A/N: This came to me in the middle of the night. Literally. Lots of intense sex here, folks, and switching in both meanings of the word. Don't ask me what this is. Or you can ask, but I may not have an answer.

Introspection

It's only another week before Blaine does make it to New York, and there's no performance this weekend but when Blaine complains about that Kurt shushes him, promises him a private one.

Now they're in Kurt's room, curtains drawn, and Kurt sits on the bed, smiles at Blaine and pats the space beside him and Blaine comes to him, lays down with his head in Kurt's lap, his nose pressed into Kurt's stomach, breathing, and Kurt's hand settles into his curls. "Good boy," he says, the words still so new on his lips, but it's worth it for the way Blaine turns to look at him, smiles like the sun, and Kurt almost hates to do this, hates to bring it up, but from all accounts Blaine was a right tyrant last week and the puppets were creepy, but really not altogether surprising, and Kurt has to know what they mean.

"Blaine, the puppets…" he begins, and Blaine groans and buries his face again so Kurt says firmly, "honesty, Blaine. You haven't been very honest with me lately." And they talked about that, they did, but Kurt knows it's just the right reminder.

"They were just," he starts, stalls. "My control issues…" trails off again, then more stubbornly, "I made yours first, Kurt. I missed you."

And Kurt knows, knows so well now, the many ways that that is true. "I know, sweetie," he says, tracing a finger around Blaine's face. "I know you do. I've missed you too." It's not the same, but he means it. "But…" should he go there? He has to go there. "Tina says you were doing creepy things with them. Especially with mine."

Blaine groans again and rolls over completely now, his nose pressing into Kurt's crotch, and Kurt wants to laugh even as he feels himself swell, just the slightest amount because… well…

"Honesty?' Blaine asks, and Kurt waits patiently, because he understands now, this is hard. "It felt good, being able to talk to you so easily, even though it was, well, not you and… there's just so much pressure, you know? To do well, make them happy. Make you happy, but then there's me, you know, and the things I need, and the things I want, sometimes… sometimes just for me, and you know how I ignore that so much and it's just… the puppet felt simple. It felt good."

"Puppets don't have feelings, or judgment," Kurt surmises.

Blaine nods faintly. "Yeah."

"I know you're working on it," Kurt says slowly, "and I know it's not easy for you, but Blaine… I'd rather you just tell me. I need you to feel comfortable telling me the way you feel, and trusting that I'll listen… without the objectification." Blaine blushes, makes to protest, but Kurt doesn't let him. "So I think maybe the best thing to do is just for you to pretend I'm puppet Kurt."

Blaine stares at him, mouth falling open, and Kurt does his best sarcastic-fake-innocence face and says, "What, I know my skin's not blue, or that ghastly felt you used, but…"

Blaine laughs, and Kurt smiles at him laughing, and suddenly he really really wants to hold him, so he twists out from under Blaine's head and scoots down beside him and he does.

"What does that mean?" Blaine asks, and Kurt can tell he's trying to tread carefully.

"Whatever you want," Kurt tells him. "It means say whatever you want; do whatever you want… just be real. Just be with me."

"Whatever I want…" Blaine muses, smiling now, then before Kurt knows what's happening Blaine's on top of him, pinning his wrists to the bed. "You entirely at my mercy…"

Kurt grins, plays along. "If that's what you want, Blaine."

"I want you to not talk," Blaine says, eyebrows raised. "Seriously though, Kurt, if I'm really going to tell you things… I need you to not talk. At least not until I say."

Kurt opens his mouth to agree, closes it and nods instead. He can do this. This will be good for them, good for Blaine, and maybe—just maybe—Blaine will finally talk about last fall, about their falling apart and what Kurt knows now he did to contribute to it, and then things can only get better.

Blaine just holds him there for the longest time, staring down at him pensively, affectionately, and Kurt sighs and relaxes. This might be nice for once, he thinks, just being and waiting for Blaine's words or his movement or his demands.

Finally, Blaine seems to decide upon which it will be. He moves off of Kurt, holds his gaze and says evenly, "strip."

Kurt grins, because he knows he can do this. He knows this game. He stands and pulls off his clothing slowly, draping each garment with care across the chair beside the bed, stretching and preening just a bit while Blaine's eyes go hungry, watching him.

"Lie down," Blaine says next, and this, too, Kurt obeys, smiling softly when Blaine pulls off his own clothing and dumps it in a heap on top of Kurt's, arranges himself beside Kurt, propped up on one elbow.

