When Blaine regains consciousness, it happens in bits and pieces.
Little details filtering through the thick layer of disorientation, slipping into his awareness like water through cracks. The sensation of something soft and sturdy underneath his back. The fact that his head is rolled sideways onto something, lolling against it whenever he twitches or shifts.
The sound of music playing quietly in the background.
At first, he hears it as though his ears are full of cotton wool – but after a few minutes, the fuzzy, distorted melody begins to clarify itself.
It is the music that wakes him up, in the end. His mind chases after the elusive sound of it like a white rabbit, internally frowning in concentration as he attempts to piece the broken rhythms and instrument tones into a pattern that makes sense. Eyes still closed but awareness beginning to breach sleep, Blaine furrows his brows as he follows the music back to wakefulness. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the song clarifies itself: old-fashioned instrumentals, crackly and slightly warbled. A slow, calm tune that reminds him inexplicably of black and white films. He shifts, turning his face further into the soft fabric rising and falling beneath his cheek.
"Good morning, pretty."
The shape he's tucked up against rumbles slightly against him as the words fill the air. It's a familiar voice; high and teasing, with a hint of affection nudging at the edges. At once, Blaine's whole body tenses. His eyes fly open – but the sudden brightness of the world beyond his eyelids makes him wince shut them again quickly. Something pulls him in closer, holding him more securely as squeezes his eyes shut and coils up into himself. Into the shape of someone's body, holding him close.
Now that he's awake, Blaine becomes immediately aware of two things. First, there is the pain. Throbbing and pulsing behind his eyes like a physical presence that he could reach out and touch if he wanted. It aches and strains, and he lets out an inadvertent noise of discomfort as he tenses up again. Now that he's aware of it, he has no idea how he managed to ignore it: the ache of it feels like something he could reach out and touch, run his fingers over.
Second of all, there come the memories of what happened. Of where he must be, and with whom.
Something cold and empty floods Blaine's stomach.
Cautiously, he opens his eyes, keeping them narrow against the abrasive light. There isn't too much he can see from this angle, but now that he's aware of it... the shape that he's curled into is unmistakably Kurt's chest. Clothed, still wearing the dark button-up shirt, and for a bright white second Blaine isn't sure whether or not he's wearing clothes before he registers the sensation of his jeans and the soft fabric of his t-shirt rubbing against the sheets. They're the same clothes they were wearing when he invited Kurt into his apartment, and –
And the set of emotions that clench and twist in his stomach at the reminder of everything that's happened come and go too quickly to properly identify them. Dulled fear, and disorientation, and something hot and quick and constrictive that coils along his spine like a shiver.
The two of them are unmistakably lying in a bed together, sheets and duvet half on top of their fully-clothed bodies. Kurt is propped up a bit higher than he is, leaning-almost-sitting against a small pile of cushions. One arm is wrapped around Blaine's shoulders, holding him snug so that Blaine's head rests against his lean chest. Abruptly, Blaine becomes aware of a gentle pressure along his scalp; it takes him a few seconds to realize that it's Kurt's other hand, stroking through his hair idly. Sometimes tangling his fingers through the curls, other times rubbing in little circles along his scalp. The position would almost be sweet, like the snug embrace of a lover – except for the fact that Blaine has been unconscious for god knows how long.
"I can tell you're awake," murmurs Kurt, his high voice dancing on the air despite the softness of his tone. It mingles with the old-fashioned music around them, Kurt's chest rising and falling very slowly as his fingers card through Blaine's hair. "No need to pretend."
"... I wasn't," Blaine denies quietly, wincing when the croaked words make the pounding in his head briefly increase. Trying to tell himself to remain calm – it's over, it's done, he remembers that now; there isn't any point in running – he takes in a few slow, deep breaths that make the pain of it recede a little.
Focusing on his breathing makes him suddenly aware of the soft, elusive smell all around him; woven into the sheets, in the air, radiating off the body next to his and wrapped around Blaine's senses like a blanket. It's the smell of Kurt: all around him in a way he's never experienced before, so close and right there, not a corner-of-his-mind memory. The entirety of that night so long ago – the night with the park bench, and the kiss that seared its way into his brain – is all washed out with the terror and horror and fear, so much fear, that came later. If he did get a chance to take note of Kurt's smell, Blaine doesn't remember it. It's... hairspray, and fabric softener, and something quietly masculine beneath it all that might be cologne or might just be Kurt.
By all rights, Blaine should be terrified. The man – the monster, he tells himself, the monster – who has spent almost two months stalking him, tormenting him, murdering people to get to him finally has him trapped. Has him tangled so tightly in threats and promises that there's no way he can even think of trying to run. God, Blaine should be terrified if only because Kurt has him in a bed; held him to his chest while he was helpless and knocked out for god knows how long.
Kurt is so close, like this. Where there used to be at least the fragile solidity of the door between them, now there is a whole body wrapped around him instead. The quiet physicality of it is overwhelming, after all the distance. Kurt can do anything to him here. Could snap his fingers one by one, or starve him, or tie him up and leave him in the same room for weeks and there would be nothing he could do. Blaine should be crying. Should be frantic, and hysterical, and begging for whatever he can get.
But it's too late for any of that now. After such a long time of teasing and playing, Kurt has finally wrung Blaine out; has finally snapped the few threads that were keeping him together. And it's not as though he's any more helpless unconscious than he is wide awake.
So instead of panicked, all Blaine feels is surreal. Disoriented, and dazedly bewildered by the fact that he can still feel at all: that he's still alive, despite everything. Still human.
That apparently, Kurt has more in store for him than simply turning him as soon as possible.
The fingers are still moving through his hair. Calmly, deliberately, and it's almost a claim all by itself. I can do this to you. I can choose to give you affection.
"Why did you hit me?" Blaine asks after a long pause, wincing again as the pain throbs quietly harder for a moment. It isn't as bad as it was when he woke up, though, and that's something. He still feels slightly fuzzy, it's true, but Blaine is not actively afraid of being chastised for asking. Kurt had said before that he wasn't hiding anything from him, and Blaine believes those words more than ever now.
It isn't that he's safe here, with Kurt holding him to his chest like some kind of living doll. It's that Blaine is so very, very far away from safe that it doesn't matter anymore.
He gave himself over. Done now. No more.
"Mmm," Kurt hums quietly, and Blaine has heard that noise before. A detached, noncommittal little acknowledgment, except... except there's something underneath all that right now. Something low and intense that makes Kurt tighten his arm around Blaine's shoulders reflexively. Kurt scoffs, and it comes out forced. "I wasn't sure if you were going to try something stupid," he declares, all in a rush, before tightening his grip ever-so-slightly more. "I was... done. With chasing you."
"You didn't have to do that," Blaine states dully, shrugging his shoulders as much as he can in his current position. He stares over at the dark cream of the wall; he doesn't know where his glasses are, and even though his vision isn't bad enough to render him anywhere near completely blind, the room isn't as clear as he would like. One more thing among a million that puts him at the disadvantage.
Kurt's fingers are still carding gently through his curls. "I... I can't fight, anymore," says Blaine slowly, and it's true. True in a bone-deep, exhausted way that goes far beyond whatever leverage Kurt might have over him. Blaine is... done. He simply doesn't have it in him to keep struggling.
With his head still cradled on Kurt's chest, Blaine can actually feel Kurt shiver at his declaration. It's all so personal, like this. Being held close. He can feel every tiny moment, every shudder, every breath.
After a few frozen moments, Kurt begins to shift around him. Unwrapping and disentangling himself from Blaine's body in a deliberately slow and gentle manner. Shifting his deceptively delicate-looking body out from under him, reaching over to position Blaine so that he's lying sideways on the bed. Facing Kurt, now, with his sore head cushioned against the pillows. Then, in a careful way that almost reminds Blaine of a cat positioning itself down to go to sleep, Kurt lowers himself back down onto his side so that they're lying on the bed facing each other. Their faces only a few inches apart, the two of them can look each other in the eyes like this.
And Blaine can finally make out the room around them.
