AN: Sometimes kinkiness backfires. Sadface. Vaguely set in the spring pre-OS.

Kurt was sitting against an old oak tree in a secluded part of the Dalton grounds. It was one of those rare brilliant days in early spring when the sun was shining brightly and warmly, and all the snow had melted from the ground, which was emitting a warm, musty odor into the air and a sense of waiting and expectation into his heart. He knew that it would probably snow again before the real spring set in, so he had decided to take advantage of this warm lull. As was his wont, he had planned everything to perfection, and so now he was sitting on a fluffy, burgundy picnic blanket, a basket with cut up grapefruit and strawberries by his side, a beautiful pashmina shawl draped around his shoulders to keep out any stray chills, a novel in his lap (Jane Austen, what else?), and his iPod in his jacket pocket should his mood change more towards music. He only had an hour for lunch, but he intended to make the most of it. He settled into the romance of the novel he was reading, every once in a while absentmindedly bringing a piece of fruit to his lips.

"I wondered where you'd got to." Blaine's voice came from behind him, and Kurt instinctively leaned his head backwards to find the source. And there he was, above and behind him, leaning against the tree, his arms crossed over his chest and his hip jutting out slightly. Sunlight played in the highlights of his hair and glinted off the hazel of his eyes. Kurt smiled.

"Just enjoying the sun. I feel like I've been trapped inside for years, not months," replied Kurt, squinting slightly as he gazed up at his beautiful friend. The squint seemed to create halos of light around Blaine, glancing off his cheeks and the mounds of his shoulders. Kurt smiled wider. Spring really agreed with Blaine.

"You've got quite the set up here."

"Well, you don't expect me to sit on the actual ground," Kurt said, mock shivering.

Blaine laughed lightly. "Never. It looks comfortable. Can I join you?"

Kurt's smiled widened even more, his teeth finally peeking through from between his lips. "Of course," he replied simply, and then he shifted over to make space on the blanket for Blaine, his back sliding roughly against the incredibly wide, old oak.

Blaine took a step forward, and then stretched his arms up over his head, yawning widely. "I am so exhausted," he said. "Do you mind if I use your lap as a pillow? Maybe take a nap?"

Kurt's felt his smile freeze on his face as his teeth clicked shut. His calm, engendered by the sun and the warmth and the strong oak tree at his back, disappeared in an instant. His mind and body were instead filled with the image of Blaine's head nestled in his lap, so very close to his – Kurt blinked, chasing the image away as he realized that Blaine was staring down at him, waiting for a reply. He somehow managed to unclench his jaw, trying to soften the smile that he knew must now resemble a grimace more than anything else, and said, "Sure, why not?" Then he shrugged elaborately and whipped his head around, fixing his eyes on the indecipherable words that swam on the pages in front of him. He lifted the book from his lap and set it aside, trying desperately to keep his hand from shaking.

Blaine dropped to his knees on the blanket beside him, then twisted around and leaned back into Kurt's lap. He settled his head near the top of Kurt's thigh and sighed, looking up with sparkling hazel eyes. "Comfy," he grinned, and then his eyes fluttered shut.

Kurt searched around for some way to calm himself down because Blaine's head was dangerously close to a certain area and all he would have to do was turn to the side and slightly up, and then he would know how very calm Kurt wasn't. Kurt settled on bitchy insecurity, because it always served him well in tense situations. "Are you saying my thighs are fat?" he snarked.

"No. Lean and muscular. Just how I like my pillows," murmured Blaine sleepily. Then he hummed under his breath and added, "That came out slightly wrong."

No shit. Kurt leaned his head back against the oak, staring up into the intertwining branches. Still leafless, the oak let patches of brilliant blue through, and Kurt focused on the pattern they made until he felt his calm beginning to return to him. He would just ignore the warm pressure that was Blaine's head on his thigh, go back to reading, and in an hour this ordeal would be over. He chanced a glance down at his friend. Blaine's mouth was slightly parted, the barest tip of his tongue peeking through his lips, and he was already breathing evenly and deeply. Screw the book, said Kurt's darker angel, and he decided that he would use this opportunity to memorize Blaine's perfect face. Because he needed more ammunition to fuel his desperate crush on his friend, right? Right.

