail I neglected to mention previously, when I described us kissing at the beginning of my little narration. I was doing this only within the confines of my head. Yes, the big moment with Kurt wasn't really happening. But just the fact that I was fantasizing was a big deal for me. Weird, I know. Let me explain. I have this complex about not fantasizing about someone I care about if nothing of the sort is happening in real life. I had had images of me and Kurt engaged in . . . certain activities pop into my head before certainly, but they were unbidden. Well, mostly. I wanted to be a mental gentleman, and to minimize awkwardness with Kurt. I already had this little issue where I became insanely turned on whenever we were too close, so I figured that actively picturing what I'd like to do with Kurt would not improve matters. Plus it just seemed kinda rude. We were friends, nothing more. I guess. Do friends flirt that much? "I think not!" said David when I asked him, and then he had the nerve to snicker at me. So much for brotherly solidarity.
Hence, I made the decision, one night in my room, when I (as usual) couldn't get Kurt out of my head. It required a long and careful deliberation of about three and a quarter seconds. I would allow myself to consciously picture our first time, imagine what his reaction to my confession of feeling . . . well, something would be, fantasize about what he'd feel like. It was like admitting to my self that I really did want a relationship, that I was going to do something to try to make that happen. I wanted to kiss him so bad, it was like my lips were on fire. And the urge to kiss is not exactly something you can attempt to alleviate on your own, the way you can certain other urges. I mean, I suppose there's always a pillow or the mirror or whatever, but that's not very satisfying. Not at all satisfying, in fact. I know. I tried it in middle school. So I just lay on my bed, getting increasingly turned on by the minute, fantasizing about me and Kurt.
He would be just a little surprised, but thrilled. He'd feel the same way, the exact same something I did. I'd kiss him, not at all jittery or afraid. It would be perfect. He'd kiss back, slow at first, but then the kiss would grow and build into something deep and passionate and oh-so-very-sexy. We'd have sex, hot steamy beautiful sappy wild sex, and it would be wonderful. I imagined it all in lurid detail, and eventually my hand gravitated toward my pants, unzipping my fly and slipping inside my underwear to take care of some of those "other urges" I mentioned.