Kurt's bedroom – it has to be Kurt's bedroom, it smells like him, it feels like him – is lit with soft lamplight, just like Blaine always dreamed it would be. But other than that, the space doesn't quite fit the image he's always had for it in his head. The windows are entirely blacked out with some kind of dark film or covering, with heavy brown curtains pulled back on either side. It gives the space a sense of stillness, of ever-evening; there's no way for Blaine to tell what time it actually is. The room is also slightly more bare than Blaine had been expecting: handsome shelves with only a few strategically placed books accentuated with large ornamental chess pieces in bright accents of red. On the bed, the two of them are surrounded by a pile of brown and white sheets and blankets.
But all of that is distant and incidental around them compared to Kurt. Lying on his side and staring at Blaine with heavily lidded eyes. Pale and defined and beautiful, Kurt looks strangely content as he trails his eyes over Blaine's face. But that isn't what catches Blaine's attention; isn't what makes his breath hitch in his throat. Instead, it is the reverence in Kurt's eyes that makes Blaine want to squirm beneath his gaze. That makes his skin feel too tight and his fingers twitchy; makes him want to look away from that captivating, too-intense stare.
After a moment, the gentle touch of Kurt's cool fingertips reaches up and brushes along the side of Blaine's face. His fingertips are cool but soft, so soft as they drift along Blaine's cheek.
"I didn't hit you that hard," says Kurt quietly, still holding Blaine's gaze with such concentration that it's starting to make him feel uncomfortable. The fact that he almost seems apologetic is enough to make Blaine's head spin. There's a small, private smile on his face that is so very different from the jeering, elastic grin from Blaine's nightmares. Quiet, and close, and every time he blinks his eyelashes splay across his pale cheeks for the briefest of moments that each stand out like soft-focus snapshots in Blaine's mind. His eyebrows, expressive and sculpted, furrow gently together. "I just wanted to get you on the ground; check to see if you'd decided to play the hero and... I don't know, lay traps or something. But you went down like a rock."
"Oh," says Blaine blankly, the fingers still stroking idly up and down the side of his face.
For the first time, he wonders if Kurt has any intention of hurting him at all.
Despite his sleep in the middle of the day, Blaine had still felt utterly drained when Kurt finally arrived at his door. Finding Amita (don't think about it), his panic attack, his call to his parents (don't think about that don't think don't think don't think) – all of it had driven him to the very edge of composure. The past weeks have been utterly destructive, and Blaine has been sleep-deprived and terrified out of his mind for so long. Add being convinced that he was about to be turned only to have that one bit of certainty ripped out from under him, and it isn't too surprising that it didn't take much knock him out – perhaps more from exhaustion and emotion than the actual impact of the hit.
"Does your head hurt?" Kurt asks, his fingers flitting lightly up to graze over his forehead, his brow line. The touch is so fleeting, it almost tickles. The throbbing behind his eyes has started to fade, though. Ebbing back into something manageable as they lie on the bed together.
"A bit," Blaine admits, everything still surreal and strange around him.
And to his utter surprise, Kurt leans in close – and presses a soft kiss to his forehead.
"You don't have to worry," Kurt murmurs comfortingly against his forehead, lips grazing over the skin and sending little electric shocks of apprehension and heat down Blaine's spine. His breath is becoming slightly laboured, voice full of intimate conviction. Seeming almost drunk on the sight and smell of Blaine in front of him. "Soon enough, a little bump on the head won't be a problem anymore." His hand slides down along the side of Blaine's face, his jaw, down to the curve of his neck. Fingers stroking into his main pulse point with slightly too much dragging pressure.
Despite the fact that he had given himself up so willingly in the end, Blaine had never really thought ahead to the specifics of what surrendering himself to Kurt would entail. Vague notions of blood and pain and being played with, yes. But before, he had always assumed it would end with his death; that he would be one of a long lifetime's worth of kills for Kurt. The information that Kurt wants him forever is so new and so utterly incomprehensible that he hasn't managed to get his head around it yet.
Blinking hard and chest constricting, Blaine glances back up to see a heady, almost intoxicated look on the other boy's smooth features. Kurt licks his lips, eyes lingering at the spot where Blaine's jaw meets his neckline. On his fingers pressed along Blaine's pulse, the muscles of his neck. His pupils dilate and he sucks in a breath when Blaine swallows, his eyes following the movement of it. There are small spots of colour rising in the paleness of his cheeks, and he is visibly holding himself back from doing something.
"You don't have to hold back with me anymore, sweetheart," Kurt whispers intently, dragging his nails lightly over the sensitive skin, running his eyes over Blaine's neck greedily. Drinking him all in. "Everything's good now. Back to the way things were supposed to go."
He grins, and all at once the world is twisting as Kurt moves lightning-quick, grabbing Blaine by the waist and yanking him over so quickly the Blaine can't even register the movement. It's too fast to process, and suddenly he's lying right on top of Kurt with the other boy looking up at him hungrily.
"Finally have you all to myself," Kurt continues, almost smug as Blaine is still attempting to get his bearings. He's firmly in Kurt's grip, all of his weight pressing down on the body beneath him in a way that would probably be uncomfortable if it wasn't for Kurt's strength. Blue eyes flick down to Blaine's lips briefly before coming up to hold his gaze again, and Blaine can feel a thumb rubbing little circles into his waist through the thing fabric of his t-shirt. Their faces are close together like this; close enough to touch. "It was fun chasing you, beautiful thing, but having you..." His face is so close, now, that Blaine can feel the tickle of his breath. Slowly, Kurt brings up his free hand to rest along Blaine's neck again, his fingers stroking deliberately over the skin. He inhales deeply, lets out a little shuddery breath of air that Blaine can feel against his lips, and smiles. "Having you is much better."
When Kurt leans up and presses his mouth against Blaine's, closing the few inches between them and bringing them that much closer, he is expecting it.
What is surprising, however, is how very easy it is for Blaine to let his eyes flutter closed, relax into the touch, and tentatively, tentatively, kiss back.
It's like falling into a dream; as though one of the haunting, terrible visions of the two of them as nothing more than two ordinary people in love have come to life in glorious technicolour. Kurt's body is lithe and solid beneath him, arching up appreciatively into the kiss once Blaine starts to respond. One of his hands stays on Blaine's waist, the other stroking over his neck as though he's something precious as their mouths press together, achingly familiar and so very new all at once. He lets out a high, satisfied noise right before he opens Blaine's mouth with his own, sliding their tongues together sweet and soft and indulgent. A tiny shiver of pleasure twists along Blaine's spine, and it's the first time since he's woken up that he's felt anything other than empty and confused and resigned.
This feels right, like puzzle pieces fitting together. The smell of Kurt all around him and the gentle, scraping touch of his short nails dragging over Blaine's throat as their mouths move and spools of heat begin to coil in his stomach. It's easy, and instinctive, and Blaine is almost able to forget the full implications of who Kurt is. To fall back into the easy fantasy of who he used to think Kurt was; who he wanted Kurt to be so desperately.
It's indulgent, almost sweet, and Blaine's fingertips are starting to tingle as Kurt gently coaxes him past any hesitation he might have had. Soon enough, their mouths are moving together as though they were designed for each other; every tiny movement of Kurt's lips against his making something warm and pleasant grow inside. A small, unintentional noise escapes from Blaine's throat, and Kurt purrs in response against his mouth, his hand flaring on Blaine's waist and pulling him closer. It's easy to relax into this: to feel good, and be made to feel good, and not have to think about anything.
Until the pain of a bite jolts him back to himself.
It doesn't hurt verymuch: it's only Kurt worrying his lower lip between his teeth in what is clearly supposed to be a sensual way. But the sting of pain, as fleeting as it is, makes everything slam right back into sharp focus: the things Kurt has done, and threatened to do.
What Kurt intends to do with him.
All at once, Blaine becomes tremendously aware of the longing, attentive way Kurt's fingers are stroking along his neck. Lingering on pulse points, nails scraping over the curve, thumb brushing carefully over his Adam's apple. Against his will Blaine's whole body stiffens and tenses, becoming rigid on top of him.
After only a moment of non-responsiveness, Kurt pulls away. A frown is stealing over his shining lips, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. His hands, however, stay right where they are. Caressing sly fingers along his neck and holding Blaine snug against his body all at once.