Kurt let his eyes wander the still face beneath him, starting with the full, parted lips. He traced their outline slowly with his eyes, then settled between them, taking in the deep, luscious, dark pink of his tongue, wishing he could follow it further into the cavern of his mouth. Kurt shivered slightly, and tore his eyes away before his body forced him to follow that thought through. His eyes lingered on Blaine's strong, angular jaw, tracing the barely visible, but heartbreakingly masculine shadow of the beard that was already trying to struggle to the surface of his skin, even though he had undoubtedly shaved this morning. He traveled up, delving and swirling into the planes and dips of Blaine's perfectly formed ear, getting tangled in the hair that was molded and gelled around it, a few curly wisps escaping the hold just at the nape of his neck. He moved back to his face, skittering over each long, black eyelash that rested against the pure olive of his skin, tracing the wide semi-circle of his eyelids, which were twitching slightly, causing his lashes to scrap and flutter just the slightest bit against the thin skin under his eyes. Up he went, to those odd triangular eyebrows, impossibly thick and bushy, which should have been off-putting to someone so obsessed with impeccable grooming as Kurt, but which actually added in some strange way to the perfection of his face. Their uniqueness tipped Blaine's face from incredibly handsome to stunningly beautiful, and Kurt had long ago decided they were his favorite feature. Well, except maybe for his eyes. Or his lips. Movement caught his eyes, and Kurt slid down the strong plane of Blaine's nose to settle back onto those lips, which were twitching slightly. Blaine's tongue flicked out lightening quick, dragging along his lower lip, leaving it glistening. A heavier breath followed this movement, and Kurt had to shut his eyes to stop himself from leaning down and stealing it into his own lungs.

Another, sharper movement dragged Kurt's eyes away from Blaine's face down his torso. Blaine's right hand, which had been resting below his left on his belly, was slipping into the gap below the button of his blazer. Kurt watched, mesmerized, as the hand smoothed small circles into the fabric of Blaine's dress shirt, and he could not help but notice that the circles themselves were slowly traveling lower and lower. Kurt tore his eyes away from this awesome, in the true sense of the word, and somewhat terrifying spectacle, and fixed his gaze back on Blaine's face once more. He seemed to be sleeping still. His breath was deeper than before, but still even, and strong enough that Kurt could feel it tickle his face from two feet away. His eyes were closed, lids jumping slightly as the orbs beneath them moved quickly from side to side. Dreaming, then. But about what? Kurt looked back down. Blaine's hand had made definitely progress. It was hovering over his belt buckle, and just beyond the buckle was the evidence of exactly what kind of dream Blaine was having. Kurt could see the entire length of Blaine's erection pressing against his trousers. He blushed and began to panic.

What does one do in a situation like this? What's the etiquette? How was he supposed to deal with the fact that the impossibly gorgeous boy that he was in love with was about to touch himself in front of him, but was not conscious of it? Should he shake him awake? Call out his name? Try to ignore it? Yeah right: there was no way he could do that. And while Kurt was panicking, that hand was still travelling ever lower, and despite his panic, Kurt's eyes were following its progress. And there it was, the proverbial point of no return: Blaine's palm was rubbing gently against his erection, his fingers tense and splayed almost upwards, and Kurt had done nothing to prevent it from getting there. He felt frozen, and his mouth was completely dry. His panic was still there, but it was an annoying buzz in the back of his mind because this, what he was seeing, was the most terrifyingly wondrous thing he had ever seen in his life. It was overwhelming, it was all-consuming, and there was no way he was going to do anything to stop it, regardless of what the consequences of that might be, which he couldn't really consider right now because his mind was literally blown. Blaine's palm was pressing harder, its movements swifter, and the breath that kept hitting Kurt's face was steadily becoming faster, harsher. The heel of Blaine's palm dug sharply into his erection, and then suddenly it stopped moving and his fingers twitched spasmodically. Kurt stared at the hand, not understanding how or why it had stopped, just desperately willing it to continue.

"Kurt?"

And there it was, the panic that had been shuffled off into the corner of his mind, resurfacing again and inundating him, pressing a chill deep into his body, twisting his stomach. He held his breath and reluctantly withdrew his eyes from Blaine's crotch, slowly dragging them up his body and finally meeting his eyes. Kurt didn't quite understand what he saw there. Blaine's pupils were almost completely dilated, regardless of the sunlight shining down on both of them, but they still somehow managed to convey what Kurt thought was a heated mixture of confusion, fear and lust. He felt like he could happily drown in the black swirl of emotion that was Blaine's eyes, and then he felt a wave of shame wash through him. Lust aside, since when did Blaine confused or afraid make him happy? He suddenly felt like he was the most horrible person in the world, and yet…it didn't keep him from drinking in those eyes.

