Warnings: mildly explicit masturbation
Summary: When Kurt leaves Blaine for Macy's, the boy finds himself frustrated and with an entire free afternoon ahead of him.
Blaine closes and locks the door behind him, thunking his skull against the wood as he leans heavily against it. He had been such an idiot, going to Kurt out of the blue and unashamedly propositioning him like that! The furthest they've gotten after a bit of innocent straddling - well innocent in that it led to nothing - was two nights before that when he caught Kurt on his way back from the showers in nothing but sleep pants and a towel draped around his shoulders. Blaine pulled Kurt back down the hall to his room and practically worshiped his chest right then. He hadn't meant to leave a mark, but pulling back and seeing the already purpling skin had reminded Blaine how the first time he had seen Kurt, he had wanted to kiss him against the banister of the stairs till he stopped looking so damn innocent and perfect.
He had pushed those feelings away after hearing Kurt's story. Blaine had wanted to be a mentor, somebody that Kurt could depend on as he went through the full stages of accepting who he was. After his talk with Wes and David on New Years, when he decided to try to stop being a terrible whatever-they-had-been and actually open himself up to Kurt, those feelings had just… stayed where he had compartmentalized them. But now that he could officially say that he had Kurt, Blaine was remembering what it was like to desire him.
Blaine groans, remembering the way that Kurt's back, all shifting muscles and hot skin, had felt under his shirt. He had not expected Kurt to be in such amazing shape - so much so that he asked about it once, but Kurt had said something about breakfast cereal and ignored the comment. It wasn't fair for Kurt to be keeping all of that himself, it was downright selfish of him to not share the gorgeous image he painted with Blaine more often. And god, what a fucking vision he was. Blaine usually disliked the use of the adjective beautiful for men, no matter how effeminate they looked or acted. But with Kurt there was simply not another word to fully encompass what he was. Striking, yes. Attractive, most definitely. But beautiful captured the sharpness of his jaw, the soft curve of his shoulders, the delicate lines of his eyelashes, the brilliant color of his clear blue eyes.
Well, fuck. Blaine sits down on his bed uncomfortably. Thinking of Kurt, like that - physically, instead of as his adorable boyfriend who laughs at Blaine's bad Star Trek jokes - has left him hard and utterly alone. He tries to calm down, taking deep breaths and thinking of the calm empty space his mom and her friends were always talking about when they came home from yoga. But out of the white mist he tries to imagine, walks Kurt, shirtless and with those sleep pants tied so incredibly low on his hips, that faint line of brown hair visible and leading down towards… better things.
Blaine has thought of little else but that trail for the forty-eight hours. He'd rubbed his fingers over it, marveling in the difference between Kurt's smooth skin and the coarse hair, but only momentarily before Kurt had keened in the nervous sort of way and Blaine thought it would be better to get to just keep kissing his boyfriend's neck than get pushed completely away because he was pushing too fast. And so now he can't stop thinking about what would have happened if he had been able to move lower and press his lips to the smooth patches of skin stretched over Kurt's hip bones. Maybe he would have pulled gently at Kurt's sleep pants until they slipped away and pooled on the floor.
Blaine's thought of those sort of things before, of course, imagined them when he's come away from a study session with Kurt that turned out to actually be a study session, as they always do. He is half mad more often than not, trying not to think about that during the day, in the middle of class, at dinner, whenever Kurt is even remotely in the vicinity. The skintight jeans Kurt is so fond of wearing on the weekends stretch and stick to everything and the bulge between his legs is absolutely included in that. Sometimes, Blaine wonders if Kurt is able to wear underwear of any sort with pants like that. Sometimes, Blaine wonders what it would be like if he were able to push Kurt back on his bed and just peel them off to find out.