"So scared, pretty thing," he murmurs softly, and Blaine cringes internally. Mentally curses his body, Kurt's senses, everything that makes it so damn easy for Kurt to sense how he's feeling. To know exactly what's going on beneath his skin, in his brain. Kurt stares up at him curiously, lips visibly moist and slightly reddened from the kiss. A few hairs have escaped to brush over the pale skin of his forehead, and he looks so young like this. His fingers drag over the skin of Blaine's neck, pressing into the main pulse point, and Blaine flinches. Kurt frowns. "What are you so scared of?"
The responses that could follow that particular question cannot be accurately summarized in a few sentences, and the fact that Kurt can't guess – that he seems genuinely at a loss as to why Blaine could possibly be feeling this way – makes something small and unpleasant clench inside of him. He's clearly waiting for an answer, though; head cocked to one side and staring up at him patiently.
Blaine wonders if Kurt can smell it when he lies. Or if he somehow just... knows him better than anyone else ever has, despite everything. Because of everything.
Either way, there's nothing he can say except for the truth.
"I'm... scared of it," Blaine admits after a pause, licking his lips and bracing himself to say the words out loud. "Scared of being like you."
For a second, Blaine imagines Kurt's angelic, sweet features stretching out into that grotesque, wrong face – before his mind supplies a whole new image. His own features, dark and soft, being corrupted in the same way; Kurt's elastic, horrible smile spreading over his own lips. Blaine's whole body shudders in response, recoiling away from the thought.
"Kurt," he begins, and the name catches in his throat because he's always held it back, before. Used it as a bargaining chip; only giving Kurt the satisfaction of hearing Blaine say his name when he desperately needed to offer him something up. But there isn't anything left to offer, now. Nothing he can hold back. "Please, can't you just... finish it now. Get it over with, make it done –"
"Don't," Kurt cuts him off in a low, warning tone. His body is tensing up beneath him, face lined with dark seriousness as he speaks. "I'm not rushing this." His nails scrape down the skin of Blaine's neck, just hard enough to chastise. A twist curls at his lips. "I told you. You don't get to lead me on for months and expect me to make this quick, Blaine, you just don't." Kurt's eyes are burning with conviction, lips growing tighter as he speaks. "I might get to have you forever, but I only get to have you like this once."
Dread and relief are settling heavily inside like a lead weight, and Blaine sucks in a shaky breath. "Like what?"
Eyes roving over Blaine's face, Kurt shudders underneath him. "Human," he breathes out heatedly against Blaine's lips, his hand tightening into the flesh of Blaine's side."All hot blood and breakable, so fucking breakable." He arches his hips up, and Blaine sucks in a breath when he feels hardness press against his stomach. Kurt licks his lips, pressing right into the pressure point as he stares at his face and Blaine can feel the pump of his own pulse against his fingers. "Going to gorge myself on you, you made me wait so long. Want to bury myself in you and drink from you over, and over, and over. I want everything, Blaine, just like I told you. Everything."
Pressed right up against Kurt's solid body and so aware of the beating of his heart and his ragged breathing in the air, Blaine can feel something tightening in his chest. It isn't going to be quick. It's going to be messy. Drawn-out. Kurt wants to enjoy himself first. Apprehension tightens and twists in his stomach.
"How long –?" he begins, swallowing hard. "How long until you–?"
"As long as I want," says Kurt with utter confidence, practically preening; smirking like the cat who finally, finally has his cream. He rakes his eyes over Blaine's body on top of him, hand fisting in his shirt. "Fuck, you smell so good," Kurt snarls quietly, some of the ruthlessness of the past weeks coming back into his face. "So beautiful."
And without any warning, he slides his hand up to grip at the back of Blaine's neck and pulls him into a searing, claiming kiss.
It's heated, and hard, and there's a desperation to the way Kurt's kissing him that's almost as though he's keening out loud. His tongue presses into Blaine's mouth, needy and claiming and utterly familiar from dozens of dreams, teeth worrying along his bottom lip. Hard and intense and taking, but Blaine is reeling too much from as long as I want, and his brain won't turn off, and he cannot reconcile any of this in his head. Cannot make sense of the Kurt who hunted him down and terrified him and sent him a heart in a box against the soft, sweet moments that make him pine and his mind spin and send the whole world out of alignment. None of this is easy, and none of this is right. Kurt killed his friend, and threatened to kill his parents, and yet...
And yet, Kurt isn't hurting him now. Is kissing him instead, taking what he wants and what he wants isn't pain, and Blaine doesn't know what to feel. Because Kurt is a killer, and Kurt is a lover. He is neither, and he is both: a quiet ruthlessness woven insidiously through with a gentleness that makes Blaine's head hurt.
Apparently it takes Blaine too long to start kissing back, because after a few stunned moments Kurt makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, hand clenching at the back of his neck.
"Don't pretend you don't want this," Kurt growls against his mouth, biting down hard and grinding his hips up simultaneously. Blaine gasps out loud as a spark of pleasure jolts through him, mouth open and feeling sweat already begin to collect along his forehead. "I can smell you, remember? You never stopped wanting this, not the whole time. Not even when I killed, or hunted you, or took care of your little friend –" Blaine squeezes his eyes tight, tries to block it out, "—you have never stopped wanting this, Blaine. Don't lie to me, I can tell."
"I—" Blaine chokes helplessly, and when Kurt rolls his hips up again he can't stop himself from groaning out loud. "Kurt," he gasps, Kurt swallows it up, pulling him into another possessive drag of a kiss. Long and hard and deep, his tongue coaxing and dominating as he keeps up a steady rhythm, grinding them together in a way that makes Blaine gasp.
"God, that first night you were gagging for it," Kurt groans, and Blaine whimpers wantonly at the truth of it. "I could've pushed you up against the alley wall and had you right there and you would've let me."
It's true, it's so true it hurts, but Blaine can't gather himself enough to say so. He nods, blinking dazedly as Kurt reaches down and starts to strip off his t-shirt.
"I had to run, remember?" Kurt pants, hands sliding up Blaine's torso as he helps him work the shirt off, and Blaine can tell from how hard he's shaking that he's barely holding onto himself by a thread. "Came so close to just biting you on the sidewalk, you know that? But I –" he lets out a high, breathy noise as soon as Blaine's shirt is off and thrown off to one side, hands sliding over his torso as though he's been given the very best present in the whole world. "— I knew I wouldn't be able to stop. I was so hungry, you smelled so good, and I'd drink you dry and I couldn't do that, needed you with me always. You smell like mine, you smell like perfect, there's no one else in the world like you –"
Despite being on top, Blaine is basically pinned like this; Kurt is strong enough to control every movement, every touch, and all Blaine can do is gasp and kiss and roll back into it. His hands on Blaine's skin are as unmovable as the mountains, and there's a frantic desperation bleeding through his every movement.
It makes him sick, and wrong, and disgusting for still wanting Kurt, after everything. After the people he killed, and the lives he ruined, but Blaine can't help it. And he doesn't know if it's because he's deranged, or if it's something of Kurt's nature that's wriggled into his mind and twisted under his skin. Maybe it's neither, maybe it's both, he'll never know. Because he has been tortured for so long by the horrible, horrible fact that he's still wanted Kurt through all of it, through everything, and now?
Now, the only thing he can do is give in.
And below him, Kurt's eyes are starting to bleed through with red.
"Need you," Kurt growls, his high voice deepening with want and certainty and harsh desperation. When he opens his mouth, eyes blown completely through with red, Blaine can see that two of his teeth have elongated and sharpened in his mouth. Glinting bright white in the half-light of the room, and the instinct to run run run run run seizes at his whole body. He tenses up in Kurt's arms, the knowledge of what is about to happen pounding in his veins. "Need you, need you, need you –"
But Kurt's whole body is shaking violently. Panicked apprehension is bursting in Blaine's mind, but there's nowhere to run. Nothing to do, no way to stop it, and he's not even sure if he wants to stop it. Without another word, Kurt twists his hand through his curls, yanks him down, and buries his face in the side of Blaine's neck.
