Blaine was sitting at the kitchen table, tapping his pencil against the edge of his notebook as he chewed on his bottom lip, his other hand resting heavily on the page in front of him. He didn't even register the movement when Kurt walked in, startling when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Kurt! Geez! You scared the shit out of me!" He clutched his heart, panting for a moment.
"Sorry," Kurt replied, not sounding particularly sorry. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Writing," Blaine answered, returning his pencil to the page for a moment as he jotted down a few words. Then, he paused, staring off into space again.
"Oh. Right. This is that poetry thing you were talking about all of last week."
"Poetry Marathon. Yeah. We're in hour three. This one's not flowing as well as the first two did."
"Mmm…" Kurt began to move his fingers over Blaine's shoulders, massaging them. "How long does this go on for?"
"Well, I'm doing the full marathon. So, 24 hours."
"What?! You're going to write poetry for 24 hours?" Kurt's hand stilled on Blaine's shoulders in surprise.
Blaine nodded, turning to look back at his husband. "Uh-huh. The goal is to have enough poems to publish a book when you're done. And since I have a goal of getting two books out this year, this is my push for the second one."
"When will you take a break? Because I," Kurt leaned down to whisper in his husband's ear, "am really horny for my intelligent, lyrical, handsome husband."
"Well, I can only really take short breaks because I have to write a poem in an hour in order to complete the marathon successfully. And you remember that I'm experimenting with performance poetry. So, these are kinda long and complex."
"And how's it going so far?"
Blaine shrugged. "Okay, I guess? I haven't hit my stride yet. It's sorta like pulling teeth, but they're getting written at least. I can edit them all later."
"Maybe you need to relax," Kurt suggested, beginning to slowly rub his husband's shoulders again.
"I can't. There's no time. I'm working, and I'm on a time schedule. And shouldn't you be working, too? You have a book deadline coming up in, like, two weeks, right?"
"Yes, but this isn't about me, is it?" When Blaine shook his head, Kurt continued. "So, maybe I can help you relax?"
"How?"
Instead of answering, Kurt disappeared.
Blaine didn't think too much of it, though he did miss his husband's warmth on his shoulders. He was trying to come up with the perfect line, and he was distracted. He needed something to fit with,
"It took all that
To make me think that I, too,
Could have a voice,
Could make a choice
To be myself on paper…"
For some reason, the perfect next line was just not popping into his head.
A few moments later, as he was just jotting down a possible next line, Blaine felt hands on his zipper, and it startled him out of his contemplation. "Kurt! What are you doing?" He ducked his head to peek under the table at his husband's kneeling form.
"Helping you relax," Kurt answered with a shrug, beginning to slowly tug the zipper of Blaine's pants down.
"I-I can't. Seriously. I've so got to get this done to be ready for noon. What time even is it?" He glanced at the watch around his wrist. "Yeah. It's 11:38, and I've got to finish this in the next 20 minutes! I need to concentrate."
Kurt pouted. "But Blaine… I need you…"
"Come here," Blaine beckoned. "Come up here." He waited for Kurt to crawl out from under the table before pulling the taller man down into his lap. "I promise we will do that at some point today. I'm sorry to disappoint you right now." He craned his neck up to plant a kiss on the tip of Kurt's nose. "You're my favorite, most supportive husband ever!"
Batting at him good-naturedly, Kurt replied, "I'm your only husband, and it had better stay that way, Mister. Now, work on your poetry. I'm gonna go back to my office for a little bit. I'll make some lunch around 1:00. Okay?"
"Okay. Thank you," Blaine said softly, this time kissing Kurt on the lips before letting him up and watching him walk back down the hallway. "Don't think I don't notice that extra wiggle in your hips," he called after him.
"You're welcome!" Kurt called back.
A few hours later, Blaine had moved to the couch, the end of his pencil now sporting a few bite marks as he bobbed his head, singing something to himself. He wasn't writing like he should be, now a little bit behind schedule, but he was hoping running through some lyrics in his head would help him get into the groove. His last poem, though it had taken a bit too long to write, had flowed really well, and he needed to stay in rhythm.