Blaine has his own zipper and his hand down his pants before he even realizes that he's moved. He hisses at the contact, hypersensitive from having ignored his erection for too long while imagining things that were doing absolutely nothing to help the situation. He toes off his shoes and scrapes his feet along the carpet to get his socks off. His free hand pushes his jeans past his knees to the floor. Blaine stops, fingers flexing involuntarily around the base of his cock to give some very much needed pressure, and drags his boxer briefs down too after the moment of hesitation. Nobody will be coming to look for him till Kurt got back from the dentist in several hours. He sheds his shirt too, quickly so that he can wrap his hand around himself again. He gives a shuddering stroke up and back down, moaning as quietly as possible
It's dry and a little rough at first but it feels fucking great so he does it again, surprised to already find a bead of wetness at the head when he runs his thumb over it. Blaine fumbles in his bedside drawer for the bottle of cheap lube he bought with saved up spare change, terrified his parents would know what the five dollars and fifty seven cents on his debit card bill had been used for. It dribbles awkwardly down his wrist as he tries to pour it into his hand without actually pulling it away from his cock. The oil gets sort of everywhere and Blaine knows he's going to need to waste two fifty to wash the sheets. But he doesn't care, doesn't fucking care in the slightest because he can't stop the flow of pictures in his mind.
Those same skintight jeans that give him ideas of what he would like to do to Kurt give Blaine plenty of images of what it'll all look like as he actually does it. Kurt is most definitely bigger than him, longer at least. Blaine thinks he'd like to find out if Kurt flushes all over as prettily as his cheeks do when he's given a compliment. He'd definitely, most assuredly like to find out. Because Blaine knows that when - when, not if - he drops to his knees to suck Kurt off, he won't be able to stop the endless string of that will fall from his lips before his mouth is too full for the praise to sound like anything other than hums and gurgles.
He speeds up his strokes, hips suttering up to meet his hand. Blaine presses his head back into his pillow, biting back a loud groan, and lets his mind just spiral down the paths he usually keeps blocked off. The angles of Kurt's long limbs splayed out across Blaine's sheets, the perfect curve his back would make as he arches off the bed, how his hair would stick to his forehead with sweat so that Blaine could push it gently out of the way as they lie together afterwards. The noises, god the noises that he knows Kurt will make, because nobody is more vocal in expressing pleasure over shopping or desert or a good song and there is no way that won't carry over to when Blaine presses his hands just everywhere. He hitches his leg up to change the angle and clenches his eyes shut.
Blaine can just believe that it's Kurt's slender fingers wrapped around his cock, pulling frantically and irregularly. He can barely feel the way that Kurt's chest felt against his, the warm heavy, reassuring resistance of each breath pushing against his own ribcage. Blaine imagines Kurt's hesitantly questing fingers as they silently ask for permission to move, to touch more, to touch everywhere - the innocent excitement that will shine in his eyes. He can feel everything coiling up inside at the image, at the thought of giving Kurt all of the firsts that he longs for, that he's going to be all of that for Kurt. Even if they are one of those couples that never make it past the first semester of college, Blaine will always hold that space in Kurt's heart.
The intense feeling builds in Blaine's chest and burns down his spine. He thinks it is probably love, in that moment, as he's doing something that will glean nothing but his own personal pleasure, and all he can think of is giving everything that he has to Kurt. Blaine comes then, at the realization, balls drawing up and tightening as he thrusts desperately one last time into his hand, warm and wet across his stomach and fingers. He slumps into the mattress, utterly unable to move. His muscles are contracting in tiny, spasmodic shivers all over with the last waves of his orgasm.
He'll get up and shower, later. He'll strip his bed of the sheets and smuggle them down to the laundry room, in a while. Then he'll start planning the absolutely cheesiest date to take Kurt on in a few weeks - when he is sure he's not the only one between them who has placed The Word into the equation - so that he can kiss his boyfriend tell him how he makes him feel when he laughs and smiles and brushes imaginary lint off Blaine's lapel, just to touch him for a moment. But right now, he's going to just clean himself up with the already soiled sheets. Right now he's going to close his eyes and nap. But he's not going to dream of holding Kurt's hand at his college graduation. And he is really, really not going to dream of a future of 2.5 children with crystalline blue eyes riding their bikes around a cul-de-sac. Because that would just be getting ahead of himself.