The sudden piercing pain of fangs puncturing into his neck makes him cry out with a wrecked, strangled noise at the sudden sharpness of it. Slicing easily through the skin, stabbing into him and making his whole body spasm, and Blaine can't suppress the instinct to try to thrash away from the pain. Flailing and bucking, trying to strain away; off Kurt, away from the feeling of something cutting into him, into one of his body's most vulnerable places. But Kurt seems to be expecting it; holds him in place as he whines and gasps and tries to twist away, face pressed right up into the curve of Blaine's neck and biting down.
As soon as the skin is broken, Kurt groans headily against his neck, against the open wound in a way that makes Blaine cry out again at the vibrations. Shuddering, he can feel the hot wetness of his own blood spilling out from the punctures, into Kurt's waiting mouth as his hands fist in Kurt's shirt, the sheets, anything he can hold onto. Through the shock of it, Blaine can hear Kurt swallowing against him; drinking down the initial flood of hot blood into his mouth. A few drops are sliding down his neck, dripping onto Kurt's chest beneath him, and a tiny whimper escapes from his throat.
The sharpness of the pain is starting to smooth over into an aching, drawn-out throb that pounds in his neck, in his head, right through to his fingertips. Kurt holds him tight, right up against his chest until Blaine stops struggling; until that useless, instinctual need to run can be conquered and shoved down and suppressed. Kurt's hands are unmovable forces as they hold Blaine in place, holding him close and tight and real.
And slowly – after a long pause that fills the room and vibrates in every nerve – Kurt begins to suck down.
It is like every one of the past two months' dreams all at once. The sweet, the sensual, the horrific, the painful. Mouth hanging open and face slick with sweat, Blaine gasps at the dragging, aching sensation of blood being drawn out of him, leaving his body, being swallowed down. It hurts, the too-much pull and throb of it reducing the entire room to the single point where Kurt's mouth meets his neck; but it also makes something hot and coiled grip and twist in the base of his stomach. Something wrong and real and heated, spiking up every time the pressure of Kurt sucking edges higher. He sags down against Kurt's chest, throat tender and pulsing as the greedy mouth pulls him all down.
There's a loud, ragged noise in the room, and it takes Blaine far too long to realize that it's his own voice. Groaning out wordless, meaningless noises that struggle helplessly out into the air. It's starting to feel cold, a chill that starts in his neck but keeps sliding down into his chest, his arms, his legs. So much at once and it's twisting, the whole room is skewed and sideways as he slumps against Kurt's chest and doesn't struggle and black and white spots swim in front of his vision.
When Kurt finally wrenches his mouth away, Blaine can hear him panting raggedly against his neck. There's a high, satisfied little sigh – and suddenly the world is spinning violently. Blaine squeezes his eyes shut at the ways his stomach wrenches at the movement, and when he opens them again he's staring up from the flat of his back with Kurt on top of him, face tucked back into the curve of his neck and mouth pressed back against the wound. Not sucking, not anymore, but stroking over it in languid swipes of his tongue that slide along the skin wetly and collect the blood still trickling out. He can't do anything in response; can only stare up at the ceiling with heavily-lidded eyes as the room drifts at the edges and Kurt presses down into him.
Blaine is still aching, still bleeding when Kurt slides his mouth away. Blood slides lazily down his neck and soaks into the sheets below, but it's nowhere near as much as before. Has no idea how much blood he's lost, except for the tiny voice in the back of his head that says he always imagined that neck wounds would bleed more. He lifts a loose-wristed hand up to his own neck, hissing when he brushes the puncture marks and pulling his fingers back wet and slick. He holds his fingers in front of him and stares for a moment, fixated by the bright red. The wound isn't where he thought it would be; it's not over a main vein, but off to one side.
He blinks up in dazed confusion at Kurt above him. His face is close and beautiful, mouth smeared with bright streaks of blood – his blood. And the expression on Kurt's face is absolutely sinful. He's radiating satisfaction, delicate features all sagging and with no sign of the composure he usually wears like a constant mask to be found. He looks very much intoxicated, drunk on the taste of him: the red is gone from his eyes, but the bright blue that remains is heavily glazed. Hair tussled and tongue lolling out sloppily to collect the redness spread over his lips, it occurs to Blaine that he almost looks well-fucked.
"I..." Blaine tries to say, but it comes out as a tiny noise at the back of his throat instead. He blinks heavily. Before he can try to do anything else, however, Kurt is leaning in to kiss him messily on the lips.
There's a delayed second before Blaine realizes what's happening, and he starts to kiss back thickly before the strong coppery tang registers on his tongue. He chokes a bit at that, recoiling weakly, but Kurt just pushes in and keeps kissing him. Opening his mouth easily and sliding their tongues together, invading Blaine's mouth with all the ease with which he just invaded his neck. His teeth are flat and human again.
"You're so good," Kurt murmurs breathily against him, languidly pressing open-mouth kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw. Leaving little smears of wetness in their wake. "So good, just like I always imagined you would be." Sliding down Blaine's body, moving down to where his chest is exposed and naked in the lamplight. Kurt reaches over with a single finger to the wound on Blaine's neck, swiping it along the two little marks and making Blaine wince at the jolt of pain. He brings his finger back wet, bringing it up to his lips and groaning as he sucks it into his mouth. Blaine's cock twitches between his legs at the sight, and he feels too weak to feel shame.
"This is how it was supposed to happen," says Kurt, going back to pay more attention to Blaine's chest as he slides his way down his torso. Pressing little kisses, and soft licks, and biting down softly on one of his nipples as he works his way down; making Blaine arch up beneath him. "Before all my plans got spoiled. Just like this."
When he reaches Blaine's jeans, he can feel himself sucking in a startled breath. Kurt slides his tongue along the skin just above the waistband, hands trailing along his sides; skimming in a way that makes him shiver. His neck is still throbbing softly and he can't quite get warm, but all of his body's attention is beginning to shift lower. Kurt brings his hands down to the front of Blaine's jeans, fingers drifting over the button. When Kurt looks up, he locks their eyes together and his mouth twists when he notices how Blaine is staring down at him in wonder. A smug, entitled little smirk nudges at the corner of Kurt's perfect mouth, still stained pink, as he stares at him.
"I'm going to take such good care of you," he purrs, and begins to unbutton Blaine's jeans.
They aren't skin-tight like the white pants Kurt himself is wearing, and it doesn't take much for Kurt to slide them off his hips. To pull them down his legs and right off, dropping them onto the floor in a slither of heavy fabric. And then there's only underwear left, and then that's gone too, and suddenly Blaine is completely naked; every inch of skin bare and unhidden as he lies sprawled on Kurt's bed.
Kneeling over him and still completely clothed, Kurt stares at him as though his appetite has been renewed. He licks his lips, eyes fixed between Blaine's legs. All at once, Blaine finds himself feeling tremendously and profoundly self-conscious. He's watched this scene play out in his dreams dozens of times, in dozens of ways, but this – this is the first time it's ever happened outside his own mind. He's felt exposed and vulnerable in front of Kurt before, it's true. But this is still the first time Kurt has ever actually seen him like this.
"Kurt..." he mumbles, trying to push himself up onto his elbows. A hand pushes at his chest, gently guiding back down into a lying position onto the bed.
"Stay down," Kurt commands, but there's no real fire in the words. The smirk hasn't left his face, fluid and heated as his eyes dance with excitement. He strokes his fingers along Blaine's chest for a few long seconds, almost comforting, before pulling away. Kurt licks his lips. "Let me do this, beautiful. I want to touch you. Wanted to touch you for so long..." Quickly, Kurt stretches up over Blaine's body for a moment, straining to reach his arm out and then rummaging through the bedside table, and something hot and liquid sparks in Blaine's stomach. When he lowers himself back, he adjusts Blaine's legs, spreading them apart so that he can kneel between them.
"Let me do this," Kurt breathes over his skin, before leaning in to press a dry kiss against the crease of his thigh. Blaine shivers, unable to take his eyes off the beautiful, otherworldly boy currently kneeling between his legs. His cock twitches, getting harder at the close proximity and the touch of Kurt's lips against the sensitive skin. He's lost blood, though, and a far-away part of his brain hazily wonders if that's going to be an issue. Blaine nods shakily anyways, and Kurt grins in palpable satisfaction.