They 'd been staring at each other for what felt like hours to Kurt, but was really only a few moments when Blaine quickly squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, and said, "I'm so sorry."

Sorry? For what? Being an Adonis? Showing me the most amazing thing I've ever seen? Giving me fantasy and masturbation fodder that will probably last me until I drop dead of a coronary at the ripe age of 89 and when they find me with my dick in my hand and pry open my jaws my last breath pours out in the shape of your name? I love you! What could you possibly have to be sorry for?

What he said was, "I don't mind at all." And strangely, his voice came out sounding distant and a little cold. But he could swear that he saw Blaine's pupils expand until the hazel was almost completely gone. They were so huge that Kurt could actually see that they were empty space beyond the thin film protecting them.

"No?" Blaine's voice mimicked his eyes, deep and dark, capable of drowning Kurt without trying. There was a glimmer of something that resembled hope in his voice too, and Kurt clung to that like a life-raft. Blaine's eyes flickered downwards, and Kurt followed them, coming to rest once more on Blaine's crotch, where his hand was still gently cupping the outline of his erection.

"Should I…?" said Blaine tentatively, and suddenly Kurt saw two paths branching out in front of him. One was smooth, a path that ignored and repressed what he'd seen today, a path that fell back into the easy friendship they shared. A path where he had no chance of stumbling over his own inexperience and fear. The other path was thorny, overgrown and murky, a path that would leave him open and exposed and raw, a path that would take a kind of courage he didn't know if he had, and he had no idea where that path would lead. If he took that path, he could very well trip over his own feet and lose Blaine forever. Kurt stared down into the black whirlpools of Blaine's eyes, and felt himself being dragged down into them, down that second path, and he was overwhelmed by his desire to follow it. Blaine knew the way. Kurt recalled the time Blaine had almost offhandedly mentioned just how much experience he had before closing the subject with a finality that Kurt hadn't dared to try to get around since, though he had heard rumors, of course. Blaine knew what he was doing, and Kurt felt swayed enough by the lustful tug of Blaine's eyes to be able to meet him at least halfway. Kurt was terrified of touching Blaine, terrified of fumbling and awkwardness, but if Blaine did it himself with Kurt talking him through it, it might just break down the barrier of inexperience he was cowering behind. He screwed up his courage and opted for the second path, knowing he had to stride down it purposefully; he had to own it.

"You should…keep touching yourself," he said, and he was surprised at how sure and low his voice sounded. Commanding, even.

A low whine escaped from the back of Blaine's throat and somehow his eyes became even blacker. "Tell me what to do," he whined in a strangely broken voice. His eyes were fixed solely on Kurt's face, never wavering, hardly blinking.

Kurt pulled his own eyes away and trailed them down Blaine's body, stretched out perpendicular to his own, fully lit by the warm midday sun. He felt a heady sense of power rush through him as he said, "Unbutton your shirt first. I want to see you."

He felt Blaine's gasped breath against his cheek, but he didn't turn to look at his face. He kept his eyes trained on Blaine's body, watching as his hands tentatively came together at the button of his blazer then moved upwards to the first of his shirt buttons. As each button came undone, Blaine's breathing became more ragged, and by the time he reached the last button his chest was rising and falling in a rapid, stuttering rhythm.

"Spread it away. Show yourself to me," commanded Kurt in the same low, distant voice. Blaine hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly pulled it away from his chest. Kurt resisted the urge to start crying and babbling at Blaine about how beautiful he was, how impossible he was. He felt like he had to remain strong and in control, or he would somehow lose this moment so he schooled himself, staring intently at the dips and curves and sharp lines of Blaine's upper body. "Put your hands on your chest. Stroke yourself," he said calmly.

Blaine's hands travelled over his chest, and in some strange way he seemed to be following the trails Kurt's eyes left over his skin, as if he knew where Kurt wanted his hands without even being told. He rubbed at his nipples, ghosted over his ribs, dragged fingernails into his hips, all while panting raggedly and every once in a while emitting that strange, broken whine. Kurt watched it all avidly, his eyes never once leaving Blaine's skin.

