DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "Not Falling Apart" by Maroon 5.
Please, you all know that I had to do this. Warnings for: barebacking, slight felching, slight comeplay, stupid boys stupidly in love and who are now stupid fiances and will get stupidly married (these are positive stupids, I assure you).
Tumblr is here (endofadream)
"Are you absolutely sure that your parents won't be home?' Kurt asks, worried, for the fifth time since they got out of Blaine's car. There's a whole mass of snakes, of something slithery and restless, dancing in his stomach.
Blaine looks up from where he's twisting his key into the lock on the front door. There's something indecipherable in his eyes, something smolderingly dark. It makes Kurt gulp, makes his eyes widen round, too round, and he knows that he has that look on his face, that slack-jawed, astounded look.
"I don't know what your rush is," Blaine says, smirking, like he doesn't remember the way Kurt had been all over him in the car, unable to contain himself, giddy and airy, floating like a cloud high, high above the ground now that they were finally alone and Blaine was his, his fiancé, his soulmate, his entire universe and the endless lifetimes surrounding it.
"Blaine," Kurt whines, can't help it. Steps forward, doesn't care about the neighbors, damn what they think, they aren't newly engaged like he is, and wraps his arms around Blaine's waist. The engagement party had been way too long, way too crowded, and for three hours all he'd been able to do was hold Blaine's hand and kiss him. "You kept me at that party for three hours."
The sun is setting now over the tops of the trees, haloing the lush green leaves and silhouetting them to black. Blaine's street is silent, the road deserted, and Kurt is surprised by his own boldness as he lets a hand stray down to the bulge of Blaine through his slacks.
Blaine lets out a tiny gasp, his hand jerking on the lock he'd been teasingly fiddling with. It clicks open with a sound of promise, and Kurt takes initiative, grabs the handle and turns it, pushing the door open and switching their positions, dragging Blaine inside the foyer of his house.
Someone kicks the door shut, who Kurt doesn't know, and then he's pressing Blaine against the wall, his hands on either side of Blaine's head as he presses their lips together. Somewhere in the living room the clock on the mantle ticks, echoing up into the sweep of the cathedral ceiling.
Blaine quickly grasps Kurt's waist, tipping his head up and opening his mouth before Kurt can even open his. He lets out a whine, snakes his tongue out and touches it to Kurt's lower lip, then slides it into his mouth. Kurt moans, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, and moves his hands to cup Blaine's jaw, feeling the hinge move as he switches angles, sucks Blaine's lower lip into his mouth, nibbles on it the way he remembers had always dove Blaine crazy.
It works, Blaine jerking and pressing forward, a moan bubbling up in his throat. Kurt moves forward, presses their bodies flush, and feels Blaine hard against his thigh. It brings on a rush, a vertigo like he's on a plane twenty thousand feet up doing barrel rolls, and he feels the sureness of Blaine's hands pushing his jacket aside and working at his shirt until it's untucked, cool air rushing up around the too-hot skin of Kurt's torso. Then Blaine's hands are running up his sides, over his back and into the dip of his spine, and he's flat-palming, pressing Kurt impossibly closer and arching up, rubbing until their cocks align.
It shoots like a firework through Kurt's body, and he breaks the kiss with an echoing suck, a cut-off groan, pressing his face into the curve of Blaine's neck as he tries to catch his breath. He kisses just under Blaine's jaw, in the little shadow, and tastes musk and cologne. He kisses up under Blaine's ear, tastes skin, and finally captures the lobe between his teeth, nipping softly before licking around the shell.
Blaine whines, gripping onto the back of Kurt's hair. The sharp pain makes Kurt moan, makes him slide his hands down until he's following the dip and curve of Blaine's back, finding the supple swell of his ass and grabbing, squeezing, kneading the flesh in his fingers.
It's so different from Valentine's Day, and yet it's so not: the urgency is still there, the feeling that Kurt will shatter, explode, if he doesn't see Blaine naked, doesn't feel him soon, but now it's for a different reason. There is no underlying, simmering hate and hurt. This isn't just because he's horny and desperate to feel a body he'd learned so well, the only body he always knew he'd ever learn—this is because he finally feels right again, feels like he'd been a puzzle piece for the past few months that was just out of place, just missing his slot, and now it's like someone has nudged him in the right direction, has finally pushed him to where he's needed to be all along.