When Kurt opens his mouth, however, the brief glint of teeth – normal, and human, but the ones that had been biting into him only minutes ago– sends a sharp bolt of anxiety up his spine. He whines sharply, trying to twist his hips away. For a moment, Kurt looks caught off guard before he seems to realize what happened. He grips Blaine almost-gently by the hips, tugging him back into place with ease.
"Relax," he murmurs, and wraps a cool, deft hand around Blaine's half-erect cock. The touch makes Blaine suck in a breath and arch up into it, letting out a helpless little noise as he raises his hips off the mattress. Kurt twists his hand over him, leaning in close and pressing more little kisses along his stomach, his hipbones, as he breathes in deeply through his nose. "It's okay. You'll enjoy this, I promise."
And like a Pavlovian response, Blaine can feel the tension evaporate from his body at the words.
Kurt always keeps his promises, he thinks, hips stuttering and choking off a groan as Kurt's thumb rubs lazily over the head. Stroking him to full hardness without any rush; working him up slowly as he keeps his eyes fixed on Blaine's face to catch every one of his reactions. Drinking from Blaine (the sheet beneath him is getting crusty and everything smells metallic, clogging up his nose and making the room feel thick) has obviously taken the edge off, dulled the desperate need that had him so frantic only a short while aog. But there's still something of the ruthless intensity in his gaze as he tightens his grip and sets a quicker pace.
Head lolling back onto the pillows, Blaine feels his face heat up at the shameless, throaty moan that escapes from his lips. The sounds are embarrassing, but it feels so good; warming up and intense sending bright shocks of pleasure through his body with every stroke, every twist deliberate little turn of Kurt's wrist. Making him rock his hips up into it, looking for more of the sweet-wrong-perfect pressure that's making heat pool slowly in the base of his stomach.
But Kurt just lets out an appreciative little noise in response to his groan, pressing a kiss to the skin right above Blaine's cock and breathing warm air over the base. His hands are clever and sure, and that confidence... god, it's what drew Blaine to him in the first place, all those weeks ago. The way he can take control in a world that has always been so overwhelming to Blaine; so impassive and unchangeable and alone.
Like this, Blaine can almost pretend that nothing bad has ever happened between them. As though he never found out what Kurt was; that the frenetic, blood-soaked nightmare of the past weeks never happened at all. The people in his life that he's protecting, that he failed to protect... they don't exist here. They can't. Being so utterly prone, with the world still swimmingly weakly whenever he moves sharply, makes him feel stripped bare and open. It feels so good to be taken care of, and looked after, and wanted.
There is the soft click of a bottle being uncapped, and Blaine's eyes open. Something hot and needy clenches at his insides when he sees the small bottle of lube in Kurt's hand; sees the sly, eager look on his pretty features.
"Legs up," Kurt orders softly, placing his hand on one of Blaine's shins and guiding it so that the knee bends. He raises his thin eyebrows at the other leg, and Blaine manages to move it up to mimic the other one. It wobbles slightly, but only for a second. Kurt sends him a small smile as a reward, and Blaine can feel apprehension twisting in his gut as he turns the bottle upside down and dribbles a generous amount onto his fingers.
It's been a long time, since he's done this. Done this in any way, with anyone, but... there's a vulnerability to being with Kurt, and in this particular way. With his back flat on the bed, head against the pillow, and his legs bent and spread apart, he feels more than a little on display. Exposed, and with almost every inch of Kurt's pale skin covered up like a secret. His head is still slightly dizzy, and even though Blaine he knows intellectually that there is no way for him to fight back against Kurt even if he wanted to, the sluggish weakness in his limbs makes him feel apprehensive. What if he's harsh, or viscous, or doesn't care if he makes it hurt? What if he wants to make Blaine hurt?
But a moment later Kurt leans down, still fully clothed where Blaine is naked and pressing a hand flat on against thigh, and takes Blaine's cock into his mouth.
The sight of it – Kurt, always so cool and collected, wrapping his lips enthusiastically around Blaine's cock as though there is nowhere else in the world he would rather be – is enough to make Blaine let out a choked groan and bite down hard on his bottom lip, trying not to thrust up into it. The way it feels, though, is even better than how it looks. Even though Kurt's body runs colder than an ordinary person's, his mouth is still warm and wet around him. Swallowing him down, working around him as though he's done it a million times before. (A hot jolt of discomfort jolts through him at the idea of Kurt doing this to someone else, doing this to some other boy that he would fuck and drink from and leave a pretty, cold corpse. Part horror, part jealousy, and Blaine doesn't know what's wrong with him.) His mouth is sure and confident, taking Blaine deep and teasing him in turns, and his tongue. Swirling around the head in a languorous, easy way that makes waves of hot pleasure flare and roll through his body.
When cool, slick fingers slide down and graze his balls, stoke over the smoothness of his perineum and press against his entrance, Blaine is so lit up with the pleasure of Kurt's mouth that he isn't expecting it.
He sucks in a gasp, tensing up slightly as Kurt trails his fingers over the puckered skin. Teasing, not pressing in, not yet, just... there. A promise of things to come as he sucks at the tip of Blaine's cock and strokes deftly over the lower shaft. It vaguely occurs to him that he had half-expected Kurt to push in without any lead-up at all, but Kurt seems to be enjoying the build-up. Keeps making high, contented little noises around Blaine's cock, the vibrations shaking right through him and making him twist his hands weakly in the sheets.
After a few minutes of the slippery, gentle drags of Kurt's finger against his rim, Blaine finally manages to relax into it. Starts to crave it; the tight fullness, the memory of how good it had felt in so many of the dreams flitting at the edge of his memory like a figment. It's almost impossible to remember that this is reality, here and now; that all of this isn't happening in Blaine's head. It becomes even harder to remember when Blaine inadvertently pushes back into the blunt pressure of Kurt's finger, the feel of the tip slipping in so familiar from dozens of restless nights, and he feels Kurt grin wickedly around his cock in response. Kurt looks up to lock their gaze for a brief moment, the blue of his eyes shining devious and pleased, before he leans forward to take Blaine all the way into his throat and simultaneously begins to push a single slick finger inside, past the ring of muscle and into Blaine's willing body.
It proves to be impossible for Blaine to lie back and take it, even feeling as weak and drained as he is. His whole body jerks and spasms wantonly, pushing back into the push of Kurt's finger in a way that's familiar and easy and has never, ever been like this. Every single nerve is sparking on edge, flaring up and keening for more, more, more of everything and he wants. Kurt is swallowing around him, throat muscles contracting and working his cock, taking him down so deep that Blaine can feel his cock hit the back of Kurt's throat. His throat clenches around him for a second but he keeps going, working up a slow slide up and down in wonderful, incensing rhythm. Kurt is gentle as he slides his finger inside of him, more gentle than Blaine had ever thought he could be before this moment, working it in slowly in tiny increments. He can feel it squirming, searching for something, until –
Pleasure explodes behind Blaine's eyelids like a nuclear explosion, and he keens out loud as Kurt begins to suck him in tandem with the narrowed-in, determined pressure of his finger as he slides over his prostate again, and again, and again.
It's like being lit on fire with every rocking movement, overwhelming and too much and everything as Kurt pushes in and swallows him down, touching him everywhere he needs to be touched. Playing his body like an instrument, learning quickly and ruthlessly what kind of touches and movements get the best reaction and relentlessly abusing the knowledge. Blaine's whole body is wracked with tremors. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head into the sheets, but the movement makes a stab of pain flare through his neck and he chokes out a whimper. Kurt redoubles his efforts to distract him, pulling him forcefully back to the moment by sliding his finger almost all the way out – before pulling off his cock, quickly dribbling more lube down between Blaine's legs, and adding another finger.
It's so much fuller like this, with two fingers sliding in and stretching him out; the burn and stretch of it making him feel looked after and wanted, worshipped like he means something important. He hisses, clenching around the thicker pressure inside as Kurt takes hold of his cock with his free hand and begins to work the spit-slick shaft with cruel, clever fingers.
