content warning: explicit sexual content, mild sexual content, semi-dubious consent, lots of f-words in this one
Chapter 8: Stop
The mattress I'm lying on bounces, followed by hushed voices, but I pay no attention to them. The first seconds of consciousness make me wholly preoccupied with the way my head is pounding and the way my limbs feel tired and sore. I stretch slightly, feeling content in the warmth of the bed and ignoring the sounds of doors opening and closing before it gets quiet again.
The mattress dips, the covers shifting, and then legs brush against my own. They're not slender or shaven. They're not a woman's legs. I force one tired eye open.
Kurt's under the covers with me, having propped himself on one elbow. He's gazing down at me, brown hair sticking out everywhere, looking warm and soft even if he's got angry bite marks on his neck. He looks well fucked, and it looks fucking good on him. "You should sleep more," he whispers, reaching out and pushing hair from my forehead.
"Hmm," I manage, turning to lie on my back, grabbing his hand and pulling, and he gets the hint and lies down, pressing against my side. God, he's so gloriously naked.
I'm not shocked he's here. Even as I slept, I was aware of him, knowing what I had done.
Weak morning light is coming in through the windows. From what I can see, we've made a mess of the room. He seems content nuzzling my collarbone, and I'm too tired to move.
Huh. This is nice.
"Did we fuck?" I ask groggily. I know what we did, but there are gaps in my memory. Kurt lifts his head and quirks an eyebrow at me like the answer to my question is pretty obvious. "I mean, did I fuck you?" I say with a slight roll of my eyes.
"No."
I didn't fuck him. Well done me.
I rub my face with one hand, trying to get the sleep out of my system, but it's hard when he's warm and solid against me. My stomach churns uncomfortably, alcohol welling in it and burning. God, since when have I had hangovers like this? I need to get back into the habit of drinking to stop feeling like this the morning after.
"Where's the other one?" I ask, realizing the kid's absence only now.
"I sent him home."
"That's good," I sigh. I can smell the guy on my skin. I can smell Kurt too. Memories start flooding my mind – hands, mouths, groans, touches.
He looks at me incredulously. "You don't think we had sex last night?"
"Not if we didn't fuck each other," I note, ignoring how this, the two of us in bed right now, pushed together, touching, feels a lot more significant than fucking.
He presses closer to me, and I let my fingers skim over his left collarbone before focusing on the bruises on his neck. Probably the kid. Kids like doing that, marking the people they fuck. God, he better not have marked me. My neck doesn't feel sore, though.
Kurt asks, "What about when he was on his hands and knees, sucking me off as you took him from behind?" I instantly get the full visual in my head. I remember that. "That wasn't us having sex?"
"Not like we made each other come," I manage to reply, trying to control the wave of want that now competes with the slight nausea. I told the guys I was done with Kurt, I told him as much, and most of all I told it to myself. And then I do this and don't regret it. I can't even bring myself to pretend that I do.
"What about when he fucked me and you jerked me off? The way we kissed?" he goes on, and there is no way he can describe the events of last night without making me aroused. He studies my face intently. "You've never jerked me off before, you know."
"That still doesn't qualify," I say, remembering what he felt like leaking onto my palm, and god, he was so fucking hard.
"But what if watching you get blown pushed me over the edge?" he now asks slowly, voice predatory. I feel him getting hard against me. His hand slides over my chest, warm and smooth, moving down to my stomach under the covers. "Seeing your long, thick dick slipping between his swollen lips..." His fingertips brush over my pubic hair, but he doesn't move his hand lower.
I try to keep my head on, recalling how he fucked the kid while I got my cock sucked. "There's no way you could've actually seen that from where you were."
He gives me a dirty smile. "I've got a vivid imagination. Some things I didn't have to imagine, though, like your mouth all slack, fisting his hair, pushing his head further down..."
"You are horny in the mornings," I say breathlessly.
"Happens if you're in the bed with me," he counters, sounding so fucking sexy as he leans in.
"Kurt," I say warningly, but he seems happy to ignore me. His lips brush over mine, our noses bumping together. His hand has moved to the base of my cock and clearly intends to go further. "I'm telling you to stop," I whisper against his lips.
"You're always telling me to stop. We both know it's not what you want."
My lips part as we make contact, and my fingers tangle in his hair as I pull him down, deepening the kiss instantly. He's hard against me, and there's not a single thing I don't want to do to him right now, lock the door, ignore the world, and just keep him here, secret and hidden. I will myself to forget that there are consequences. There are always consequences.
His hand moves lower, grabbing my cock. The lack of hesitance in his movements suggests that it's something he's used to doing by now, but then he exhales shakily against my mouth, and it's like he's driven as insane by it as he was the first time. His kisses are deep and slow, and I push my tongue to meet his. He is slowly fisting my cock, more like saying hello than actually intent on jerking me off. It's nice, in a way, and it's doing wonders for my hangover. Lazy morning kisses, unrushed sex, kind of like something you might do with a person you care about.
I let my mouth travel to his neck, kissing over the bruises there. "You looked so hot fucking that kid, you know," I tell him, enjoying the way he gasps when I suck on bruised skin. God, he really did, his hips snapping forwards as he got close...
"So did you," he groans.
"Though," I say, pulling back and relaxing on the bed, "watching him fuck you..." I trail off, not having the words for what it did to me.
Kurt pulls the covers off of us and moves to straddle me. My mind blanks out as I look at him: perfect, pale skin with a few bruises that might be my hands, or someone else's hands, smooth chest, flat stomach, muscular enough just for it to show, protruding hipbones, a flushed, hard cock proudly in view. His hands roam over my skin lazily, fingers circling my nipples and then dancing over my ribs. There's no rush, and I reach down to touch his cock, fingers skimming over his length and then below to cup his balls. He bites on his lower lip and moves against my hand, eyes fixed on my erection with what looks like curiosity. I'm wholly focused on him, and he seems to be lost in studying me. My hand moves further, over his perineum until my index finger presses against his hole. He feels a little wet from last night, and he chokes down a whimper.
He doesn't seem to let me distract him, though, as he keeps his pensive eyes on my erection. I give up and pull my hand back, arching an eyebrow at the way he's looking at my dick. "What you doing there?"