"I want to feel you," Kurt breathes into Blaine's ear. He keeps one hand on Blaine's ass, trails the other around to Blaine's crotch where he gently grips the hard, heavy length of Blaine through his slacks. "I want to fuck you."
Blaine groans, tipping his head back, and Kurt takes advantage of the angle to nip at his bobbing Adam's apple. He rubs his palm, slow and deliberate, and feels Blaine respond, twitching against his palm.
The whiskey of Blaine's eyes sparks playfully as they head up the stairs, Blaine's hand in Kurt's, awkward-handed like it was all those years ago in that foreign, ornate hallway. For a moment Kurt can imagine being himself back then, so scared, so nervous but still, somehow, bold enough to go spy on a glee club that he'd never competed against. He wishes that he could go back to that boy, the one who'd been so amazed to feel another boy's hand in his own, to be looked at like he had been, and tell him that it was all going to work out. That in just a few years' time—minus a few unforeseen potholes in the road—he'd be happier than he ever could have imagined.
But he can't, and that's okay, because he'd figured everything out on his own anyway. He's been led up these stairs before with the same intention, with his heart pounding the exact same steady drumbeat against his ribcage. Blaine looks back, kiss-swollen lips parted, quirked upward in a smile, and Kurt blinks, smiles back and feels his heart rush, elevator-style, up into his throat.
Blaine's room looks exactly the same as it had then, but that's not what Kurt notices as he shuts the door behind him, lets Blaine pull him towards the bed. Blaine sits down, looking up, and rubs his thumb over Kurt's hand as Kurt comes to stand between his legs, his shins just barely brushing the edge of the bed.
"This is where we had sex for the first time as boyfriends," Blaine says softly, looking down and then looking back up. The inflamed urgency has ebbed, now, flooding out like the tide, and in its place is the soft, comforting sense of peace, of irrevocable love. The room is so obviously Blaine, the scent, the look and feel, and that's exactly where Kurt has always felt most comfortable. "And I—I want it to be where we have sex for the first time as fiancés."
Kurt sucks in a breath, the bite of tears coming back to his eyes as the image of Blaine in front of him wobbles, blurs. He bites his lip, nods because he doesn't trust his voice, and takes Blaine's other hand and squeezes it.
Blaine smiles, takes a deep breath that raises his shoulders, then lowers them as he exhales. They don't say anything for a few more moments, and then and raises Kurt's hand, the left one, and kisses at the ring, says, "I love you," hot against Kurt's skin.
Then Kurt is pushing Blaine to the bed and they're wriggling awkwardly up it, giggling like it's their first time again as their limbs knock and tangle—and in a striking way it is. Finally Blaine is against the pillows, looking adoringly up at Kurt, and he reaches up, strokes back Kurt's hair.
"You constantly surprise me," Kurt whispers.
Blaine raises his brows. "Why's that?"
"Because you—" Kurt breaks off with a laugh, looking over at Blaine's nightstand. His picture is still there, glossy and black and editorial, and he smiles again, shaking his head. "I always kind of anticipate what you're going to do. I knew that you were gonna propose to me—no, don't," he adds hastily when he sees Blaine's face fall, his forehead scrunching as his lips pout, "I mean it in a good way. I went in there knowing what was going to happen, but somehow you just completely surprised me with even more than I had anticipated." He strokes over Blaine's cheek, feels the strain of his arm as he rests his weight on it. "I think that's why I fell so hard for you."
"What, you mean it wasn't my devilishly good looks and charming personality?"
Kurt rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. "Way to ruin the moment."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Blaine laughs, wraps his arms around Kurt's neck. He presses their foreheads together, then their lips, and Kurt feels himself sink down into the touch, the taste of Blaine's mouth and the feel of his body underneath him.
When they part Blaine says, "I meant everything I said, you know."
Kurt nods. "I know."
Then, smirking, "I believe that we should be doing something very important to make this ring on my finger something a little more official…"
Blaine's hand on his cock punches the breath from Kurt's lungs, and he keens, unable to stop the noise as Blaine's hand goes for his button, then his zipper. "Do you think everyone was suspicious of how we left the party?"