Kurt came out of the office a bit later than planned, having gotten caught up in the chapter he was working on, smiling when he saw his husband curled up, that far away look in his eyes as he considered his next words. Brilliant, Kurt thought to himself. My husband is absolutely brilliant. His writing is phenomenal. I knew from the first moment…
Padding into the kitchen, Kurt made a tall glass of water, tossed in a striped paper straw, and took the cup out to Blaine. "Here," he said softly, handing it over to him when Blaine glanced up. "You need to stay hydrated if you're going to keep that brain of yours writing lyrical poetry for a full 24 hours."
"Thanks," Blaine replied, taking a few sips from the straw before setting it down and returning to his staring.
"How's it going?"
"Good," Blaine replied. "Well, sorta. It was. The last one flowed so easily. Listen to this." He flipped back a few pages, scanning for the spot he wanted. Then, he cleared his throat and read,
"What would you wish had never happened
When your lips form a tight line
And you whisper desperately,
Voice laced with fright
That you don't like what you are,
That your wish upon that shooting star
Is to go back and start over?
Do you ever feel that desperate?
I hope not.
Listen."
"Good job, darling," Kurt whispered, bending to press a kiss to Blaine's temple. "You're amazing."
Blaine blushed. "Thank you. I just wish they all were this easy to write."
"You'll get there. Want me to help you relax?" Kurt winked at him. "I could, you know. You and I both know that you make a great appetizer to lunch."
"Oh, my god, Kurt. I can't right now. Seriously. I have two lines for this next one, and it's going on 1:30. I'm going to be behind."
Kurt rolled his eyes. He loved that his husband wanted to do this, that he was so driven to produce his books in his chosen style. He just didn't love being denied, especially not when his husband kept blushing at Kurt's compliments, and the sight of that was making Kurt's cock jump with want in his pants each time. "And you don't think relaxing would make the words come easier?"
Blaine shook his head. "I've gotta concentrate."
"Well, what are your lines? Maybe I can help?"
Blaine read,
"Hey!
I've got a bone to pick with you."
Kurt gave him a sassy look before replying,
"I've been horny all day,
But you've sending me away
So you can play your hand at poetry.
That's just not fair.
I wanna run my fingers through your hair
And listen to you scream my name."
"That was pretty good. Maybe you should be the poet here instead of me."
"No. I can't come up with the fantastic, flowing phrases that you do. You're much better suited to the job than I am." Kurt bent down, pressing a kiss against his husband's lips. "Are you hungry? I was thinking about making grilled chicken sandwiches."
"Starving actually. I haven't eaten anything all day. I had coffee early when I prepped for today, but that's it so far."
"No wonder you can't find what you want. You have no fuel. You're running on empty."
"I know," Blaine answered sheepishly. "I was just too nervous about starting on this project, and I didn't want any food."
"Well, I'll fix that. Don't worry." Kurt kissed him again before heading to the kitchen. "Mind if I play some music?"
"No," Blaine replied abscently. "It's fine."
A few moments later, a song began to play through their Alexa speaker.
"How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore
And a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten
Spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished, in squalor
Grow up to be a hero and a scholar?
The ten-dollar Founding Father without a father
Got a lot farther by working a lot harder
By being a lot smarter, by being a self-starter
By 14, they placed him in charge of a trading charter
And every day while slaves were being slaughtered and carted
Away across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up
Inside, he was longing for something to be a part of
The brother was ready to beg, steal, borrow, or barter
Then a hurricane came, and devastation reigned
Our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain
Put a pencil to his temple, connected it to his brain
And he wrote his first refrain, a testament to his pain
Well, the word got around, they said, 'This kid is insane, man'
Took up a collection just to send him to the mainland
'Get your education, don't forget from whence you came, and
The world's gonna know your name, what's your name, man?'"
Blaine rose, beginning to pace the floor, mumbling the lyrics to himself. He felt like this was helping. Lin's lyrics were game-changing; he'd paved the way for a whole new type of musical, and he was one of Blaine's heroes, someone he looked up to when he was first starting his publishing journey.