"Exploring," he replies, rubbing his palm against my shaft. "Your cock kinda curves to the left a little. Just noticed."
"Fascinating," I note, and when he grins at me, I pull him down from his wrist and roll us over on the bed. Hair falls over his eyes, and I brush it off, taking in the features of his face, his perfectly shaped mouth and plump lips. "Hi."
"Hey yourself," he returns, voice irresistible. "Are we fucking now?"
"Just a little bit," I amend, diving in for a kiss.
To my surprise, he instantly takes control. He rolls us over, looming over me and placing wet, open kisses on my skin wherever he can. I expose my neck for him, and when he bites down, I don't even tell him not to. His mouth on my neck is distracting the hell out of me, hot and warm and dominating. I tilt my head to catch his lips, and he kisses back hungrily. "God, I want to," he says huskily.
"What?"
Really, we've got no one to piss off here, no Puck, Nick or Seb behind the wall, no confined back of the nest. My neighbors hate me, anyway, so it doesn't matter if we're loud enough to wake them. He has to tell me what he wants, and I'll do it. He's right, anyway; we did have sex last night. And if we've already broken the rules, then this morning I want to try and keep us under the spell as long as I can.
He groans against my mouth, pushing me against the mattress. "Want to fuck you."
I instantly freeze, my eyes opening wide. Kurt pulls back, lips swollen and red. His breath hovers over my lips. "You should let me."
"I really shouldn't," I retort, feeling fucking breathless. No, no way am I letting him to do that to me.
"I'd make you feel so good," he whispers, wet lips brushing over mine. My eyes flutter shut as he moves to lie on me, his weight pushing me down. "You ever fingered yourself?"
"No, why would I?" I ask a bit defensively, feeling my cheeks burning up. He keeps placing kisses on my lips, the corner of my mouth, languid, hot, not going anywhere. I try to chase his lips, feeling intoxicated. His erection is pressing against me, and for some reason, his dick suddenly feels bigger than it is, and no way would that fit.
"I feel so crazy when you finger me," he says huskily, causing my stomach to drop. "Your fingers – God, just thinking about doing that to you makes me so hard."
I swallow audibly as his lips travel over my Adam's apple, tongue swiping over the skin. He's got one hand between us, cupping my hard cock. I might've gotten harder as he's talked. He rubs me, and I groan involuntarily. "Kurt."
"You know how much I love it, how good it feels for me."
"Well yeah, but –" I stop to catch my breath, mind spinning. But he's gay. I'm not.
Before I can manage to tell him that, he kisses me, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. I can't think when he touches me and kisses me like this, when he –
He pulls back and stares into my eyes, his pupils blown and darkened with want. "I want to be inside you."
My entire body fucking melts, an insane burn taking over. I pull him down for a starving kiss. Fucking hell. It feels good for him when I do it, if his moans are anything to go by. If he wants that. If he...
Our noses brush together as I kiss him frantically, squirming beneath his weight. "Okay?" he asks in between kisses, and I mumble, "Sure, yeah." God, anything, don't care, we just need to be closer, doesn't matter what happens because we always manage to get off and feel good. I just need him to stop teasing me.
He smiles wide against my mouth, breaking the kiss with a wet pop. "Okay. Well." Suddenly, he's all business-like, as if we just held a negotiation of some kind and he got what he wanted. He sits up straight on the bed, and I lift myself to rest on my elbows. "I'll fix us something to drink. You should shower."
Wait. Did I just agree to let him fuck me?
He's already out of bed and stretching languidly, not at all bothered that he's naked and hard. "Whisky works for you, right?"
I nod feebly, trying to catch my breath or think when all the blood in my body is not in my brain.
"Far out," he grins, leaning back down. He places one hand to the back of my head, holding me in place as he kisses me, tongue greedily brushing over mine. My fingers clutch his shoulder, returning the kiss. "I'll go see what you've got," he murmurs against my – by now – swollen lips.
I watch him go, and he winks at me from the doorway. I'm still on the bed, his taste in my mouth, my cock hard. My mind is foggy and clouded by his touch, but I'm slowly pulling the bits and pieces together.
Wait.
Did I just agree to let him fuck me?
I thought standing on stage and singing my songs every night made me feel exposed. I was wrong. This, sitting here, waiting for Kurt, shower fresh and in my underwear, wondering what the fuck I agreed to, is making me feel exposed. I should get dressed and leave or at least wait by the bedroom door, launch on him the second he comes back from his own shower, bend him over and take him there. Not sit here. Waiting. Waiting for him to come back and fuck me.
"Fuck," I swear and take another long sip of the whisky. I hear the bathroom door open, and I instantly sit up straighter on the bed, senses electrified. Kurt walks in casually like he lives here, toweling his hair but naked otherwise, kicking the door closed behind him habitually.
"Hey," he smiles, eyes washing over me. I did as I was told. I showered, got ready – I actually took steps to get fucked by him, which is insane. This is not a good idea. We shouldn't do this.
I'm shorter than him, and even then, I still feel big around him. Like he's the one that might break somehow, he's the one I can push into a corner and hover over. But right now, I feel shorter and smaller. God, this is a stupid idea.
I nervously lift my glass again and take a sip. Kurt drops the towel on the floor when he's done with his hair, walking over and laughing. "Don't drink too much."
"Isn't that the point? Getting intoxicated?"
He shakes his head. "Just want you to relax a little."
He's not hard. Neither am I, but my skin feels so fucking electrified, anyway. He eyes my boxers a little, like he's confused as to why I put clothes on. Well, I clearly need to protect my ass from him somehow. Jesus Christ, I'm not really going to –
"Hey," he says softly, leaning down and lifting my chin. "Relax." His eyes look so damn deep into me.
He leans down like he's going to kiss me, but when we kiss, we touch, and when we touch, we fuck. And for once, I don't want that.
Instead, I pull back and offer him my glass of whisky. He takes it and sits down next to me, and I reach for the entire bottle on the nightstand, unscrewing the cork and going back to taking slugs of it. We drink silently, and my eyes keep darting from my drink to him, to the walls, the window. It's so quiet that I can hear the sheets rustling, the occasional honk echoing from the street outside three stories below.