"What, practically running out the door?" Kurt scoffs, then inhales sharply as Blaine's hand dives down his pants, fingers teasing over the damp head of his cock through his briefs. "No, I don't think that we were suspicious at all. It's normal to run out of your own engagement party while saying some half-assed lies about deciding on color schemes and wedding dates. Please, Blaine. I'm su—ure everyone was making bets behind on backs on how long it would take us to run home and, well—I think I heard Mercedes say something to Trent—oh god—about how if we started undressing each other in public she was going to get fifty bucks from—yeah Blaine like that—from Rachel."
Blaine laughs, drags their lips together briefly before he begins pushing Kurt's slacks down his hips. "I'm so glad to know that our friends are making money off of our sex lives."
Kurt gets up, helps Blaine and shucks his pants off completely, letting them drop to the floor. He shudders. "Don't even say that. I think I saw Rachel whisper something to Artie as we were leaving. It was bad enough rushing past my dad on our way out. He gave me a look that I don't even want to try and decipher."
He kneels, slipping off his jacket, folding it slightly before letting it drop, too. He catches Blaine's eager eyes as Blaine props himself up on his elbows, lips slightly parted, and slowly unbuttons his shirt, letting each new bare inch of skin peek teasingly through the flaps before he's sliding the shirt down his arms and dropping it carelessly off the bed altogether.
The air of the room is slightly chilly, the gentle whoosh of Blaine's overhead fan prickling rippling waves of gooseflesh over his bare skin like wheat fields bowing to the wind, but Kurt has never felt more confident, more wanted, in his life. This is eons different from that chilly November night.
"God," Blaine breathes. Kurt can almost see his eyes darken, pupils dilating like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. "You're so—fuck, Kurt, you're so gorgeous."
The first crest of heat rushes over Kurt's face, the tips of his ears and down his neck and chest, and he smiles, bites his lip and looks pointedly at where Blaine is still far too clothed to make this evening memorable. "My darling fiancé," he drawls, letting the word slide off of his tongue sweet like molasses, just to taste how it sounds, and he's pleased when a full-bodied shiver works its way up his spine, "it appears that you didn't get the memo about tonight being clothing-optional."
Blaine's eyes spark, and he smirks. "Is that so?" He widens his eyes, tries to look innocent. "My dearest fiancé, if you would be so kind as to make sure that I am up to par with the dress code."
Kurt could laugh at the ridiculousness of it, at the ease in which he and Blaine fall back into their roles of friends as easily as they fall back into their roles of lovers. If there have been past lifetimes, their souls with different names, different bodies, Kurt likes to believe that, if they hadn't become lovers in some of them, they had at least become friends.
He straddles Blaine's hips with practiced ease, pressing their mouths firmly together as he works at Blaine's bowtie, loosening it and slipping it sensually through the collar of his shirt. He strokes his palm over Blaine's throat, kisses and nips at his jaw, and flicks the first two buttons open.
"And you say I wear too many layers," he huffs, only slightly agitated as he pulls Blaine up. Blaine clumsily works his jacket off, and Kurt thinks that maybe they should have undressed a little more downstairs, or at least when they first got up here.
"Excuse me for trying to look good for my future husband," Blaine replies, grabbing the hem of his sweater vest and pulling it upwards.
"You always look good to me," Kurt promises, nerve endings sparking incessantly at the sound of the word husband coming out of Blaine's mouth. It's like a foundation, rock-solid and permanent, and Kurt can't wait for the day when he gets to call Blaine that, gets to tell everyone that this is my husband, Blaine. He curves his hands around Blaine's back, pulls his shirt out of his pants and works the buttons, quick, from bottom to top.
He runs his hands down Blaine's chest, feels the slight scratch of chest hair, wonders when it had begun to show up as more than a faint downy shadow, the pebble of Blaine's nipples as Kurt ghosts his fingertips over them. Hands on Blaine's shoulders, he pushes the shirt down, and Blaine shrugs it off, tosses it to the side and surges up, hands framing Kurt's face as he kisses him hard and deep and dirty with too much tongue but just the right manic energy that quickens Kurt's heart.
He strays to Blaine's waistline, pops the button on his pants and drags the zipper down slowly. The rise of Blaine's cock is obvious, remanding attention, but for now Kurt ignores it as he gets Blaine out of his pants, marveling at the way Blaine just lays back, eyes trusting, and lets Kurt tug his clothes off until they're both only in their underwear, their arousal almost embarrassingly obvious.
