A/N: Thank you so much for reading! :) Let me know what you think over here or on tumblr, lovelies. :3
Everything is hazy and warm and swirling around them in the dimness of the bedroom, shocking heat rising up in the base of Blaine's stomach and making him keen helplessly against Kurt's mouth as they kiss. Kurt's hands tighten frantically in Blaine's hair at the noise, pulling Blaine closer until their bodies are lined up deliciously right. It's right after their third date, and Blaine's whole body is buzzing with want as he presses back against the column of Kurt's body. He had spent the entire walk back here reeling from the excitement at having Kurt invite him back to his apartment after the movie's credits began to roll. Wondering if it meant what he thought it did, or if he was over-stepping himself.
Apparently, though, the invitation had meant exactly what he thought it did. From out of the corner of his eye, Blaine can see that the bedspread and heavy curtains of Kurt's bedroom are a deep rich red that speaks of romance and closeness and intimate moments. The many tea candles dotted throughout the room flicker and dance, sending shadow and warm light across their bodies as they tangle together. He holds tight to Kurt's forearms and lets himself be kissed, leaning up into it as his head swims and blurs.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Kurt rumbles against his lips, catching Blaine's bottom lip between his teeth and tugging it, worrying at it. Blaine gives himself into the touch freely, whimpering at the hint of pain mixed with pleasure as his eyes flutter shut at the feeling of it. "Love the way you smell, Blaine, god. Want you so badly—"
"Do you want –?" murmurs Blaine, cutting off into a groan as Kurt moves his lips to Blaine's neck. Sucking over pulse points and working the sensitive skin with a desperation that makes Blaine buck helplessly against him and slide his hands around to clutch at Kurt's back. "I – we don't have to, but if you want –"
Kurt bites down so hard it hurts, drawing Blaine out of the words before he can finish them. Blaine can feel his own breathing coming hard and fast and hot into the room, and it's all he can do to fist his hands in the back of Kurt's silky shirt and gasp.
"Let me," Kurt growls, backing Blaine towards the bed with steps so quick it almost makes Blaine stumble backward. He clings to Kurt's shoulders. "Please let me, Blaine, I need it. Need you, need to be inside you –"
"Oh, god," says Blaine weakly, blood pounding hot and heated through his body. They haven't done this before; haven't done anything before except heated kisses in almost-public places after their few dates. Have never even had the chance to get one another off. By all rights, it should feel like too much. Except that Blaine is so hard it's almost painful, and the idea of Kurt stretching him open and pressing inside, exposing him and filling him up in that oh-so-intimate way... "God, yes, please."
The smirk that drags across Kurt's lips is so self-satisfied and pleased that it should be insulting, but all Blaine can feel is the aching hunger of want. He wants this, needs this so badly; has ever since that day in the alley when he first looked into those bright blue eyes and fell. They've known each other for less than two weeks and it should be too soon – Blaine isn't a prude, enjoys sex and getting off and being close with the boys that he dates. But he's always waited at least a month before doing this with anyone, staved off the desperation with fingers and mouths and held on to make certain before jumping into anything.
But Kurt... god, Kurt is so much more than anyone Blaine's ever dated. Than anyone Blaine's ever known. Blaine wants to have everything with him, and there's no way he can wait any longer when they can have this right now instead.
Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt's shoulders and kisses him, and it doesn't take long for Kurt to take control. Dragging their mouths together in a sloppy slide of lips and tongues and desperation. It feels as though Kurt is opening him up, learning him from the inside as his hands slide up the back of Blaine's shirt. Running them along the heat of Blaine's skin before dragging his nails over the expanse of his back in a gentle scrape, and the shock of the touch makes Blaine shiver and moan.
With inhuman speed, Kurt pulls away from the kiss and slides the shirt up over Blaine's head. Throwing it on the ground and leaning in to press hard, fast kisses against Blaine's lips as he reaches down and begins working at the buttons of his fly. Blaine's own hands clench in mid air for a long moment before he regains his senses enough amid the swirl and heat of the touches to reach out begin to fumble with the buttons of Kurt's =shirt.