The whisky burns my throat, and as I am about to bring the bottle to my lips again, Kurt catches my wrist, thumb pressing against the pulse point. When I meet his gaze, he puts his drink down, taking the bottle from me and doing the same. Then, without saying anything, he closes the distance between us, pushing me back down on the bed.
I'm pretty good at sex. I know what I'm doing, where it's heading, and I certainly don't need to think about it. And even when I didn't know what the hell I was doing, I covered it up and pretended I knew. I told the first girl I ever slept with that I had done it plenty. She never seemed to notice I hadn't.
But right now, as I place an uncertain kiss on Kurt's lips, I realize this has got to be the first time I am actually out of my league. Kurt returns the kiss softly but firmly, coaxing my mouth open until I give in. We both taste like alcohol.
He soon moves to kissing my neck and chest, hands running over me. I'm the center of attention, and he's clearly not expecting me to do anything except lie back and get inevitably lost in his touch. I let out a chuckle when his tongue dips in my belly button. "That tickles," I say a bit breathlessly, and he smiles against my skin, constantly heading south. I try to relax and get into it.
The kisses turn less innocent when he reaches my crotch. I'm getting hard, which is a good thing, because if I'm hard and Kurt's here, I will get off. Eventually. Maybe not from what he wants us to do, but there's got to be an orgasm somewhere in the near future, and that's good.
He inches my boxers down, kissing the V of my hips that gets further exposed. I lift my hips to help him out, and he tugs the underwear off me, exposing me fully. He's hard by now, and again I consider flipping us around and just taking him. Then he starts mouthing at my cock slowly, and I sigh restlessly, letting my eyelids close and hands tangle in his short, damp hair.
"Do you do this a lot?" I ask, gasping a little when he licks over the slit of my cock. He's managing to get me hard really damn fast.
"Define a lot," he says, the words muffled against my shaft. His mouth travels down to my balls, and I spread my legs a little to give him access. His mouth is so fucking talented.
I muffle a groan as I take a tighter hold of his hair, though I'm not controlling his movements. "I don't know, I just –" I stop to suck in a breath when he gives the underside of my cock a broad lick. By now, I'm as hard as I'll get. "Thought you liked getting fucked."
"I do," he says huskily, and I can sense him looking at me so I open my eyes. His shiny lower lip is pressed against the head of my cock, and I've managed to make a mess of his hair. "I just really want to fuck you," he says, almost laughing like he can't believe how much he wants to do it. "Sometimes, us fucking is all I can think about," he then adds, voice hoarse, and he places a hungry kiss to the head of my cock, causing me to moan. I'm glad he's got the same problem I do.
He moves back over me, and I assume it's to exchange saliva, but I realize he's reaching out to go through the drawer of the nightstand. He still kisses me, but then he frowns a little and pulls back. "I swear we didn't use it all up," he says, sliding to half-lie on me as he reaches for the drawer. I try to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling irregularly. God, it feels so hot in the room.
"Ah," he says eventually, retrieving the lube victoriously. He pecks my lips, the tube in his hand. I must be fucking insane. "It'll be good, trust me."
"I bet you say that to all the boys," I note, and he loses his grin a little, leaning down to kiss me again and again until I feel like I'm going insane, my mouth raw as he doesn't give me a second to compose myself. He nudges my legs further apart with his own, and I comply without thinking. "God, you're gonna look so hot," he groans against my lips, and he starts heading down my body, sucking on a nipple and leaving a trace of saliva. His hand reaches between my ass cheeks, fingers wet and sticky. He presses a finger against my hole and leaves it there, applying just a bit of pressure.
"This is a bad idea," I gasp breathlessly, ignoring how overwhelmed I feel. He only hums against my skin and then takes my cock into his mouth, like he's not really paying attention to my words. "Fuck," I groan, instantly taking a hold of his hair again. His finger is moving in circles, spreading lube on me. The way I do to him. The tip of his index finger slips inside.
I groan without meaning to. That's weird. That doesn't feel very natural. Doesn't hurt but it's weird.
Kurt's acting like he doesn't have a finger in my ass at all, like he's simply sucking me off and is oblivious to the actions of his hand, even if I can feel his other fingers pressed against my flesh, keeping me open as his index finger probes at my hole. His other hand is at the base of my cock, helping him blow me. His finger slides in further, all the way, and it stings slightly. God, it's so intrusive.
He crooks his finger a little, pushing against the muscles. I'm not sure what he's trying to do, but his finger is in me, and it's moving. I can't even breathe properly. He pulls back from sucking my cock, his hand taking over and stroking steadily. "Want your mouth," I say slightly incoherently, wanting his lips back on me. I need some kind of a reward for this. And if he thinks fingering will get me off, then he's wrong.
"Patience," he says huskily. His finger pulls out almost all the way and then pushes back into me; there is a moment of clear penetration that feels surreal. My body tenses up, pulse accelerating. His finger crooks inside me with more force now. "Say when."
"When what?" I ask, not comprehending. He twists his finger, and I jerk in surprise, cutting off a surprised moan. "Oh," I breathe out. Fuck. That felt good. It actually felt good, and I'm not even gay. Fuck, who knew?
He is breathing heavily, and I don't understand why. His cock is leaking already too. We've just started.
"Feels good, right?" he asks, voice low. I have the sense to feel embarrassed when I nod. God, no one can ever find out about this.
He starts a repeated motion with his finger, pushing the digit into me at the right angle. I start getting used to it, biting on my lip and trying not to groan. He lowers his mouth back onto my cock, thank god. It's twice the pleasure somehow, his swollen and wet lips on me, and at the same time, he's got a finger working me open, and it doesn't feel half-bad. There's something intoxicating about the constant slide.
"More," I breathe out, not meaning to say it. Can't believe I'm asking it. He pushes in a second finger alongside the first. "Shit," I rasp, hips snapping spontaneously. I'm wet and slick where his fingers are in me, and there's a definite stretch now that's not comfortable. Half of me wants him to stop, but the other half is ignoring the pain and is drunk on the flashes of heat.