Looking at his notebook again, Blaine began writing,
"Hey.
I've got a bone to pick with you.
It seems that no matter what
Regardless of what I'd do as a child,
Learning,
Growing,
You were never happy with your life.
There was always something you wished you could change
A different person you hoped to be,
Planning a new life, rearranged."
It was as he was writing those words down that he felt Kurt's arms slide around his waist. One of Kurt's hands began to mess with the button on his pants while his other slid lower, massaging over his cock with long, nimble fingers.
Blaine tossed his head back, a soft groan coming from his lips. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly, but they couldn't. Not yet. He had to get further, had to finish this poem while the words were flowing. So, as much as he hated to, one of his hands reached down to press against Kurt's just before he could pop the button of his pants open. "Kurt…" he whispered, turning in his arms to look at the other man. "I'm sorry. After lunch. I promise. You can tie me down and have your way with me, but we have to wait. Please." He turned his notebook toward him. "The words are finally coming."
Kurt gave him a half-hearted smile, his hands coming up from where they'd fallen to his sides to rest on his hips. "Lin?" he asked.
Nodding, Blaine answered, "Lin."
"Promise me. Please. After lunch. Blaine, I want you so bad." He grabbed Blaine's wrist and brought it to rest just below the button on his own pants, letting Blaine feel the outline of his quickly filling cock.
"I promise."
"Good boy. Now, finish up. I'm grilling chicken." Kurt pressed a kiss to his husband's lips before ghosting his mouth across his cheek to his ear, down his neck, and to a bare spot on his collarbone where he bit down for a moment before letting up and disappearing into the kitchen.
Blaine collapsed back down onto the couch, his fingers scribbling words as fast as they could, determined to be ready for Kurt after lunch.
As it turned out, Kurt got a work call right after lunch and had to excuse himself to speak with his agent. So, it was nearly 4:00 by the time that he re-emerged. In lieu of conversation, Kurt just dropped to his knees in front of Blaine and began working his pants open.
Lost in the middle of a thought and trying to write down a line, Blaine swatted at his husband. "Stop it."
"No. You promised me, and I'm tired of waiting. I want you. Now." There was a bite to Kurt's words, but there was also a need, a desire, a hunger in his voice that immediately caught Blaine's attention.
So, he put down his pencil and focused on his husband. "Okay," he breathed.
"Good." Kurt returned to what he was doing, yanking down Blaine's zipper and beginning to work his pants down his hips.
Blaine lifted up to help, and a moment later, he was pantsless, Kurt having managed to grab the bottom hem of his boxers and pull them down, too.
Then, Kurt sank down around Blaine's cock, taking it all into his mouth at once, his nose coming to rest in the curls at the base.
Throwing his head back, Blaine moaned, "Holy shit, Kurt. Ho—" His husband began to suck then, hollowing his cheeks as he moved up and down swiftly, pulling at Blaine's cock and circling with his tongue. While he hadn't been fully hard when Kurt began, it didn't take him long, and it was less than three minutes later that Blaine was crying out Kurt's name as he came down his throat, his whole body feeling like it was pulsing with the intensity of his orgasm. "Kuuuuuuurrrt!"
The next thing Blaine knew, Kurt was standing in front of him, his long, hard cock dancing right in front of Blaine's face, taunting him.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Kurt asked, looking down at his husband. "I'm waiting."
Blaine swallowed hard, glancing up at Kurt's face for a moment before looking down at his red and leaking cock. "Okay," he whispered, then swallowed Kurt down, loving the absolutely guttural groan that Kurt let out as Blaine's hot, wet mouth sank down around them.
Taking a similar approach to Kurt, Blaine began to suck, moving his lips up and down Kurt's length. He didn't start out at as quick a pace, preferring to ease into it, enjoying the sounds he was eliciting from his soulmate. It was when Kurt's hands found a resting place on his head, massaging into his slightly gelled curls and gripping hard, tugging, that Blaine knew he was pushing him closer and closer to that precipice.