They undress one another fast and rushed, too focused on mouths and hands and touch to be elegant or restrained. Kurt is more out of breath than Blaine has ever seen him before, looking wild-eyed and dishevelled every time he pulls away long enough for Blaine to get a look at him. His light skin is warmed and heated in the dim light as clothes are stripped away, and more and more of that beautiful paleness gets exposed.
There is a franticness to Kurt's every touch and look and gesture that Blaine has never seen in him before; every time they've spent time together, Kurt has practically been the epitome of cool composure and control. It makes Blaine's stomach twist deliciously with the heat of being wanted.
It doesn't take long before they're both undressed and Kurt's hands are running over his chest and wrapping around his shoulders as though trying to memorize him. And Kurt naked is... oh, god, he's perfection. Every line of his body is streamed and sharp, and his cock is dusky and elegant and beautiful just like the rest of him. Hot breath coming in short pants, Blaine reaches down between them to wrap a hand around Kurt's erection. Squeezing at him experimentally, making Kurt groan and buck and suddenly the world jerks around them and Blaine's back is colliding hard with something soft and firm.
He groans as he realizes that Kurt has shoved him onto the bed and climbed on top with wicked speed, grinding their hips together and making Blaine throw his head back and clutch at the sheets as he sucks in air and bucks his hips back.
"Yes," says Kurt, dark and heated and private as they writhe together on the bed. "Yes, that's right. Going to be so good, okay?"
"Please," Blaine gasps out, leaning up to kiss Kurt but mostly pressing his lips against the corner of Kurt's mouth. The slide of their bodies so perfect and male, all friction and shocks of sharp heat sparking up his spine.
Kurt pulls away, and Blaine tries to follow – to make Kurt feel good, to wrap his lips around Kurt's cock and swallow deep and drive him crazy. But Kurt wordlessly presses a hand to his chest and shoves him back onto the bed with a short growl, eyes heated and with his hair coming loose and unstyled around his ears.
"Can't wait," says Kurt heatedly, that beautiful voice low and commanding with finality. "Can't wait anymore."
Everything is going so quickly – so much in no time at all like it's barely even real. Blaine opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. "Okay," he says instead, nodding helplessly and feeling the flush of desperation spread over his face. "Okay."
Without another word, Kurt reaches over to the bedside drawer. He opens it and plucks out a small container of lube, and the rush of need Blaine feels when he sees it makes him squirm. His hole feels sensitive and exposed already with the anticipation, of knowing what's going to come next. Everything is shuddery and jagged and exposed, and they haven't even started yet.
Uncapping the bottle, Kurt squeezes a large dollop of liquid onto his fingers and deposits the container back on the bedside table. Without breaking Blaine's gaze, eyes hot and primal, he shifts himself down so that he's kneeling between his legs, pushes Blaine's knees up – and reaches down to press a finger against Blaine's entrance.
It's been a while since he's done this, and Blaine hisses at the touch before his body remembers what it feels like. But it's only a second before the touch shifts from surprising to hot and teasing – not enough, just a hint – and when Kurt's finger begins to press inside, he's already groaning and pressing back into the pressure.
"You've done this before," says Kurt quietly, pushing the first finger inside of him. Slowly and surely but with minimal resistance, because Blaine's body recognizes this touch. Knows what comes next, how good it can feel. He nods feebly, eyes squeezed shut and breathing hard at the welcome intrusion. Even one finger feels big inside after so long without, the stretch and press of it so lovely inside.
"Eyes open," Kurt warns in a dark voice, and Blaine wrenches his eyes wide. Kurt is looking down at him hungrily as he slides his finger in and out – and then crooks it, making white hot pleasure flash in front of Blaine's eyes, and he groans and twists with it still pressed inside. Kurt slides his finger over that special place teasingly, tauntingly for a little while. Coaxing little noises out of Blaine's throat as he presses himself back against, drawing it out for long enough to have him whining – before pulling back and adding another. Blaine groans at the perfect stretch, pressing his ass back into the touch.