"Wanted this for so long," says Kurt breathlessly, two bright spots of colour in his cheeks from the breathlessness of deep-throating him. Still needs to breathe, even like he is. His voice is slightly rough, with want and from sucking him down, carefully styled hair all askew in his fervour, and Blaine moans as the fingers start to fuck into him harder. Taking, taking, taking what he wants and wrecking him in the process. "You're so hot inside. Like a fucking furnace, Blaine," he growls out, twisting his fingers in a way that makes Blaine writhe. The intensity of the way he's looking at him, drinking in every gasp and reaction, is almost enough to make Blaine come on the spot. "Hot and human and your heart's beating so fast, god. All for me. All mine."
"Please –" Blaine gasps out, stifled and quavering as he tries to thrust his hips up into Kurt's hand and rock back into his fingers all at once. The movement comes out stuttered and needy, wanting too much, but he can't help it. "Kurt." It's there, so close, elusive and right there and he needs it, needs this. He's scrabbling for something real to hold onto, but there isn't anything. Can only fist his hands in the sheets as his body strains and searches for just that little bit more.
And without hesitation, Kurt gives it to him. Stops teasing and lets him have, hand tightening on his cock and pumping with hard intensity as he finds that place inside and rubs over it again, and again, unrelenting as he pulls and yanks Blaine closer to completion. Making starbursts go off behind Blaine's eyelids and hot spikes of pleasure ravage through his body, no pause and all at once and it's too much too much too much just enough perfect, and –
And he's coming, hard, every touch coalescing into a hot, inescapable force that tears through his body and makes him let out a low, hoarse groan as he spasms and clenches around the thick, unrelenting press of Kurt's fingers inside of him. He comes in thick bursts over Kurt's hand as he strokes him through it, cock twitching as he shakes and gasps and arches up. He's breathing so hard it hurts, body ringing like a bell as everything uncoils and bursts as half-memories of a dozen dreams sing in his ears and he finally, finally comes undone at Kurt's hand.
Blaine is still shivering through the last of it, only starting to come down from such a massive high with his fingertips and toes still buzzing with the immense pleasure of it when Kurt jerks the hand holding his cock away. He doesn't fully process what's going on as Kurt's hand, sticky with spit and come, grabs Blaine's hip in a tight grip; too still distracted by the last coils of pleasure snaking through him to think clearly.
But the world shocks back into harsh, horrible clarity when he feels brutally sharp pain burst in his inner thigh.
It is like being woken suddenly out of a dream and dragged back down to crash land into hard, incomprehensible reality. He screams, strangled and hysterical, shoving back with his legs and clawing at the bedspread with violently shaking hands as he strains weakly, and flails, and tries with instincts that are bred deeply into his bones to get away from the pain. But it's no good: something has him, pinning his hips down against the bed and holding him in place as easily as though he isn't moving at all. Eyes blown wide and horrified, all Blaine can do is watch the sight at the end of the bed. Past his naked arms and torso and stomach slick with streaks of his own come is Kurt, kneeling between his legs, two fingers still insinuated up his ass as he holds Blaine's hips easily in place with one hand and drinks down blood in greedy gulps from Blaine's thigh.
It hurts, aching drawing pain as the blood gets sucked out and into Kurt's mouth, and his whole leg is flaring up with pain. Blaine whimpers, arms giving out beneath him as he falls back onto the bed and the world swims and spins with the movement and the pain and the blood loss and the overshadowed, shoved-aside orgasm. He can feel something hot and wet sliding down over his thigh, onto the sheets of the bed and soaking in as Kurt drinks, and drinks, and makes groaning, heady noises as he buries himself in Blaine's thigh and just keeps on taking. The pain starts to ebb away, after a moment; dissipating along the edges of his mind, drifting and diminishing as the room gets less and less focused. Everything reduces down to the little gasps of his breaths on the air, his slowing heartbeat, the slurping wet sounds from between his legs as Kurt drinks him down deep.
He has no real concept of how long they stay like that; Kurt's hand clenched and firm along his hip, fangs punctured into the delicate skin of Blaine's inner thigh and the occasional twitch of his fingers still deep inside making Blaine gasp and hiss and try to move away from the oversensitive, overwhelming touch as pain pounds through him at the movement. The room is already dark and low-lit, but everything is growing less distinct and fuzzier as Blaine lies, prone on the bed with his eyes heavily lidded, watching the ceiling drift in and out of his vision.
Eventually, though, Kurt pulls away. A sharp stab of pain jabs through him when he tugs his mouth from the wound on Blaine's thigh, and he flinches weakly. His eyes are closed and he's drifting, now; floating and indistinct as the room around him. After a moment, he feels the fingers slide slowly out of him. It should feel like an uncomfortable drag, but it doesn't: he can barely feel it.
There are noises, for a while. A creaking shift as pressure lifts up from the bed and it lurches beneath him; the quiet rustle of clothes off to one side. Blaine's eyelashes flutter weakly, feeling drained and empty and so cold again as he lies in the haze of the room. He shivers, naked body a mess of cooling sweat and drying blood and come. After an uncertain amount of time, however, he feels a pair of arms slide underneath him: one under his knees, one under his shoulders. Both places sting and hurt when they're moved, but Kurt doesn't pay his tiny noise of pained distress any attention. He scoops Blaine up easily, as though he weighs nothing at all, and nestles his limp body against his chest.
The sweeping movement of being picked up makes Blaine's head spin even harder. He presses his face into Kurt's chest against the feeling of the world jolting uncomfortably around him and finds his cheek pressed into the cool skin of an exposed chest. Kurt's not wearing a shirt anymore, he realizes. Isn't wearing anything at all as he walks Blaine across the room and pushes a door open with his foot.
The world twists again as Blaine is deposited to sit on a cool plastic surface. He leans forward, puts his head between his knees in an attempt to regain his balance. His body is loose and everything is cold, so cold, too cold like this. As though all the warmth has been sucked out of him and will never, ever come back. He wraps his arms around himself, feeling the naked skin and not even caring how exposed he is like this. There are noises in the background: a quick clicking, the pull of crinkling fabric, the sound of a tap being turned on and water rushing out. Slowly, Blaine manages to drag his eyes open and get the world to almost-focus for long enough to realize that they're in a bathroom: clean and stylish, with dark brown tile on the ground. The object that he's sitting on is the cool lid of a closed toilet seat.
There's steam rising in the air, now, and he feels the slide of a hand and a tug upwards as Kurt helps him carefully to his feet. Blaine sways, but stays mostly upright as he's helped into the hot stream of the shower. Kurt is still clutching at his shoulder, making sure he doesn't fall, and Blaine gasps when the water touches his skin. It's warm, so warm, and he closes his eyes as the heat of it soaks him through. The pressure from the showerhead is high, and the water pounds loud in his ears as it beats across his torso and the bathtub around him. His body a pale stretch of legs and arms and skin, Kurt steps in after him, pulls the curtain across, and begins the process of washing Blaine clean.
It's difficult, at first, because everything is the hot pressure of water against his skin and the rising steam making everything even hazier than it already it. Slate grey and porcelain all around, with a light brown shower curtain that lets the light filter through but keeps the hot air inside. Blaine feels weak on his feet and dizzy, but the grip of the bathtub mat beneath his feet helps to keep him from slipping. Kurt does all the rest of the work. Slumped against his chest with his face pressed into Kurt's neck, Blaine tries to ignore the stinging ache in his neck and thigh as Kurt slowly begins to wash him. Manoeuvring him easily when necessary; using his strength to keep Blaine standing as he takes shampoo from the rack dangling beneath the showerhead and begins to work it into Blaine's curls one-handed.
Beneath them, the water turns pink against the bathtub floor as the evidence of what happened flows down the drain. Apparently, some of his own blood found its way into his hair: he leans heavily against Kurt's shoulder, their slick bodies pressed together under the spray, as he works his fingers gently through Blaine's curls and breaks up hardened clumps of crusted blood from the hair at the back of his neck. It sends more weak pink water to the ground.