He suckles the head of my cock slowly. He's not even trying to get me off. He's trying to distract me, but it doesn't work – two fingers feels fucking huge, but he keeps them moving constantly, stretching me further. And just when I've decided that no, this isn't happening, my body shudders noticeably from the push of his fingers, the pleasure undeniable.
"Kurt," I manage, warning him. Of what, not sure. That it's weird as fuck. That it feels good. His mouth wanders from my cock and attaches itself to my inner thigh, tongue flicking over the skin.
"You're so fucking hot, Blaine," he breathes. "Can't believe how tight you are."
There's a compliment I never thought I'd hear.
"It kind of stings," I manage, licking my lips slightly.
"That's one of the things I love about it," he says and bites on my inner thigh, mouth attaching itself hungrily. His fingers still keep pressing against that spot inside me, and when I get used to the stretch, it starts feeling good again. "I should prep you with three," he says when he pulls back, and the skin he latched onto feels sore, and fuck me if there won't be a bruise there tomorrow. His hair is in disarray, his skin flushed. I can see that he's watching his fingers steadily appearing and disappearing into me. God, I feel it, all of it, the way he's inside.
"You should?" I ask, having caught that word with the little common sense I have left.
"Should," he confirms, and then his fingers have slipped out of me. "Don't have the fucking patience to," he rushes out, and then he's back on me, his mouth covering mine. I groan against his lips, our erections brushing together. He props himself on one elbow, supporting himself above me, and his other hand lands on my hip. "Turn around," he whispers.
Onto my stomach? So that I can't even see him?
"It'll be so good for you," he promises, and I've got nothing inside me, and it feels empty now. The anticipation is killing me as I try to chase the pleasure that he was giving me just a second ago. I'm so hard I can't think, and now it's just empty, and I feel desperate to change that.
When he nudges my hip again, I let myself roll over on the bed. My erection presses against the mattress, and I breathe in the pillow, eyes closing. He presses against my back, practically lying on me. His cock is trapped between us, and I feel the wet tip of his erection against my lower back. He uses his legs to push my own apart. I was wrong earlier, when waiting for him to come out of the shower was making me feel exposed. This is making me feel exposed.
His mouth travels down my spine, both hands on my ass, rubbing and then pulling my ass cheeks apart as his cock slips between, brushing over my entrance. I almost panic for a second, but then he retreats, his mouth now on my lower back. I feel his breath on my skin, moving lower, his tongue licking lower... and lower... And he is really going to stop going lower any second now, he –I jerk without meaning to because his tongue just licked over my hole. There's a line, there's a fucking line, and he's crossing it.
I mean to ask what the fuck he's doing, but then his tongue brushes over me again where I'm already wet and open for him, and his mouth is overwhelming. He groans a little, spreading my cheeks with his hands, and then his tongue pushes inside. I muffle my moans against the pillow. Jesus fuck, I did not see this coming. And his tongue feels so hot, that really feels –
Then his mouth is gone, like he just wanted to scar me for life with the small newsflash that someone's tongue in your ass feels fucking amazing. My cock's throbbing agreeingly.
"I should've done that before the lube," he comments, and really, that's what he's thinking right now? That lube doesn't taste good?
"Fuck," I manage to say, hoping it doesn't come across as too turned on.
I've had his fingers, had his tongue, and I just need him to do something because fuck, it feels hot. It's like how Quinn squirms and gets desperate if I'm teasing her, which I usually can't be bothered to do, but she says that she needs something in her or she'll go insane. I always thought it was her being dramatic. Now I suddenly relate. Funny how that probably won't save our relationship in the long run.
Kurt's hands are on my hips, guiding, and I oblige, getting on my hands and knees. It makes the feeling of exposure even more obvious, like I'm offering myself to him, and my cheeks feel hot from the embarrassment. Thank god a part of me has the sense to acknowledge who I am and what I'm doing. Tonight, I'll walk in front of thousands of fans screaming at me, a god-like figure who has all the answers, but now, I'm on all fours, unable to catch up with what's going on. For him.
His hips press against my ass, his cock sliding over my left ass cheek. I can hear the lube being popped open again, his mouth on the small of my back, biting and licking, and my mind pictures him rubbing lube onto himself. This is actually happening.
"You ready?" he asks, and I stay still, not wanting to crane my neck to see him like I want to see him right now, which I do, but it's stupid that I do, so I don't.
"Just go for it," I tell him, holding my breath, eyes screwing shut. Go on. Just sodomise me. Jesus Christ, what's that in the list of fucking stupid shit I've done in my life?
I feel his cock pressing against me, and he's rubbing himself over me a little. It only gives me a better understanding of the differences in size, how his cock will force me open even more. My god, what am I doing?
"Jesus," he pants, sounding barely in control. I bite back the joke of my name being Blaine, actually, since there's nothing funny about this, and then he's grabbing my hips and pushing forwards.
"Holy fuck," I cry out, biting on my tongue before my mouth just drops open and I groan into the pillow. He's pushing into me steadily. It burns, though the movement is fluid, and I can feel that he has to force his way in regardless of how much he stretched me.
I lose my breath entirely, fisting the sheets. I feel like I've been pushed wide open and filled up, and I can feel every single inch of him in me. Inside me, so fucking deep. He comes to a stop, buried in all the way, and it stings, the intrusion making me bite the pillow. Fuck, how does he do this? How does anyone do this?
"Blaine? You ok?" His voice is husky and almost a moan in itself, slightly disbelieving. "Fucking hell..."
I feel his moist lips on my shoulder blade, moving over my skin aimlessly as his forehead presses against my back. His hands are gripping my hips and keeping me still, not letting me follow my instinct of inching forwards to make him slip out.
"I think we should stop," I say through ragged breathing. I can't take it. Fuck, it's too much of everything, it –
"You sure?" He keeps perfectly still, but I can feel him, so hard and hot. I involuntarily shake my head.
And, just like that, he starts moving. I drop onto my elbows, cursing into the pillow. I feel how he's pressing against me inside where everything's so sensitive, but the stretch, and how huge he feels, and my cock is bigger than his but he always takes me so well, fuck, sometimes it's like my cock isn't enough for him, like he'd want more, and I can't even deal with this.