"Know how to take my fingers so well, Blaine," says Kurt, blue eyes dark and flashing as he begins to slide them in and out. He cocks his head to one side. "How many people have seen you like this? Open and exposed and so desperate for it?"
"I – I don't –" Blaine's words are cut off into a hard groan as Kurt begins to rock his fingers in earnest.
"Was their touch as good as mine, beautiful thing?" One hand on Blaine's hip as he works up a hard rhythm, making Blaine's toes curl. "As special?"
"No – no one like you, Kurt, please." The words are true, more true than Blaine can believe, and he has no idea why he ever bothered with anyone else when there was Kurt out there somewhere, so much better than anything else. Smirking, Kurt pulls back and presses a third finger inside, and Blaine can't stop himself from shouting out loud. It's not enough lube, and too much too fast, but that just makes it better. Kurt's fingers burn and stretch and slide inside of him, driving him halfway mad.
And Kurt just stares, watching his face with incredible focus. As though looking at something too captivating to possible be real. He sees Kurt inhale deeply through his nose a few times, shuddering hard as he makes hot pressure rack across Blaine's body.
When Kurt yanks his fingers out, Blaine jerks and gasps at the sudden emptiness. It's too much, he needs Kurt, needs to be filled so badly –
But even amid the heat of the moment, his whole body tenses and freezes as Kurt grips his thighs. As he positions himself to press inside – bareback, without a condom, and something important twinges in Blaine's mind.
"Kurt," he says breathily, shaking his head. He licks his lips. "Condom – we need –"
"Have you ever been with someone without one?" Kurt asks, voice calm except for the ragged edges as he squeezes his fingers into Blaine's thighs. He only looks the slightest bit flushed, but Blaine can feel his whole body shaking with desperation.
"I – no, but –"
Kurt leans up to kiss him then, a hard press of mouths with his teeth biting down hard on Blaine's lips. He has to press him back into the bed almost bent in half in order to reach, hands clenched tight on Blaine's legs. It's a claim, a punctuation, and when he pulls his face incrementally away and stares right into his eyes Blaine is breathing hard and glassy-eyed.
"Then we're both safe," says Kurt firmly, and Blaine almost wants to protest again but his eyes are blue and deep and captivating as he stares right back at Blaine, seeing inside of him and knowing and taking and having. He finally nods weakly, and when Kurt kisses him again Blaine can feel the grin pressed against his lips.
They separate after a moment, and Kurt positions himself again with another smear of lube to his cock. Blaine can feel him there, pressed big and blunt and hard against Blaine's entrance. He's never done this without a condom before and it's nerve-wracking and strange to the touch, skin instead of the slippery slide of latex, but it's Kurt and that somehow makes everything okay.
And when Kurt begins to push inside, every other thought flies out of Blaine's head at once.
"Fuck," he hisses, head falling back onto the pillows as Kurt's cock slowly inches inside. He feels so big, stretching Blaine open as he buries himself inside. Filling him up so perfect, so right, the paleness of his skin trembling in an obvious effort not to slam himself in all at once. "Kurt –"
Kurt takes a deep breath above him, pushing and pushing until he's fully seated inside Blaine's body, as deep as he can go. They're all pressed up together, skin sliding with sweat, and he feels so big and real and the press and burn of it is all Blaine can experience.
When Kurt pulls out and then rocks back in again, it feels as though Blaine's whole world is ending.