Kurt feels… strangely shy, with Blaine looking at him like this, so reverently, in broad daylight. Blaine traces everywhere on Kurt's body with his fingertips, and Kurt stretches his arms above his head, sighs and shudders at the touch.

"You're so gorgeous, Kurt," Blaine says, still touching him. And Kurt doesn't know why he does it: he whines in response. "Perfectly imperfect, like I've always said, and it's so hard sometimes to believe you're mine." He breaks off, is silent for a moment—still touching—and Kurt watches as his face begins to break. "I need you," Blaine confesses. Nothing new, really, but the tone of it is, maybe. "You have no idea, Kurt; if I hadn't gotten you back…" He trails off, then, quietly, "I wouldn't want to live without you. I didn't. I was out of my mind. Before, and during, and…" It's Kurt's instinct to ask, but he doesn't really have to: he knows Blaine is talking about their break-up, now. "And even now, it's hard to be there when you're here. Even with Sam and Tina and the others, some part of me always feels empty without you."

His words make Kurt sad, but they aren't really a surprise. He hums in contentment, closes his eyes—still touching—and waits for Blaine to continue.

"I was so angry with you." Blaine's fingers wrap around his cock, squeeze too-tight then pump, slowly, and Kurt can feel himself growing harder. "I was angry because you promised, because you knew"—his words break off, part growl, part sob—"because you knew me, Kurt, and you should have known I couldn't make it without you. When I told you to go I didn't mean leave. I meant—but I'd bought it, your promise of visits and skype dates and you, always you, but you took yourself away and I tried and tried to reach you but you wouldn't hear me, because you didn't need me."

"Blaine," Kurt whines, not thinking, arching up into Blaine's fist, his fist that's moving faster and faster now, and Kurt's not sure what this is anymore, thinks he's crazy because he's kind of loving it, Blaine finally getting angry. It feels like he's being blamed, being punished, and it's a sweet, unexpected, inexplicable kind of release.

"Shut-up," Blaine says with less bite than he might have. "You said it was my turn to talk, and I'm talking and… and I need you to listen. I know I fucked up, Kurt; you know I blame myself. Still today I blame myself. Couldn't control my stupid, emotional impulses. But you… you hurt me too."

Kurt wants to say I'm sorry but he swallows it down, lays himself out for Blaine and hopes that will say it instead. Surely Blaine knows. Surely Blaine knows.

"You didn't need me. Even after I broke your heart it didn't… it didn't hurt you the way it did me. You threw your walls up so quickly, had so much practice, and all I've ever wanted… all I ever wanted was for you to need me like I've always needed you. I know I was late getting the memo, but you have to know that from that moment… I was so hopelessly devoted to you and besotted with you, and you never quite reached that. Never let yourself admit it. Never let yourself be mine."

Kurt doesn't know what to pay attention to. His heart is screaming God Blaine, no and I'm sorry, You've got it wrong and I get it; I get it now, and his balls are clenching, his orgasm threatening to unleash but he can't speak and he can only listen and he can only feel, and he can't say I love you with words so he says it with his body, with holding back holding back holding back, because somehow he knows he can't come until Blaine wants him to come.

Blaine is finally letting go, moving away and returning with Kurt's bottle of lube, fire in his eyes as he clicks open the cap and Kurt thinks yes Blaine do it, just take me and use me and make me feel and maybe, maybe it will be enough for both of us. But Blaine doesn't touch him; he crouches over Kurt and reaches lube-slicked fingers behind himself, to touch himself, groaning as his arm begins to move in rough, jerky starts, and Kurt wishes he could see.

"I tell myself all the time how horrible I am for thinking like I do, for hating you even a little for abandoning me when I did something so much worse." And Kurt is helpless, shakes his head, but Blaine's eyes are squeezed closed so he doesn't see. "But I can't help it. I feel like… I've always felt like you're mine, and I want everything from you Kurt, and you're so rational you just don't get it. It's so intense. I want you all the time and the puppet was a way to have you. I could say all of this; I could pretend you actually realized what went wrong and acknowledged your role in it, so I could really forgive you, because I love you so much I can't stand feeling anything bad for you. And it's even worse because you've been so much better, since we've… since we're getting married, Kurt, and I have everything I wanted and I still can't let it go, can't just let myself be unless I'm with you. I want to be perfect for you. I want you to feel as intensely for me as I do for you."