Amateurs and professionals.
His thrusts are shallow, but I feel like nothing makes sense anymore. The world's dissolving, and then there's just me biting on my tongue, and it's senseless that it hurts but I'm still so fucking hard. The constant, fluid slide fills me up again, and somewhere beneath the painful throb is a ghost of pleasure. And then there's him, the way he sounds, the way he's now saying that I feel good, that I feel so fucking good.
I'm getting fucked.
Once I've wrapped my mind around the idea, I tell myself to man the fuck up. I smile against the pillow crookedly because that's ironic, hissing at the burn as Kurt pushes into me again, clearly trying not to overdo it. He buries himself in all the way, and I reach for my cock, groaning as I touch myself. He retreats, leaving me feeling empty, and then he pushes back. I'm ready this time. When he slams into me, I thrust back against him just to see if I can make him gasp. I can.
"Blaine," he groans a bit warningly, like if I'm not careful he'll lose it. He pushes in again a bit more forcefully. My chest feels constricted, and I force myself to move with him. It makes him sound that much further gone. The friction is unbearable, but at the same time, he slides in effortlessly, my muscles gripping onto him. He's trying to control the speed. I can tell it's taking him effort.
"Just do it," I order, mind clouded. I feel empty when he pulls back, my cock throbbing when he pushes in. "Kurt," I groan. "If you're gonna fuck me, just –"
He readjusts his grip of my hips and starts a faster rhythm, thrusts no longer slow at all. It's deep and hard, and I chase something, pleasure, pain, both. My back arches to get more of his cock, and he's really fucking me now. None of that slow and careful crap. We've never been either of those things with anything.
His other hand moves to the back of my neck, taking a firm hold of me there. I try to bite on my lip to keep quiet, telling myself to take him. I fist my cock, and though I'm fucking hard, I don't feel on the edge of orgasm. It's a different kind of pleasure.
Just as I think I'm used to it, Kurt pulls out all the way, and I groan in protest. Shit, that stings.
"Hang on, just –" he says, panting, and then his cock is on my hole again, after he's readjusted himself. His hand on the back of my neck keeps firm pressure on me, somehow comforting that he's here, there, all fucking over. His nails dig into my skin. He pushes back in, slow and deliberate, and I feel my muscles give way, accommodating him, but at the same time, he's pressing against me from all angles, and I know what it feels like, to be inside him and feel all his muscles squeezing around my cock just because he's that tight.
I groan out of nowhere when his cock brushes against the spot he was rubbing with his fingers earlier. It feels even better when his cock makes contact with it. My muscles tighten around him, which only intensifies the sensation.
"That okay?" he asks, voice raspy.
"Yeah," I say breathlessly. My cock is fucking leaking.
He starts fucking me again, and it's insane how I suddenly crave the feeling of him pushing into me, the angle just right, causing flashes of heat on my skin. I push back to meet him, and he puts more force behind his thrusts, pushing deeper into me. God, he sounds dirty, like he did last night when he fucked the kid. I remember the concentration on his face, the flashes of pleasure, but at the same time he sounds so much louder now.
I let my eyes close as our bodies move together, stroking my cock and hoping to get myself off. The more he fucks me, the more I'm getting used to it, the surreal feeling fading away and replacing itself with a burning sensation of more. More speed, more depth, more force. I hear the sound of our bodies slamming together, like we're both desperate to get there.
"God, I'm not gonna last," he groans, and that's good because I can't take this for long. But I'm not there yet, the intrusion and the fact of penetration still too new for me to have let go of all inhibitions. But at least he'll be done and out of me and this will be over and – But no, god, I want him inside, every inch of his hard cock, his hips slamming against my ass and us both coming and trembling. I've never felt this goddamn violated in my life, but somehow it's turning me on.
His rushed out "ah" sounds are muffled against my skin with each hard thrust, and he fucks so deep into me and so frantically, and I recognize the sound, anyway; I know that he's coming before I feel it. And I do feel it, him coming inside me, and it's the most surreal feeling that leaves me hot all over. He never told me how possessive it feels, how it's like claiming property.
His groans are deep and masculine, and he rides it out, small thrusts until he's done, filling me up with his come. I feel well fucked right now, even if I haven't climaxed yet, and I grip my cock tighter, trying to get off.
He pulls out of me without warning, and I curse. Fuck, I'm sore, and my muscles try to grip onto something that's not there anymore.
"Turn around, fuck," he rushes out, and I instantly move to lie on my back, letting myself crash against the mattress. I see him now, and he's covered in sweat, his softening cock in view. I'm still painfully hard, the adrenalin rush making my limbs weak. He grabs my ankles, pulling me down the bed, and then he's lowered his mouth onto my cock.
"Kurt," I groan, fisting his hair. He moves one hand between my legs and instantly pushes two fingers back in me. My hips buck up, and it's not enough anymore, two fingers don't seem to do the job. He crooks them, though, and pleasure spreads through me. He sucks my cock like he doesn't need to breathe, mouth wet and hot, and his fingers fuck me roughly. "Harder," I command frantically, head hitting back against the pillow. "Harder, fuck."
He complies, and then he pushes in with three fingers. My body tenses up, my breaths erratic. "Shi –"
I come hard, hips lifting off the mattress. I feel my muscles clenching around his fingers, which he keeps still except for the very tips that are hooking inside me, rubbing me where I can't fucking take it. He swallows as my orgasm hits me. When he pulls back, some of my come dribbles onto my lower stomach from the corner of his mouth. He catches his breath, wiping white, milky substance from his lower lip.
"Fuck," I breathe out, slowly coming down. He leans over me, licking my come off my skin as he carefully pulls his fingers out. I wince despite myself.
He moves back up on the bed, crashing next to me and pressing to my side. My muscles feel stiff when I finally have the sense to bring my legs together. Fuck, I'm sore. So much for sitting on anything. Ever.
"How was it?" he asks after a while, sounding genuinely curious. His voice is raw like he's moaned too much.
"It was..."
He watches me intently. It wasn't bad. It was good. It hurt, but then it didn't hurt, until it did again, and then it just felt fucking good, and it was weird. It was definitely weird.