Like this, beneath the steaming hot water that is finally managing to make Blaine feel warm again, even Kurt's skin feels warm and human beneath his touch. Warmed by the water but still cooler than his own, and Blaine clings to Kurt's shoulders with both hands as the other boy carefully holds him under the stream and rinses the shampoo out. Keeps holding on, standing on trembling legs as Kurt works conditioner through as well.
Blaine flinches when Kurt moves down to skitter fingers briefly over the wound on his neck, hissing and turning his head to the side but not otherwise trying to stop him. Kurt's been trying to keep that area out of the direct spray, but he works around it carefully with tender fingers to wash away the worst of the caked blood. He lets out a high, humming sound as he drifts his fingers down to graze over Blaine's slippery chest, the underside of his arms. Running his fingers along the slicked-down chest hair as though it's something new and intriguing to him. A single finger brushes over one of Blaine's nipples, sending shivers down his spine.
Before he can fully process what's happening, Kurt is guiding him to lean his back against the tile wall; away from the fullness of the water's pressure. It's cold to the touch at first, and he sucks in a breath, but allows for it to support his weight as he settles there. He looks up – and it occurs to Blaine for the first time that, pressed up so close against Kurt's chest, he hasn't even really looked at the other boy's naked body for the first time. But he can't properly appreciate it now, either: his eyes skim over the swathes of too-pale skin, not able to properly register everything the way he should amid the haze of hot steam and the dizziness tugging at his mind, at his impaired vision. He takes in the sight of his lithe chest, the rosy, hardened cock between Kurt's legs; his arms, surprisingly developed in a way his well-tailored clothes would never let on.
But none of it fully makes its way through to Blaine's brain: instead, the only thing that he can properly take in are Kurt's eyes.
Bright blue amid the steam and the wet flickers of spitting water getting in his eyes, Kurt's eyes are utterly focused on him amid it all. Still burning and intent and locked on his own, coaxing Blaine to look into them. When he complies, Kurt smiles a soft, heated smile that tugs at the corner of his lips before leaning in to press a long, water-soaked kiss against his lips. Blaine responds – or tries to, but it's difficult. All he can really manage is to let Kurt open his mouth and to take what he's given, to let Kurt have what he wants. It's all that he can do, anymore. Kurt's mouth tastes like clean, hot water. His legs are still uncertain beneath him.
"It's okay," Kurt murmurs softly, sternly against his lips when he pulls away. His eyes are close enough now that Blaine can get a proper look for the first time in so long: bright, catching blue along the outsides and bursts of yellow-green swirled around the dark of the pupils. His lashes are thick with water, and beads of it are collecting along his lips as he looks Blaine up and down and strokes a thumb over his cheek. "Just let me..." He moves away, reaching for a bottle of expensive-looking shower gel and a dark blue loofah, and begins to work up a lather.
He tilts his head against the tile and leans back as Kurt washes his body down, everything drifting in and out as Kurt presses the soapy touch all over his body. Scrubbing away the blood, as well as any trace of anything else still clinging to his skin. Raising his arms up and working it into the thick hair beneath his arms, kneeling down in front of him to slide the loofah down over his legs and carefully washing the puncture wounds in his thigh that have mostly stopped bleeding by now. Reaching his clever fingers up and sliding them between Blaine's cheeks. The touch makes him suck in short breaths and twitch, but he doesn't try to pull away. Not now.
He lets Kurt swivel the showerhead around to rinse the shower gel and conditioner alike off of him, closing his eyes as Kurt's fingers twine sweetly through his sopping curls in order to make sure all of it gets worked out. Lets him rinse away the soap, and everything with it; watches it all flow down into the drain. They're both dripping wet and clean, and the skin around Blaine's wounds from Kurt's teeth is red and raw. The air is steam-filled and heady.
And when Kurt moves the shower head away and plucks a small, familiar bottle that he must have brought with them from the bedroom off the metal rack, squeezes a quantity onto his fingers, and kneels back between his legs, Blaine lets him do that, too.
The stream of water is turned away from them, but little splashes keep coming into contact with their skin nonetheless. Blaine shivers and tenses when Kurt slides two fingers back up into him, but this doesn't come as a surprise. Not really. Not with Kurt's cock hard and wanting between his legs, and the gentle fleeting touches he ghosted all over Blaine's skin as he washed him clean. Not with everything else he's taken so far, and with this one glaring thing so obviously absent.
Blaine knew, when he gave himself over, that this would be a part of it – and even with two open wounds and Kurt's belly full of his blood, he knows that a part of him has always wanted it. The part that woke with stickiness between his legs after the dreams, and hovered fingers over the doorknob of his apartment while Kurt scratched at the door outside, and kissed Kurt back when he finally crossed over the threshold. That part of him, deep inside, is throwing up its hands in relieved surrender. Finally able to let himself have what he's hated himself for wanting all this time.
The parts of him that are still nervous, still on edge, still clinging to the fear and hate and terrible grief of everything that has happened between them... all those parts can do is simply give in.
The fingers feel blunt at first as they push inside, hot water having washed away so much of the lubrication from before and time having given his body a chance to tighten again. But Kurt is careful, almost sweet with his ministrations; pressing soft kisses along Blaine's stomach as he insinuates his fingers slowly back in, the slick of the lube making things easier as he starts to rock them inside. The sight of Kurt, pale and long on his knees in front of him and soaking wet, is enough to make hot sparks shiver up Blaine's spine with every press of his fingers. It's dulled pleasure, though; distant and faraway, at the back of his mind.
Instead, he focuses on the stretch of it when Kurt adds another finger; the slight burn, but mostly the way his body relaxes and takes it. Kurt lets out a breathy, high noise at that, and all at once Blaine becomes suddenly aware of his free hand moving in a familiar way; touching himself, stroking his own cock as he gets Blaine ready. Another little shiver, and Blaine tilts his head back against the tile and feels water drip from his hair down his sore neck.
And when Kurt pulls the fingers out with a clinging, slippery drag and begins to slick more of the lube over his own cock, all he can do is let out a shuddery breath and try to remain standing.
"I've got you," Kurt whispers, the sound almost getting drowned out in the noise of the water pounding against the bathtub basin. He gets to his feet, placing his hands on Blaine's ass and pressing a soft kiss against his shoulder. Their skin slides together, but Kurt's grip is firm and protective around him. "I've got you, Blaine."
And with the sound of Blaine's name on his lips – not pretty, or beautiful, or any kind of thing – Kurt pushes him back against the tile wall and hoists him right off his unsteady feet.
It's a position that would be almost impossible for the two of them to make work if Kurt was a regular human being. They're too similar in size and stature, and holding up Blaine – who is essentially dead weight – all by himself for an extended time would have been too much. But the effortless power concealed in Kurt's frame, it's easy for him to slide him up against the wall and keep him there for however long he likes. Blaine quickly wraps his legs around Kurt's middle, clinging to his shoulders. He feels like a newborn kitten, weak and head still swimming from the blood he's lost – not lost, the blood Kurt's taken – and everything is strange, and dulled, and flitting in and out of his perception.
Right now, suspended in midair and held tight by Kurt's arms, Blaine feels more unreal than he ever has in any of the dreams.
And so when Kurt lets go with one of his hands, guiding his cock to Blaine's entrance, all Blaine can do is cling to him – to this man who is not a man, to a murderer, to his destiny – and take it.
The angle is still slightly tricky, with Kurt still holding him up and guiding him down with his hands under Blaine's ass, but after a moment it doesn't matter. Through the haze of everything, Blaine can feel the blunt, slick pressure as Kurt's cock slowly, slowly begins to push in; not slippery latex but skin, solid and personal. Past the tight ring of muscle, the slow burn and stretch making him gasp. It feels like the throbbing of a pulse in a darkened room; the dulled sensation the only thing holding his attention in a sea of dizzy, vague touches. All of his muscles are relaxed and loose, all the tension drained from his body like so much blood, and it's easy enough for Kurt's cock to slide in. Grounding him in place, filling him up, touching him everywhere, and it's impossible for Blaine to process it all right now. Instead, he clings to Kurt's shoulders as the other boy guides him achingly slowly onto his own cock. Doing the work that Blaine can't do for himself, doll-like and loose where he's held up against the cold tile wall.