Blaine pulls his fingers out with a moan, sinks over Kurt in one smooth, practiced motion and Kurt draws his knees up, thinks about what it would be like if he were on his knees, if Blaine had arranged him there on all fours, if he pushed on Kurt's back just so and Kurt's hands slid out, and Blaine held him there, face pressed down into the mattress, as he pushed inside. Maybe Blaine would bend over, drape his body over Kurt's and Kurt hates to be smothered—he hates it—except this is Blaine. Blaine who is warm, who is gentle. Blaine who is like an overenthusiastic puppy most of the time. Blaine who is thoughtful, is kind, is safe and Kurt could do that with him, be safe. He could be like this and Blaine could act like that, could take him, could give him a place where his mom never died and Finn never died, where his dad is never sick, could give him a place where all his rules and expectations of himself, of the world, where they fall away and it's just Blaine, just their connection, just Blaine who just needs him to just be and Kurt can just be for him, he could just be whatever Blaine wanted for a while. He could just be Kurt, because Blaine seems to want Kurt. He wants Kurt enough that Kurt actually believes it. And he wants Kurt to need him, and God, Kurt does!

Maybe Blaine would kiss behind his ear, or maybe Blaine would bite his shoulder. Blaine might take him hard, might tease him, might order Kurt to talk—to actually talk, actually share his thoughts—and Kurt would have to do that. He could order Kurt to be silent, and maybe Kurt could drift like that, maybe Kurt could just…

He's thinking dirty things now, things he rarely thinks, things he would never say, like how hot it is that Blaine's so fucking big when the rest of him is so tiny, how obscene it is the way he can split Kurt open, make him feel so full and they don't do it much because sometimes Kurt just feels so helpless to it, and he hates that, except he kind of loves if because it's Blaine and he knows it could never be anyone else. Like how powerful Blaine is, the way he moves sometimes, his control over his body. The globes of his ass… god his ass is fat it's… it's smooth, and perfect, and Kurt loves to just grab it and squeeze it, leave his fingers there in glowing pink, or at least he would, he… oh fuck, he's doing it now…

Blaine is working him over leisurely, silent now, maybe spent, eyes closed and head thrown back, exposing the column of his throat, the sharp jut of his Adam's apple, and Kurt wants to lick it, but right now he wants something else so much more. He reaches to touch Blaine's elbow, says "Blaine. Blaine."

And Blaine's eyes open, he looks right into Kurt's, and Kurt doesn't know what's come over him, he never does this, never just…

"Blaine I need you to fuck me."

Blaine smiles a little, lifts up—his thick thigh muscles quaking—drops down again harder, but Kurt shakes his head.

"No, no I… not like that. Blaine I need…"

Blaine cocks his head, studies him, so much like a dog, like a dog trying to figure out how to please his master, and Kurt feels—desperate, exposed—and finally Blaine lifts off of him, groans when he does it and Kurt knows how he feels, must feel so empty, and he cares except right now he doesn't; right now he feels empty, too.

Blaine is so serious, reaching between and back to stroke at his crack, and Kurt whines, shifts up against his hand helplessly, and Blaine says, "okay, okay," doesn't seem to know what's going on, really, but he sees Kurt… oh, he sees Kurt… and Kurt just wants…

"Let me… on my knees, Blaine, on my knees…"

"Yeah," Blaine says in a daze, rubbing easy circles into Kurt's hip as Kurt scrambles to turn, sticking his ass out and it must look so lewd, what he's doing, but Kurt is gone, he's surrendered.

Kurt licks his lips. "Fuck Blaine just do it, please, you said you… you said you wanted control. Can you maybe just…"

"Yeah," Blaine repeats, grabbing the lube and it's a matter of seconds before his fingers are back, slick and cold, pressing in and the stretch is sharp… it's perfect… and it's not good enough. Kurt whines, says "faster, Blaine, fuck," and Blaine listens, he always listens to Kurt. He's never prepared Kurt so quickly before, and Kurt doesn't even have time to process the change before Blaine is fucking him. It's too much, the pain and the force of it, but Blaine's hand is warm, splayed on Kurt's back, and Blaine knows him. Blaine…. Blaine gives him everything.