Instead of answering, I turn to my side to reach for the nightstand. I rummage the drawer that Kurt left open, and my hand finds what I was looking for. I settle back on the bed, getting a cigarette out of the pack and fiddling with the lighter.
"That good, huh?" he asks when I manage to light a cigarette and inhale deep. I flip him off, and he laughs. I smile despite myself, almost laughing when I drop the lighter onto the bed and offer him the cigarette. He takes it, taking a languid drag. I don't want to talk about it. It happened, he knows what we did, how I reacted. He knows.
When he hands the cigarette back, pressing into my side, all warm and post-coital, he adds, "I cried the first time. Well, not during but after. It hurt like a bitch."
"I'm not gonna fucking cry," I note disbelievingly. Jesus, I'm not some chick, and it wasn't that painful.
"I'd rather you didn't," he jokes, causing me to roll my eyes. His expression turns more serious. "I was fifteen myself. Didn't know the guy. He'd given me a ride, and it just happened. He was in his mid-thirties, I think. Married. He got us a gritty motel room. Damn squeaky bed," he lists, eyes slightly glassy as he thinks back to it. "He didn't last long, thankfully." He doesn't look at me, like maybe he's embarrassed, ashamed of himself. Like I'd judge him at this point.
"Yeah, about that," I say thoughtfully. "Feeling someone come inside you. How messed up is that?"
He laughs, his expression lightening up as he looks at me with sparkling eyes. "I've always thought it's fucking hot."
"You would think that," I note. I take the half-burnt cigarette from my lips and reach out to stub it against the nightstand. It seems like he's waiting for something, so I place one hand to the back of his neck, rubbing gently. He arches into the touch a little, reminiscent of a cat somehow. "C'mere," I whisper, seeing the tension in his shoulders vanish gradually.
We kiss slowly, legs entwining. He's got his eyes closed when I pull back but keep our foreheads touching. "At least the sex's gotten better, right?"
He laughs. "Definitely." His fingers circle my chest idly. "Can you... still feel me? In you?"
"Yeah," I admit.
"That's what I love the most. Feeling so..."
He doesn't have to finish the sentence as my mind is supplying different alternatives. "Claimed" comes to mind. "Fucked" too. It's making my chest constrict, a sense of panic that I try and not let him see. It was good, but I took it too far. The sex was good. Maybe I wouldn't mind doing that again sometime. Maybe I could get used to waking up with him in my bed. The second that realization dawns on me, it's harder to breathe. The second you want something, you risk losing it. I've stopped wanting anything. The second you let yourself have something. Someone. I can't do that.
He captures my lips. The kiss is soft and sweet, more like a seal than anything else. When he pulls back, he whispers, "I've missed you," eyes focused on my cheek meekly. His voice sounds somehow different when he says it. Like he means it.
Fuck, what if he means it?
"Course you did," I chuckle. "Are you hungry? I'm starving."
"Famished."
God, I'm relieved he let me get away with that one. "Breakfast it is," I conclude.
I get out of bed and focus on walking normally. Here's hoping he doesn't notice.
Puck, Quinn and I sit in the dressing room in perfect silence.
Well, this is awkward.
Quinn's going through a magazine, clearly bored, and I'm biting on my fingernails, trying to smooth sharp edges. Puck's eyes flicker from me to Quinn on the adjacent couch, like it's as close to each other as he'd let us sit, anyway.
"God, must be the first time I'm too early for anything," Quinn notes as she flips to another page. It's a first for me too. The second first this week. Even Ryder can fuck up – yesterday he said we'd have to soundcheck early, which is why Quinn and I got here half an hour ago, only to find Puck wandering around and asking where the hell everyone is. The support band is getting their own gear ready, and we're the only ones of our crew around. We must have missed a memo or another. Ryder probably tried calling, but Quinn and I spent the entire night at a friend of ours, smoking pot, eating pizza and talking bullshit.
I'm not sure if I was hoping to see Kurt here. I haven't seen him since last night when he, Mason and Matt decided to go out. I think Mason knows we're at it again. He must know, the way he looked at me. I mean, I think I can hide it pretty well. Act nonchalant, ignore Kurt's existence. We've fucked a few times since I... Since we did what we did. But it's been nothing like that time since. A few rushed backstage fucks, limited kissing, barely any intimacy, just me fucking him quick and hard when the tension gets too much. That's how it should be. He's not staying with me anymore either because Quinn would have noticed. He seemed okay with leaving. It felt empty after he left, showing that it's good he took off when he did. I don't want to get used to something like that.
The lame excuses I tell Quinn feel more transparent by the day, but she hasn't caught on so far.
The difference is that we've learned our lesson, so maybe it will work this time. I need to focus on what it's all about, ignore that Kurt's got a few on me, that I've got a few on him. And it's not that we share anything. No, all we've got is ammunition we stupidly shared after orgasms, when you let things slip a little. I'll fuck him because I want to. But that's it. That's all it is. Just need to make sure I don't fabricate lies I can't back up. Really, how could I possibly get caught when –
"So when Kurt was staying with you, what did he and that Mason fight about?" Jac now asks, her tone like she's only asking out of extreme boredom.
"Um," I manage. Puck's frozen by the side table where he was enjoying the crackers laid out for us. "I didn't ask."
"They seemed cuddly enough last night," she comments, putting the magazine away and sighing. "Are they dating? Do gay guys date?"
"No," Puck supplies. "They just fuck." Puck is looking at me when he says it.
"Huh," Quinn hums. "Mason looks like a homo to me."
"I think he is," I now say. "They're not dating, but I'm pretty sure Mason's a fag."
"You'd know, right?" Puck asks pointedly, and I shoot him a warning glare. He better keep his fucking mouth shut. Quinn doesn't seem to have picked up on the comment. Puck's looking victorious as I tense up. "So Kurt crashed at your place. You never said, Blaine."
"Can I talk to you outside for a minute?" I ask sharply, standing up and glaring. Quinn is staring at us, looking puzzled. Puck quirks a challenging eyebrow at me, and together we exit the dressing room and step out to the narrow corridor that's deserted except for us.