So, he sped up, surging down and just as quickly back up, beginning to use his tongue to lick and massage along the underside and around the head, dipping down and back up as he worked Kurt's cock over well. The Alexa, which had been playing songs from Hamilton on repeat ever since lunch—Kurt's brilliant idea—played Satisfied, and Blaine began to hum along to the melody as he worked Kurt's cock.
"I remember that night, I just might regret that night for the rest of my days
I remember those soldier boys tripping over themselves to win our praise
I remember that dreamlike candlelight like a dream that you can't quite place
But Alexander, I'll never forget the first time I saw your face
I have never been the same
Intelligent eyes in a hunger-pang frame
And when you said "Hi", I forgot my dang name
Set my heart aflame, every part aflame
This is not a game
You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied
I'm sure I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself
You're like me, I'm never satisfied
Is that right?
I've never been satisfied"
It was then that the song began to slow, but Blaine did not. He kept up his rhythm, and one… Two… Three… Four drags later, Kurt was cumming hard down his throat as Blaine swallowed down every drop, savoring the taste, listening to Kurt pant out his name. "Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, Blaaaaiiiine!"
When Kurt came back down from his high, he smiled at Blaine as he righted himself, tucking his spent cock back into his pants and redoing them before he bent down to Blaine's level. "This isn't over," he whispered, close to Blaine's face.
Blaine could smell himself on Kurt's breath.
"I'll give you your 24 hours to write and a little while to sleep. Then, I'm having my own poetry marathon. You will read me your poetry, and we will cum until we're sure we don't have another drop left in both our bodies."
A shiver crawled down Blaine's spine, and he couldn't help the little whine of desire that escaped his lips. "Okay," he whispered.
"Do you know why?"
All Blaine could do was shake his head.
"Because Angelica was right. I will never be satisfied. Not when I have you in my life. Now, fix your pants and get busy writing. I wouldn't want you to miss your deadline." Then, Kurt walked away, once again moving his hips like he had been earlier in the day.
Blaine watched him go, a whispered "Okay" he was sure Kurt didn't hear on his lips.
The next evening, after Blaine had finished writing his 24th poem at 8:00 a.m. that morning, had slept, and had taken a shower, Kurt had made sure they were both fed and had them situated in bed, his hand wrapped around Blaine's cock once again.
"Stop doing this," Blaine begged. Both he and Kurt knew he didn't mean a word of it. He loved this.
"It's for science," Kurt replied with a smile.
"This isn't science," Blaine replied.
"Oh, but it is."
"The science of what?"
"The science of seeing how many orgams my husband's poetry can tempt out of us." He grinned, giving Blaine a wink when the other man groaned. "Now, read some bits from that angry poem again. That one really gets me going," Kurt commanded as he began running his hand up and down Blaine's cock again. It was valiantly trying to get hard again after it's third orgasm in just over an hour.
Blaine cleared his throat and began, fighting past the quickly easing pain of his cock pretending to protest Kurt's gentle stimulation.
"Real talk?
I'm pissed.
I wanna spit,
Throw a fit,
Tell you I'm completely over it,
Over you,
Your attitude,
And the disrespect you so often include
In every damn thing I see you do.
I almost never fantasize
About wanting to put up my fists,
But there are days like today
Where I'd like to slug you
Square in the jaw or the nose
Because I can't stand to see you
Constantly exposing your hypocrisy
Without a care in the world.
Get over yourself, dude.
You're not a hotshot.
You've wasted enough of everyone's time,
So shit or get off the pot."
He was going to go on, but Kurt leaned forward and grabbed his face, pulling him in for a kiss that was mostly teeth and tongue. "Like fucking lyrics. I love it. Now, put that away and get over here," Kurt growled between nips to Blaine's bottom lip. "I want you to find the lube and get ready. I want to be inside that perfect ass of yours."
Blaine moaned into the kiss, Kurt's words, his mouth, and his roaming hands lighting his entire body on fire. Suddenly, there was nothing he wanted more than to feel Kurt filling him up. So, as he blindly searched for the nightstand drawer that contained the lube, he managed to get out a quiet, "Okay."