The kiss this time, Kurt's legs spread over Blaine's hips, is slow, sensual, like they're both trying to commit this to memory, this beginning of their forever. When they part, simultaneously sucking in deep breaths, Kurt asks, teasing, "Are we also gonna do the thing tonight where you're so nervous that you can't get the condom on me until the fifth try?"
Blaine glares, but the heat in there is tepid, and underneath Kurt can see embarrassment. They had both been so nervous that night, fumbling and apologizing and barely doing anything right. It's all a blur, a jumbled mess of sensory memories. Kurt remembers, though, doesn't think he could forget even sixty years from now, the way Blaine had opened up so easily for him, the way Blaine had looked, so shocked, so in-love, the moment Kurt had bottomed out, quivering in all of his teenage nervousness. "Let's talk about how you tried to just ram your dick in me without prep because you were so excited."
Kurt laughs, belly-deep and genuine, and he kisses Blaine again, just because he can, just because they aren't those fumbling teenagers anymore, not really. They're not even boyfriends.
"Let's both just own up to being really, really freaking nervous our first time," Kurt says.
"And very uneducated with condoms."
Kurt laughs again, pecking a kiss to Blaine's nose. "I love you."
"I love you, too." Blaine nuzzles their noses together, then pulls back. A serious look crosses his face, and for a moment Kurt feels his stomach seize tightly, the muscles clenching and a nervous nausea settling in the back of his throat. "I kind of want to…ask you something."
Kurt downplays his worry, says as casually as he can, "Shoot."
Blaine bites his lip, fingers tracing absent patterns on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt thinks that it might be his name. It's a minute or so before he responds, and even then his words are choppy seas, rough and crashing. "I—I was wondering if you—if you wanted to do this bare. Like. Without a…condom."
Kurt sucks in a breath, blinks quickly. Before they had never really discussed this, both silently agreeing that it was too messy, too much to clean up and deal with, but now that it's on the table, laid out there for discussion, Kurt entertains the idea with an eager throb in his cock. The idea of his come trailing out of Blaine's red, puffy, used hole is enough to make him clench his fist, nails digging crescents into his palm to keep the sharp throb of arousal from becoming too much too quickly.
"Even—even after…?" Kurt asks hoarsely, unable to finish the sentence, even with Blaine laid out underneath him like gorgeous silk, his body just as toned, just as golden, as it had been in February, had been all of those times before that. Though Kurt knows that he's not the only one to see Blaine so willingly vulnerable like this anymore, he likes to believe that he is.
Blaine nods, eyes misting. "He was a mistake. But this, us?" He gestures wide. "This has never been a mistake. Even though we never knew it, everything we did led us to each other. I want this to be the thing that begins our new forever together."
Says, cheeks blooming red, "I had myself tested and I'm—I'm clean. I promise."
Kurt nods, does it before he even realizes what he's doing, and presses a kiss to Blaine's lips, his chin. "Yes." He kisses his way down Blaine's neck, over that silky skin and to the jut of a clavicle, which he nips and sucks until a bruise opens up like a spring flower, capillaries shattered and leaking and bleeding red-purple under skin slick with Kurt's saliva and red with his teeth marks. "Fuck, baby, of course."
Follows the line of Blaine's muscle, the faint roughness of chest hair as he swirls a tongue around one nipple, then the other, Blaine's fist clenching tight in his hair as his chest arches up, presses against Kurt's mouth. Kurt dips his tongue into the curve of Blaine's navel, feels the shiver, and licks along the waistband of Blaine's briefs, the head of his cock soaking through the gray cotton and just shy of Kurt's chin. He sucks it into his mouth, tastes pre-come and fabric, and relishes the cut-off keening groan Blaine lets out.
Kurt's quick to peel off Blaine's underwear, then his own, the bed shaking as he stumbles, catches his balance and reaches into the top drawer of Blaine's nightstand, finding the lube hidden under old receipts—Blaine's always keeping them no matter what, which makes Kurt (fondly) roll his eyes—along with the condoms. He leaves them behind without a second thought.
Like this, in such familiarity, Kurt could almost believe that there is nothing different about this night, about now. Blaine spreads his legs obediently without being asked to, like always; his hand is around his cock, stroking in gentle pulls just to ease that harsh insistence of arousal; he's looking up at Kurt, face open, trusting, waiting.