Puck's a pretty well-built guy, not skinny like I am. He's got broad shoulders and strong arms, and he's only a few inches taller than me. When he stares me down, however, I feel significantly shorter than him. I stand my ground firmly. "You got something to say to me?"
"No. I really don't. You know why?" he demands. "Because I don't socialize with fags."
It shouldn't really surprise me he calls me a fag. Puck's got issues. He generally hates everyone. Really, normally I couldn't be bothered getting offended. He's a fag, I'm a fag, we're all fags in his books. Fag, fag, fag. But now it hits home, the memory of me on my hands and knees for a man, letting myself be fucked, taking a cock up my ass. And I liked it.
"Sure," I scoff, trying to act like he's not getting to me. He's been acting like a cunt ever since we got to LA. Can't stand it, can he? That Quinn's fussing over me constantly?
He certainly looks like he's about to murder me. "You're still at it, aren't you?" he seethes. "Mason and Kurt haven't been fighting."
"Like you'd notice!"
"I've been keeping my eyes on you two so, yeah, I would! I fucking told you that I'd tell Quinn if you ever did that again, and you know what? You've lost your chance. Never should've given you one, you fucked up prick."
I'm just about to launch on him and fucking beat him up when Beiste's voice says, "What's going on?" His booming voice breaks the spell, but it does nothing to appease the fury bubbling in my guts. Beiste is heading down the corridor with slightly hurried steps, like he is anticipating having to step in between.
"Nothing," I spit.
"Nothing?" Puck hisses. "Quinn deserves to know what her precious boyfriend has been up to."
"And you think that will make her love you?" I ask, and I am not at all ready when Puck takes a swing at me. He misses, though, because Beiste's reached us and pulls Puck back just in time.
"What the hell's going on?" Beiste barks, now standing between Puck and me, looking back and forth between us in astonishment. And Puck's lucky Beiste is because, otherwise, I swear I'd –
"He's still sleeping with Kurt!" Puck declares furiously.
"You're fucking my girlfriend!" I bite back, and Puck looks surprised for a second, the anger dissolving as he realizes that I know. I've known half of the fucking summer. Beiste looks like he would much rather not be here right now, like he's torn between disbelief and desperation.
"Okay, so maybe I am fucking Quinn. Someone's gotta give it to her. God knows you're not."
"Yeah, it's so considerate for you and half of the city to step in."
Puck tries to come at me again, but Beiste pushes him back. "Okay, you two shut up right now!" he barks angrily. "You're grown men, both of you!"
Puck takes a few steps back, but he keeps looking at me with hatred in his eyes. I try to stare him down. That asshole, that little piece of –
"Where's Ryder when you need him?" Beiste sighs exasperatedly. If he's hoping for Ryder to miraculously emerge and save the day, he's wrong. Beiste looks at us with pleading eyes. "We're almost done with the tour, we've only got two more LA shows and then a handful further north, so please, for god's sake, refrain from beating each other up until then, alright? I don't care who's fucking who, you're supposed to be professionals."
"You expect me to work with the likes of him?" Puck snaps and points at me. If he dares to call me a fag again, I'll pull out his windpipe and shove it up his ass. Let's see how gay that makes him feel.
The dressing room door opens, and Quinn peeks out, clearly having heard the commotion. "What's going on?"
We all look at each other, a surprised silence on us. Puck and I have always argued, even when we were friends. Now he gives me a cruel smile. "I told you I'd do this."
"Don't you –"
"Blaine's been fucking Kurt all summer," Puck declares, and Beiste groans like he can't believe this is happening again. Neither can I. To my surprise, Puck looks a bit sorry. Not because of me. Not out of any sympathy or feeling bad about backstabbing me, but for her. He glances at Quinn like he's in slight pain himself. "Your boyfriend's a faggot, Quinn. Time you know it too."
Quinn's eyes are impossibly wide. It makes her look pretty. She opens her mouth, but I say, "No. No, I am not doing this. Fuck you, Puck, and thanks for nothing! I'm not fucking Kurt. I've told you that I put an end to that. And yes, for the record, I did fuck him," I add to Quinn.
Quinn seems speechless. Let's keep it that way.
"I was experimenting, horny, and he was conveniently there. I'm not the first guy to try it out. I can own up to that." But only that. Everything else, switching roles, laughing at the same stupid jokes, half a minute of holding his hand, all of that I cannot own up to. "But this is not about me. This is about you two and your stupid little affair, like you think I'd fucking care, and it's just so sad seeing you so lovesick, Puck. Did you think that she'd, what? Leave me for you? Are you kidding?"
"You think she's gonna be with you now?" Puck shoots back pointedly, and Quinn looks more shocked by the second, either by Kurt and me or that I know about her and Puck. Beiste doesn't look amused anymore. He's still standing between us, making sure to keep us away from each other, but I think he's just too disappointed in everyone involved to actually try and tell us to stop.
"You've been sleeping with that guy?" Quinn asks slowly, only now catching on. She looks appalled.
"For months," Puck supplies.
"Shut up! For once in your life, shut up!" I bark at him. "You know nothing about that." I look at my girlfriend. "And don't you – Oh god," I groan when I see that her eyes are glistening.
"You've made her cry!" Puck snaps angrily like I didn't see that myself. Resorting to the waterworks. That's cheap. It doesn't work on me. If she thinks that will make me feel even remotely guilty about my actions as of late, she's wrong.
"You don't get to be upset, Quinn. You've been fucking one of my bandmates, so you don't –"
"It makes sense now!" she exclaims with wide eyes. "You don't touch me anymore! All week, we've not even – I thought you'd lost interest, but it's him! It's not me. It's him!"
"And it's not me either, it's him!" I snap and point at Puck.
She pales further. "Baby, you know that doesn't mean anything. I was just feeling lonely and –"
"She's been feeling lonely at least twice a week since April," Puck notes. Even longer than I thought. That fucking –
"Puck, would you keep quiet?!" Quinn requests angrily, wiping her cheeks, but Puck doesn't back down.
"What are you doing with him? I've been asking you that all summer! He treats you like crap! He's been sleeping with a man behind your back! He doesn't love you! He's a conceited, perverted, arrogant lowlife, and he doesn't love you!"