"Unbuckle your belt," commanded Kurt finally. Blaine's hands shook as they worked at the buckle, but it was done quickly. "Now your pants."

When the button and zipper of Blaine's trousers had been taken care of, Kurt had to pause and collect himself. He felt unreal, and the sun was no longer comfortably warm. Instead it beat down on him, illuminating every line of Blaine's body in a harsh, piercing light. Everything seemed sharp, from the light glinting off Blaine's zipper to the harsh staccato of his breath huffing up towards Kurt's cheek.

"Lift your hips and pull them off – pants and boxers," he said finally, his voice controlled, low, perfectly neutral.

Blaine clawed at his clothing, pulling it down just enough that his erection sprang free. His hands stayed tangled in his boxers for the entire long minute that Kurt took to drink in the sight before him. The hair on Blaine's stomach descended in a sharp v-shape to the base of his penis; dark, trimmed and neat, it was still obviously curly. Kurt blinked, his mind going back to the wispy curls at the nape of Blaine's neck, but he didn't look to check; he couldn't tear his eyes away because nestled in that hair was the most beautiful cock Kurt was sure he would ever see. It was smooth and long, with delicate traceries of veins travelling up and around in a pattern that would surely be burned into his brain. He could see the olive brown that colored the rest of Blaine's skin as a translucent shading over a deep red that came from beneath. The head was defined and cut, perfectly shaped, and a bead of pre-cum clung to it like a tear. It hung upwards, curving slightly towards Blaine's right hip. Kurt realized how long he'd been staring when Blaine whined and it twitched slightly as if shy of his avid attention.

"Touch yourself. Slowly."

Blaine's right hand crept upwards and wound around his shaft. He began stroking at a languorous pace, pausing at the head to spread the pre-cum around. It glistened in the sunlight, making the skin it touched shine an olive-red. "Faster," commanded Kurt, his voice still even but slightly gruffer. Blaine sped up his movements, another broken whine blossoming from his mouth and hitting Kurt's cheek in a puff of air. It was followed by yet another, and another, the whines shorter and more fragile seeming, the breath stronger and hotter. Kurt saw that Blaine's balls were beginning to tighten and draw into his body, so he commanded, "Come."

Blaine's back arched, his head pressing painfully into Kurt's thigh, and thick, white plumes of semen leapt from the head of his cock as his whine turned into a shrieking sob. Kurt watched in awe as his chest was covered in pools and splashes of translucent white. As Blaine's body shuddered back down towards the ground, Kurt reached out his hand and touched the tip of his index finger to one pool. He lifted it to his lips and tasted it; he tasted the perfect salty sweetness of Blaine; he tasted Blaine. He moaned contentedly, sure in his conviction that the world had suddenly become an impossibly good place, a place where nothing bad could ever happen because there was this perfection, this bliss. He turned his head to look down at Blaine's face, and that conviction shattered.

Blaine's eyes were squeezed shut, and the tracks of many tears cut through the beautiful olive of his cheeks. Tears clung to his eyelashes, and his mouth was twisted into a tight, pitiful grimace over his trembling chin.

"Blaine! What – "

Blaine's eyes flew open, and the formerly blown pupils were now pinpricks of black surrounded by blazing hazel. A storm of pain and shame flew from those eyes and slammed into Kurt. Kurt couldn't think, couldn't speak; all he could do was stare in shock and horror as he was beaten back by the tears streaming down Blaine's face. And then suddenly Blaine's body was curling upwards, away from his, hands fumbling with his clothing as he shot up to his feet. Then he was running, shirt and blazer flapping loosely away from his body, hands desperately holding his pants to his body; he was running, and he was running away from Kurt.

Kurt watched him flee, too shocked to move. He drew a deep, shuddering breath that collapsed into a seemingly unending series of breathy sobs as he realized – he'd chosen the wrong path.

AN: Fluff, smut, angst. Rinse, lather, repeat. If you lovely people are interested in why Blaine reacted the way he did, let me know. I have some ideas for Blaine's POV, and if there's enough interest I could be persuaded to continue and maybe even resolve this. If not, let it forever remain an angsty one-shot. Huzzah! (That may have been inappropriate, but that's my bailiwick.)