Then the ring on his finger catches the light and Kurt remembers, a movie-like jolting rush of scenes, sounds, sensations, all of it such a whirlwind that Kurt knows it'll be a few days before he can sort everything out, before it can truly sink in what he is now.
He settles between Blaine's legs, urging them up to bend at the knee. He gently touches the insides of Blaine's knees, strokes over the coarse darkness of hair, and kisses soft skin, toned muscle. The trail of his hands down the insides of Blaine's thighs is featherlight, sensual, slow enough that Blaine is panting by the time Kurt reaches the apex and nudges Blaine's legs open wider.
"You're sure about this?" he asks softly, popping the cap on the lube. He says it to Blaine but looks at his cock, curved-hard and red against his navel, resting in the neat trim of pubic hair. But Blaine is already nodding, already tilting his hips up, silently offering.
Unable to control his impulse, Kurt bends forward, grabbing Blaine's cock by the base to tilt him up before sinking his mouth down, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing out harsh through his nose as the smooth head hits the back of his throat. His throat convulses with a gag, but Kurt tamps it down, blinks away the water in his eyes as he drags his tongue, thick velvet, up the rigid underside and over the prominent, pulsing vein.
Above him Blaine lets out a shout, body arching towards the stimuli, and Kurt recalls afternoons, evenings, spent in this bed practicing the same thing he's doing now. It's only by doing this that he relaxes his throat just enough to let the head of Blaine's cock slip in before he's pulling back, jerking Blaine in short, tight strokes as he bobs his head, swirls his tongue and tries to ignore the obscene, should-be-disgusting wet slurping noises he's making as saliva drips down Blaine's cock and slicks over his fist.
"Oh fuck oh my god, Kurt, fuck," Blaine gasps, hands gripping at Kurt's hair. If Kurt were to look up he knows he'd see Blaine lifted up, eyes shut tightly, mouth pulled into a frown as he tries to breathe, tries to hold off. "God—it's too much, gonna come, babe, oh my god I'm gonna come."
Kurt pulls off with a pop, his tongue dragging over his lips as he wipes at his chin with the back of his hand, comes away with his skin glistening wet in the dim lighting. He looks down, meets Blaine's wide, amazed eyes, and laughs at the heave of Blaine's chest, the raw wildness of his body language.
"Let's get you prepared," he purrs, and adds, licking across his lips again, "I'd forgotten how good you tasted."
Blaine groans.
The lube is cold on his fingers, and Kurt warms it up, wondering when Blaine had switched from water-based to silicone-based, and he wants to ask but doesn't, stops, feels like there's a hole suddenly in the bottom of his heart: if they had been together he would've known. Blaine would've told him, would've gone into intricate detail about why he'd made the switch, how much better it was, that it felt. He would've gushed, talked about the merits and would've tried to get Kurt to switch, too.
But the feeling passes, and Kurt shakes his head, rolls his eyes at his own silliness. He has to stop living in the past and dwelling on things he can't change. They're here now, together, getting ready to have sex for the first time as fiancés. That's all that matters.
The heat of Blaine's body takes Kurt's breath away as he rubs, teases around Blaine's hole, gets Blaine relaxed and loose before sliding his finger in to the first knuckle, then the second. Blaine lets out a sigh, head tipping back and body going loose, pliant, against the sheets. He wriggles his hips slightly, settles deeper and grabs at the sheets, a slack grip just for grounding.
Kurt remembers—and it's all about remembering, that second nature of it, Blaine's words a resonating in the back of Kurt's mind as he thinks of past lives again, can't get that thought out of his head like a catchy pop song—Blaine's limits, that one can become two quickly, and deftly he slides his finger free, re-slicks his middle and warms it up before easing it in alongside his first one.
It makes Blaine tense, just a little, a faint furrow appearing between his brows before disappearing, the lines in Blaine's face relaxing as he breathes deep, lets out a soft moan. His cock twitches against his stomach, pre-come oozing out clear and sticky where it pools against his skin.
Kurt resist the urge to touch himself a she crooks his fingers, searches and finds that perfect, spongy spot and Blaine arches, gasping out a cry, then Kurt's name, strung loose and long. Rubbing over it, Blaine twitches, legs jerking slightly, and his face creases, scrunches, as he tips his head back. The grip on the sheets becomes noticeably tighter.