"Yes yes yes oh yes," Kurt chants, over and over again and then, "Blaine pin me down, please pin me down, I need smothered I need—"

"Yes," Blaine echoes, and he does it. He doesn't weigh a lot but it's enough, his weight. Blaine stretches over Kurt's body and takes his wrists, forces them together, forces them up above Kurt's head and holds them there, Kurt's face smashed into the pillow. "God Kurt I never knew," Blaine is babbling in his ear, "never knew you would want this… you would… and you're so fucking hot like this, Kurt, never even let myself imagine it, you're always so controlled but look at you now, look at you I'm making you take it and you love it, you love it Kurt."

Kurt does. Kurt doesn't know how or why or where this came from, but it feels like he can breathe now that his air is partially constricted. It feels like freedom, and he… oh fuck he wants to come, so badly, so badly.

"Blaine please touch me touch my cock please I need it I need—"

"No." Blaine says—simple, concise.

Kurt groans, tries to grind his hips down but they're still up in the air, Blaine keeping them there with his dick, and Kurt wants friction oh God he needs friction but he needs Blaine to keep fucking him too and can he really do it, can he really beg?

"Please, Blaine. Please. I'll do anything; you can do anything I'll—"

Blaine's breath is hot on his ear, he bites down sharp on Kurt's earlobe, says "you'll come on my cock or not at all."

Kurt sobs—he's really crying, tears leaking out of his eyes and usually Blaine's the one who cries during sex if either of them do, but everything feels so intense right now; he's never felt this desperate, never felt this liberated, either and his body can't take it. He doesn't know how to do this anymore, and Blaine just keeps fucking him, fucking him like a machine and Kurt has no idea if it will stop, if he wants it to stop…

"I think you should wait," Blaine tells him. "I think you should wait and let me come in your ass, Kurt, and then I'll spread you out, dig it out, feed it to you, and if you eat every drop like a good boy then maybe I'll suck your pretty little dick…"

Kurt moans, long and open and loose, and he nearly does come then, just from Blaine pounding his ass, just from Blaine whispering filthy words in his ear and God, how is that happening? Why is that hot?

Blaine grunts too-loudly, thrusts impossibly harder, spurts inside of Kurt and Kurt rocks with it, loves how it feels, doesn't want this to be over. When he's finished Blaine lays limp on top of him, fingers still digging into Kurt's wrists and Kurt thinks maybe there will be bruises, and fuck, he still needs to come…

Blaine is off of him in an instant, tossing him onto his back. Blaine lifts his wrists to the headboard, says sharply "hold on, or you'll regret it," fucks his fingers into Kurt's abused hole and sinks his mouth over Kurt's throbbing cock. Kurt stutters, thrusts up into the wet heat without a thought to spare of Blaine choking, again and again until finally he's cresting, spilling, and Blaine swallows it all down with his eyes locked on Kurt's face. The lust, the knowing of them is nearly unbearable.

Kurt slumps in the bed, his arms falling, utterly spent and he still cries, he doesn't understand this, doesn't know what just happened but he's never felt so exposed before in his life. Blaine shushes him, pulls the blankets up and takes Kurt into his arms, holds on to him for seconds, minutes, hours: Kurt doesn't know, until finally Kurt's breathing evens out and he has no more tears.

"I thought… I thought you said you were going to make me eat your come," is what he says, for some reason what his mind finds to latch on to.

Blaine kisses his brow, says gently "would you really want me to?"

Kurt shakes his head adamantly. "No. No, not like… not like that. But at the time, when you said it… it was arousing." Kurt can't believe they're here, that that just happened. Not now that he feels like himself again. He knows he needs to figure it all out, but he's also so exhausted, so confused, doesn't really want to process anything right now. "We should talk," he says.

"No." And there's Blaine again, the one from before who took control like that, so flawlessly, control over Kurt. "You need to rest now. We can talk it out later."

Kurt nods, and finally he forces himself to turn, to look at Blaine, and Blaine… Blaine is watching him with such raw adoration. Not only like he usually does, like for Kurt he had hung the sun and the moon and the stars, but… protective. Possessive, even. "Thank you," he says brokenly. And he is so, so grateful, that Blaine did it, got him through that, and he wants to reach up, tangle his fingers through Blaine's curls and praise him, but he doesn't know if that would be right, feel right right now. He doesn't know anything for sure, other than that Blaine is really fucking amazing.

He does it anyway. Blaine's hair is sweat-damp, familiar; Kurt forces himself to maintain eye contact as he softly whispers, "good boy."

Blaine beams at him. They snuggle down into the covers, and they sleep.