The shock of the slide is white hot and thrumming, his ass gripping and clenching at Kurt's cock as the other boy pushes back inside again. In, out, working up a rhythm and pushing it harder. He fists his hands into the deep red sheets, head falling back and exposing his neck at the sudden heat of it; Kurt doesn't for him to adjust or build up the speed slowly over time, just finds the pace he wants to takes. It's rougher than Blaine usually likes it but so good, instinctual and base and ruthless in a way he's never had with anyone else before, ever. He pushes back into it as best he can, but Kurt holds his legs firm; controlling the pace and speed as he takes his pleasure in Blaine's body.
Above him, Kurt's angelic face is twisted up into a picture of intensity and want as he rocks his hips, dragging in and out with practiced ease. He looks hungry as he stares down at Blaine's face, raking his eyes over his lips and eyelashes and the flush of his cheeks as Blaine writes and keens beneath him, making him feel even more bare to the world as he drags his eyes greedily over every feature. Everything is skin and need, and Blaine can't even think for how impossible good the pressure of it is inside.
Every few strokes Kurt's cock brushes against the place inside that sends electric shocks from Blaine's spine to his fingertips, making him groan and whimper and gasp out meaningless words into the air. Kurt's so big, so much, so perfect. Blaine ties desperately to rock his hips back into every thrust as Kurt starts to move faster – and groans, the stretch and slam amazing as Kurt begins to pound into him without pretence.
"You're so good," Kurt growls, hips slamming against him a Blaine squeezes and writhes beneath him. "So perfect. Can you come, Blaine? I want to see you come."
It should be too soon, Blaine knows; but the tight coils of heat are already clenching in the base of his stomach. He whines in desperation as he nods, trying his best to keep his eyes open so he can keep watching he way Kurt looks as he fucks him. He's beautiful, so beautiful it hurts as he watches Blaine with heated eyes. Kurt lets go of his thigh with one hand, reaches down between them – and Blaine keens as he wraps his hand around Blaine's cock.
"That's it," whispers Kurt harshly, hand roughly jerking Blaine's cock as he pounds into him. His eyes are dark, the red around the edges so hot and bright in the candle light. He licks his lips and leans in close. "Come on, Blaine."
His hand is squeezing just right and the rhythm is so fast and unyielding and perfect, and Blaine can feel his whole body clenching as he starts to go over the edge. Eyes fluttering as liquid heat spreads through his whole body, clenching down hard around Kurt's cock and spasming hard as his orgasm hits, bright and hot and so much. Kurt's eyes flood with a deep red as Blaine jerks and gasps beneath him, coming so hard around the sweet pressure as Kurt presses his face into Blaine's neck and –
— pain, real and sharp and slicing as Kurt's teeth puncture deep into his neck. Blaine screams in shock, tries to pull away but Kurt's too strong, holding him easily in place as he keeps fucking into him and tears his throat open. Sucking hard and it hurts, hurts so much as Kurt ruthlessly seals his mouth around the wound and drinks as he keeps on fucking him, his cock slamming in harder than ever but he can barely even feel it over the searing agony in his neck.
Blaine's hands are clawing weakly at Kurt's chest, his arms, anything to get him away the terrified panic fills everything makes it impossible to think. But suddenly the other boy is strong and hard and sharp, holding him in place easily and making his head swim and he can't get away –
The world is fading out around the edges, getting dimmer and weaker as Kurt bleeds him dry. He feels Kurt pound into him hard a last few times before stilling, hot wetness splashing inside as Kurt groans against his neck and sends vibrations through the bloody wound. He's scared, so scared, but the world is getting smaller and darker and he can't keep clinging to it anymore.
The last thing Blaine sees as his eyes slide closed is Kurt, pulling away from his neck – but it isn't Kurt. There's a monster there instead, face all wrong and twisted and horrible. Bright red eyes and the face all wrong, all wrong. Sharp teeth and blood dripping down its chin in messy streaks, grinning with a mouth that holds too many teeth and cocking its head before it shoves his face back into Blaine's neck, bites down hard –
— before Blaine jerks awake on the couch with pain still throbbing in his neck and a scream on his lips, clutching at thin air with his heart pounding in his chest so hard he can barely breathe as he gasps and chokes and wet heat slides down his face.