When Kurt bottoms out, his cock so tight and snug inside and making Blaine shudder and clench feebly around him and grip his shoulders as hard as he can, he lets out a choked sigh.
"Blaine," he breathes out against the broken skin of Blaine's neck, his voice high and strained, the steam still rising from the oncoming water as tiny splashes of it catch along their skin. He sounds overwhelmed, voice higher than usual, and Blaine feels a distant thrum of pride in the pit of his stomach at hearing his name on Kurt's lips.
And then, with determined control, Kurt begins to move.
Rocking, slow thrusts that make Blaine's back slide against the slippery tile. Pulling and gripping at Blaine's hips, dragging him up and down deliberately onto Kurt's cock. The movement of it makes Blaine's head swim for a long moment before the sensation drags him back; the aching sliding fullness of it, being fucked and taken and gripped and moved because he can't do any more than hang on. The little bursts of oversensitive pleasure behind his eyelids every time Kurt's cock grazes his prostate; the way Kurt's grip on his hips gets tighter and tighter as he begins to gain speed. Begins to manhandle Blaine's ass and hips in earnest as he pulls and grinds him down.
And oh, god, because the pressure of Kurt's cock inside is making him quiver and shake, sending little fissures of aching pleasure up and down his spine, but there's no way Blaine can come again. Can't even get more than half-hard with all of the blood he's lost; with having come so recently and the two points of throbbing pain tugging him back every time the heat begins to build. The world is a haze around them, clinging together in the slip-slide of hot water and steam, and Blaine is loose and liquid-limbed as Kurt fucks him deep and grinds him into the shower wall. Holding his body up easily as he grows less gentle, less composed. In control and confident as always but shaking now, shaking, and Blaine did that. Is the only person who has ever made Kurt feel this way, and that means something.
Mind swimming and drifting, flickering out at the edges, Blaine has no real idea how long it lasts. Everything narrows down into tiny pinpricks of sensation. Kurt's short, trimmed nails digging into the flesh of his ass; how cold and hard the tile wall is against his back; the way his sore thigh aches and burns with every movement. The low-key flare of pleasure that spikes every time Kurt drags him onto his cock just there, making him choke out little noises and tighten his legs around Kurt's waist. There is none of usual sharpness of arousal or need pounding inside; instead, it's as though he's been submerged. Light-headed and wrung-out, he rides out the waves of continuous heat and pressure and dizziness as they wash through him. It's all a low-key thrum as Kurt grips his hips hard enough to bruise, choking out intimate, praising words that echo unheard in his ears.
When Kurt finally slams his cock into his unresisting body one last time, choking off a low groan of pleasure as he stills, Blaine is caught off guard by the sudden stillness of it. Vacantly, he lets out a tiny low noise of confusion and attempts to raise his head off Kurt's shoulder before the sensation of hot wetness spilling inside makes him realize what happened, why Kurt stopped.
Everything is stillness, tangled limbs and pounding hearts and a hot haze of steam as the two of them stay like that; frozen in time and nothing, nothing outside of this. Still buried inside, Kurt breathes heavily against Blaine's skin, clutching at him hard and nails digging into skin. Blaine's arms are starting to feel sore and shaky from holding on, but he doesn't try to get down. They stay like that for a long minute, Kurt's body shivering from aftershocks, before he leans in even closer to mouth against the wound on Blaine's neck. His body belatedly tenses in apprehension of pain, but it doesn't come; only the dull ache of Kurt's mouth and tongue running over the twin cuts. Pressing the gentlest of kisses there, possessive and sweet and heady, and Blaine closes his eyes and instinctively moves his head to give him better access.
Kurt only keeps them like that for a short while before he lets out a final, shuddery breath – and begins the process of disentangling them. Moving his head away from Blaine's neck with a sigh and gripping his ass to pull his body slowly off of his cock. The dragging sensation of Kurt pulling out makes Blaine tense up, and how hollow he feels once he's empty again makes him inhale and sag bonelessly in Kurt's arms. The wet feeling of come – Kurt's come, god – leaking slowly out of him feels unfamiliar and surreal.
Everything passes quickly, after that. Kurt lowers him slowly to the ground, doing most of the work in keeping Blaine standing upright on his tingling, useless legs. Holds him up as he redirects the now-lukewarm water to rinse the both of them off one last time before he turns the taps off, pulls back the shower curtain, and helps Blaine out.
It's like letting out a massive breath of pent-up air as soon as they step outside the shower, and Blaine clings to Kurt for keep from falling down. The chill of the air hits him at once, and he's already shaking as Kurt lowers him down to sit on the toilet seat. The room swims and the cold makes his teeth chatter as Kurt swaddles him in a massive towel, using another one to rub most of the wetness out of his hair. It makes him feel like a small child or an invalid, and he would protest if he didn't feel as though he might collapse sideways at any moment.
When he's as dry as can be expected, Blaine blinks at the t-shirt and ratty pyjama bottoms that Kurt seemingly pulls out of nowhere for him to wear. They look familiar. It takes Blaine until Kurt is halfway through painstakingly helping him put them on that he realizes that they're familiar because they're his.
Kurt must have taken them from the apartment, he thinks vaguely, but stops when Kurt scoops him up effortlessly into his arms and carries him outside.
They must look ridiculous like this; Kurt looks inexpressibly younger and more delicate than he actually is, and they're so similar in size. Face pressed into Kurt's chest, Blaine is carried out through the bedroom, romantic music still playing softly, and into a living room he can't even take in properly. Kurt lays him down on what he realizes eventually is a large, comfortable couch already swathed in sheets and blankets and made to look more like a bed. Once he's all tucked up inside with the blankets pulled up to his chin and the chill in the air finally sealed out, Kurt strokes a hand down the side of his face.
"Hey," murmurs Kurt, in a tone of voice that clearly indicates it isn't the first time he's tried to get Blaine's attention. Blaine blinks and looks up at him, leaning over the makeshift bed. Kurt's skin is still warm from the water, and it's the first time Blaine has ever seen him with less than impeccable hair and clothes. He's dressed in a nice blue housecoat – when did that happen? – and his hair is an untidy, tousled mess. With his bangs unstyled and loose over his forehead, he looks a great deal younger than usual. There is a relaxed, soft expression on Kurt's face; hushed, and intimate and sated as he brushes his fingertips tenderly over Blaine's cheek. "You did so well, okay? So well. My Blaine..."
When Kurt leans forward and presses their lips together, it's little more than a soft press of lips. Chaste, and brief, and Blaine feels so rewarded. Kurt pulls away after a second, eyes blue and heavily lidded, and smiles with quiet intensity. He licks his lips absently as he drags his eyes over Blaine, tucked up tight under mounds of blankets, clearly relishing the sight of him drained and weak and fucked-out on his couch. Blaine doesn't mind, though. Doesn't feel much of anything other than the lilting of the room and the softness of the cushions beneath him.
"Don't fall asleep," Kurt tells him, standing up and looking around the room. "I went out and got some things for you, and you shouldn't..." He trails off as Blaine blinks vacantly up at him, a small affectionate smile quietly edging at his mouth. And even with his mind dim and worn, Blaine can feel the warm affection of his gaze. "Just... stay awake. Don't sleep."
Blaine nods absently, eyelids already heavy and his head slumping back against the cushions propped up against the arm of the couch when Kurt walks away with silent footsteps. He drifts, but obediently does not fall asleep while Kurt is gone. Blaine can hear him, puttering around in another room of the... house? Apartment? He can't be sure. When Kurt comes back a few minutes later with a small tray laden with items, Blaine lurches himself mostly awake.
And nothing, not a single part of this, feels real. Not when Kurt carefully dabs antibiotic ointment over the side of his neck and the inside of his thigh, or slides Blaine's own glasses carefully onto his face, or when he feeds Blaine juice and cookies slowly by hand, watching the movement of his neck as he swallows. It doesn't feel real when Kurt crawls into the makeshift bed with him, pulling the covers over the both of them and twining their hands together as he strokes affectionate fingers over Blaine's clothed chest, or when he presses sweet kisses to his temple.
It isn't real. He isn't real.
None of this feels real at all.