"Kurt, oh my god," Blaine gasps. He clenches around Kurt as he gasps raggedly, and Kurt slips three in, slow-slow-slow until he opens them up and scissors, his skin tight, hot, his entire body throbbing with the molten glow of arousal. "Baby, please. I need you. I need you in me."
At the grant of permission Kurt slips his fingers free, fumbling with the lube in his haste and dropping it to the bed twice before he finally picks it up, opens it and drizzles what's probably too much onto his palm. He slicks his cock with an eager grip, his hips jerking forward as he fucks through the slick channel of his fist, his stomach tightening as he gasps.
"As hot as it is watching you touch yourself"—Blaine's voice breaks through the haze of Kurt's mind, and Kurt shakes his head, realizes that he's been lost in his own pleasure and flushes bright red as he lets go of his cock—"but I kind of really need my fiancé's cock in me. Like yesterday."
"Yesterday we were just boyfriends," Kurt quips, but he returns Blaine's filthy, lascivious smirk and drops his hand to the bed, wincing internally at the thought of the mess he's just left on there.
"I'm gonna have to wash the sheets anyway," Blaine whispers, his hand curving around the back of Kurt's arm when he drops down. He smiles, seductive, and draws Kurt in to a deep, filthy kiss. Kurt jerks his hips forward when Blaine sucks on his tongue, his cock ghosting over the cleft of Blaine's ass.
Blaine pulls away with a smack, bright eyes and red-flushed cheeks. "Now come on, baby. Put that big cock in me."
Kurt groans, drops his head. "You're gonna kill me, B."
"Hopefully not until later." Blaine lifts his legs, spreads them, and Kurt grips his cock without another word, finding the slight gape of Blaine's hole and rubs against it, working the slick head of his cock around the puckered rim before finally, finally he begins the slide in, the ridge of his cock catching, Blaine wincing in discomfort as his nails dig hard into Kurt's shoulders; when he gets it past the resistance the rest of his cock slides in, smooth and easy, and Kurt gasps at the feel, at the tightness and heat and velvety softness that he's never felt this intensely before.
"Oh my god oh my god," Blaine whines, legs locking around Kurt's waist as Kurt bottoms out. He clenches, stealing Kurt's breath away. "Oh fuck, it's never felt like this—Kurt, oh god, need you now, need you to fuck me now."
Kurt's trembling as he fights the urge not to fuck in, not to bury himself in that tight heat over and over until he comes. He can't believe that he's this lucky, that he gets to do this with Blaine, to Blaine. That the most perfect boy in the world, the one who has had Kurt's heart from that very first day, is underneath him, had put that ring on Kurt's finger, the hand of which Blaine is currently holding, his own pressed down onto the sheets as Kurt centers his balance, pulls out to the tip of his cock, slow, and fucks back in, fast.
The slap of skin is loud in the room, underscoring their mutual gasps. Kurt sets his jaw, fights against the close of his eyes: he wants to see this, wants to see the bliss on his fiancé's face as Kurt makes him fall apart. He wants to watch every subtle nuance, every flash of pleasure that etches deep rivers onto Blaine's forehead, draws up his lip like window blinds. He wants to see every signal, every unspoken plea hidden in a grunt or a moan or an ah.
Kurt never wants to forget this.
"You feel so good," Kurt gasps, burying his face in the crook of Blaine's neck as he snaps his hips forward, his skin stinging with the impact, Blaine's body jolting and his throat rumbling with a grunt. "So hot, so tight around me. God, Blaine, I love you so much." He feels the sting of tears in his eyes, and this time he lets them fall, lets them soak into Blaine's sweaty skin as he untangles their handles, plants both of his palms flat on the bed. He licks a damp line up the side of Blaine's neck, then nips once, sharp, to hear Blaine cry out.
"I love you, too," Blaine chokes out, his sentence nearly lost to a whine. His hands slide up into Kurt's hair, heavy and damp with sweat, back down to the flexing muscle and bone of his shoulders and the upper plane of his back. He meets Kurt thrust for thrust, his body undulating up towards each roll of Kurt's hips, seamless like a well-oiled machine, fluid with practice and muscle memory.
The room is hot, stifling, and they're both sweaty, both panting, gasping. Blaine is groaning and Kurt is grunting every time his hips collide with Blaine's ass, his balls smacking the spread of Blaine's cheeks. When they kiss it's off-centered, messy, tongues dragging over the corners of mouths, over cheeks and chins as they breathe in each other, get lost in miles of familiar skin.