His hand flies up to the side of his neck, knowing that it's mangled and torn and stringy and wet with blood and sinew and flesh because he can feel it running down his neck, and it hurts so much and the world is spinning from blood loss and pain. But when the shuddering tips of his fingers actually make physical contact with his neck...
Nothing. The skin there is hot and slick sweat, but it is smooth and unbroken. There is no wound. No blood. The pain of it is still gouging twisting searing even as Blaine's mind registers that he isn't physically hurt. Not at all, not even a little. His body is shuddering with the post-orgasm twist that had been cut off abruptly by pain and horror, and there's a dull ache between his legs. He gasps, and chokes, and clenches his hand in disbelief.
And slowly – gradually – it all begins to fade. Dimming at the edges, slipping through his fingers as he clutches at the side of his intact neck and breathes.
It must have been a dream, he tells himself. Just a dream – but more... real than any dream he's ever had before in his life. So vivid he can still feel the sharpness of the pain even though he knows it to be false, can still see that monstrous parody of Kurt's face leaning over him as though it's a genuine memory.
Can still feel the tingle of killed pleasure, making him feel guilty and horrified and sick to his stomach.
Breathing hard and his whole body shaking, it occurs to him that he has been dreaming about Kurt every night since the night in the alley. The ones before now had been shockingly sharp and immersive, as well – he'd assumed it had been suppressed attraction and frustration at not being able to see the other boy again. But that...that had been tenfold as intense as the first few dreams, and so much more real.
Feeling profoundly unsettled and unsure of himself, Blaine slides a hand gratefully over the smoothness of his own neck one last time. He feels weak with relief.
It doesn't last long, though, because the parts of last night that weren't a dream are swiftly coming back to him as well. Blaine's heart plummets into his stomach as it all comes back to him – the snapping bones, that monstrous face, the man twitching and shaking as blood bloomed from his neck, calling the police –
Calling the police.
Oh, god.
Blaine knows intellectually that he's just shaken up from the horror of the dream, but all at once Blaine needs to know. He scrabbles around desperately in search of the remote control, feeling tense and queasy with an anxiety over this that hadn't been there last night. When he finally manages to locate the remote tucked between the cushions of the couch, he flicks on the television turns to the first local news channel he can think of with bated breath.
He stares at the screen, barely blinking, for long minutes as the two newscasters talk about sports, traffic, the weather. It isn't the fastest way he can find out what he needs to know, but it's all he can manage right now. His stomach is clenching hard, and Blaine has no idea whether he wants to hear something or doesn't. He waits, and watches, and waits.
The tension in his posture is just beginning to relax – the tiniest hint of calming down from the frantic rush of fear upon waking – and he's just about to flick the television set off and check the internet for information when the pretty blonde newscaster switches stories and his blood runs cold.
"... in other news, for those of you just tuning in: two NYPD officers were found murdered near the corner of East 82nd and 3rd in the small hours of the morning. Few details are available at this time, but the official statement has indicated that an anonymous tip brought them into the area. Gang violence is suspected. Shockingly, the bodies of both officers were partially exsanguinated upon discovery. The following image of a message discovered at the scene contains gruesome imagery, and is not appropriate for all viewers."
As the screen switches pictures, it feels as though the world is literally being tugged out from under him. Because there, in front of him, is a picture of writing smeared across concrete. The words are the sick brown of dried blood; the message has clearly been made by someone dipping their hands into blood and painstakingly taking the time to craft each individual letter. It must have taken a great deal of time and patience to get the writing as smooth and well-formed as it is. And a great deal of blood.
DON'T TEST ME, PRETTY
The words of the newscasters consulting with some kind of expert over potential meanings of the message are drowned out by the cluttering smash as Blaine drops the remote onto the floor with unfeeling hands. He barely makes it to the trashcan in time before he's retching, clinging to it through the heaves as he vomits helplessly into it.