Kurt speeds up, gasping and reaching for that elusive spark that's there but just out of reach; he unseats himself, his cock sliding slickly, aided by the easy glide of the silicone lube, over Blaine's balls, and Blaine has to reach between them, grasping Kurt's cock and guiding it back in with a grateful moan before flopping back down onto the sheets.
Kurt bites down on Blaine's shoulder, sucking at the skin for another bruise, and Blaine's nails drag down his back, blunt-yet-sharp, as he says, voice strangely thick, "I've never felt so close to you." Whines out a moan, adds, "I'm gonna come, Kurt, oh—"
When Kurt looks up, jaw slack, hair sticking to his forehead, he sees that Blaine's eyes are glistening, that tears are pooling in the corners and are wobbling dangerously. His own throat tightens up, but he ignores it, kisses the corner of Blaine's eyes in turn to get rid of the salt of tears.
"It's okay," he says, quiet, his voice hoarse. He slows down, rolls his hips smooth, easy, searches for that spot and finds it as Blaine arches. "I've got you, B. I love you. I love you so much."
They've both said those words over and over today, but they're still like music, still hold the finest tune that Kurt has ever heard, and he never wants to stop hearing it.
Blaine reaches between them, grasps his cock, and it doesn't take more than a few well-angled rough thrusts before he's arching, gasping Kurt's name as he begins to come, white streaking his chest and dribbling down over his fingers where he jerks himself quickly.
Kurt isn't far behind, his hips snapping forward once-twice-thrice before he's slumping forward, groaning out Blaine's name as his cock jerks and he comes inside Blaine, the warmth of it surrounding his cock where he's buried deep.
Blaine's fingers tremble when he reaches up, grasps Kurt's head and gently pulls him down. The kiss is slow, languid, their mouths moving easily as they ride out the lingering waves of orgasm. There are tears streaking both of their faces, but neither says anything when they part, pull back.
Kurt slides free, soothes Blaine when he winces. Seconds later he sees the first trickle of white, followed by another, then another until his come is dripping out of Blaine in a steady stream. As he watches Blaine shifts, lets out a quiet laugh that's almost a giggle, and Kurt looks up in amusement, catches Blaine peering down curiously, and he asks, "What's it feel like?"
"Weird, but in a good way." He gasps when Kurt slips in one finger, then another easily, aided by his come and the remnants of lube. He opens easily, still pliant and loose, and Kurt works his fingers in slow, gathering up that sticky white and pushing it out, his eyes wide in wonder. "Shit, Kurt." Blaine laughs, shaky, and gasps when Kurt touches over his hole again. "Warn a guy."
Kurt just smiles, leans up, drags his hand through the mess on Blaine's belly. When he holds that hand up, saying nothing, Blaine's brows rise before he gets the hint and realization dawns in his eyes. Without hesitating he reaches out, takes Kurt's hand and sinks his mouth down over each finger in turn, licking off the mixed come. When he reaches Kurt's ring finger he pays special attention to the ring nestled there in a way that has a flame shooting up in Kurt's belly, has him flushing red until his hand is clean and they're kissing again, his tongue chasing the bitter taste of his and Blaine's come.
He finally collapses next to Blaine, feeling the race of his heart under the palm he splays across his chest. There are so many thoughts running through Kurt's mind that he has no idea which of them to dwell on first, if he should dwell on any of them in the first place.
Finally, he settles on the one that is most comforting, the most present: "I can't wait to spend the rest of my lives with you."
It's all he says, but right now words are scarce. They've said what they both needed to say, had expressed it both physically and mentally. The day has been long—life-changing, if Kurt were to be so clichéd—and what he needs right now is to just know that Blaine is here, that this ring means something, that Blaine's words, that elaborate set-up, that location so dear to their hearts, is just the beginning.
Blaine rolls over, smiles that broad, slightly-crooked smile of his, and nuzzles into Kurt's chest, his arm like an anchor where he's slung over Kurt's torso. His heart beats in time with Kurt's, his breathing a little more ragged as he recovers. They lapse into this comfortable silence, the world going on outside of the house but stopped inside it for two boys—men now—in love, ready to face what will easily be their biggest challenge.
Neither mentions Kurt's plural use of life.