It's true. Our entire relationship is based on us not loving each other. That's why it's worked until now. Until she started screwing Puck, and Puck fell for her, and then Kurt happened. Not that he... Kurt didn't happen in the sense that it's changed anything. We've been having fun, doing whatever makes me feel good. It's not sick. Not until they remind me that it is.
Quinn's still tearing up, and I take steps away from them. "You don't get to tell me what I can do. Fucking Kurt was goddamn innocent compared to what you've been up to. You two think that, what? You've found love? Fucking sickens me," I snarl before turning around and walking away.
"At least I know what hole to stick it into!" Puck calls after me, and when I don't react, he adds, "Fucking faggot!"
"I think he's got the point," Beiste's voice says, and I slam my open palm against the wall angrily as I try to get as far away from them as I can.
I don't actually get far. I can't go far because I will still have to soundcheck. I can't quit this band. Maybe we can fire Puck? I might be able to talk Nick into it – he doesn't take infidelity lightly. He spent the entire summer not cheating on his wife. I'm amazed. And he never liked Quinn anyway, so he won't care that I cheated on her. I can totally get rid of Puck.
Or maybe I could have him killed. Do I know anyone who might know someone who does that?
I don't.
Fuck.
I ran out of cigarettes half an hour ago and they're not selling any at the bar. The place is dead. I picked the first bar I could find, and this place is thankfully quiet and poorly lit. The bartender is supplying me with beer as he mainly focuses on cleaning the bar area for the evening when things presumably will liven up. I keep eyeing the all access pass hanging around my neck. It's not shiny like it was when we started this tour. It's bent and scratchy, much like its owner.
"Hey," a timid voice comes over my shoulder, but I don't turn to look at Quinn. Instead I sigh heavily, staring at my beer bottle. The green O of the mouth. Definitely not the gateway to salvation, but maybe to oblivion for an hour or two. I knew she'd find me. If I had wanted to avoid her, I would not have headed to the nearest sleazy bar. She takes a seat on the stool next to me. "Could I get a beer?" she calls out to the bartender, digging through her purse and getting out cigarettes. Thank god for that.
She's clearly composed herself a little. That's good.
We sit in silence, drinking our beers, and I smoke the cigarette she gives me without me having to ask.
"What a pair we make," she finally comments. We're both sleeping with men instead of each other. She's certainly got a point. After a while, she quietly adds, "You know the thing with Puck doesn't mean anything." She sounds sorry.
"Kurt neither," I point out, wanting to make that distinction clear. It's not like I'm with him in any way. The little relationships that I have are with women, not men. "I fucked the guy a few times, alright?" I emphasize nervously, giving her a side-glance.
"Okay," she says, nodding, taking it in and trying to accept it.
"You know that I... When we're touring. I meet a lot of people. I do things." We've never actually talked about it, but I've assumed that she knows tour rules. I assume that she assumes that I fuck around.
"I know. I meet people too."
And I've always known that. Monogamy has never been for us.
She bites on her lower lip uncertainly. "Are you in love with him?"
"Quinn, come on," I say with a roll of my eyes. My throat closes up, making it harder to breathe.
She shifts restlessly, at least smiling like she knows it's a stupid question. It's a fucking stupid question. No one's asked me that before. Even I haven't. "It's just... You've spent the entire summer with him."
"Puck exaggerates. It's not been all summer, just a few times over the past month or so." Well, that's a blatant lie. "It was like... I knew I shouldn't do it, so I did. The guys found out and got pissed, so I stopped. They didn't get that it was just sex. But you get that, right?"
I finally look her in the eye. She looks dead serious, but gives no indication that she does understand where I'm coming from. Instead, she sighs. "Maybe I should've known. I mean, you wanted to... you know. Do that when I came to New York."
When I fucked her ass. Great.
"And you enjoyed it, so...?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow. We both got off.
"You're not a fag, are you?"
"God," I groan and shake my head. "If that's honestly what you think, then I'm not going to have this conversation with you." I slide off the bar stool, grabbing my beer with me.
She's quick to follow me. "I'm serious! Are you?" she persists. The bar is still empty except for a few guys who now come in, and then the bartender who's still behind the bar, and it's not much of an audience but I hope to god they can't hear this conversation. Quinn grabs my arm, forcing me to turn around. "I need to know the truth!"
"Well, what do you think?" I snap. "You've known me for what? Almost a year and a half now?"
"But you've slept with him," she insists. "I mean, he's a guy. I don't know any other straight men who've done that!"
I do. A few. Apart from the gay people I've now met, I know one or two guys who've been known to fuck a guy. Those guys aren't people I'd classify as my friends. They're the weird ones no one really wants to socialize with. The misfits. The ones that feel off somehow. The fucked up freaks.
"It's a kink, Quinn. Was a kink," I say, feeling more and more frustrated by the second. Kurt might want to do his Gay Freedom Marches, but I'm not joining in on that charade just because I've gotten off with him.
"Men don't sleep with men," she says quietly.
I take in a calming breath, trying to ignore how she's right. I know that. Fags all have something wrong in their heads, Kurt included. I'm not a part of that lot, even I can singlehandedly say that I am the only guy in my circle of friends who's slept with a man, but what's worse, I've also gotten fucked by one. The thought instantly makes my cheeks feel hot, and I hope to god Quinn can't read it on my face somehow. I'm fucked if she can.
"How about we just conclude that we've both fucked people we shouldn't have?" I offer, needing this conversation to end. She's making me think about things I don't want to acknowledge are there. "And then –"
"Blaine," comes a male voice, and I look up to see one of the guys who came in smiling at me nervously. He looks dazed. A fan. He can piss off.
Then I take another look at him. Oh. Oh fuck.
"How you been?" the kid asks shyly, giving Quinn a brief glance before his hopeful eyes land on me again. The wistful puppy love on his face is so obvious that I can hardly stand it.
"Great, Kevin, if you –"
"Kenneth."
"Right. Sure," I say with the little patience I have.
And I've slept with this kid. Classy, Anderson. Good move. He looks even younger now than he did that night – still good-looking, sure, but instead of being able to visualize him on his knees for me, I can see him sitting in a high school class room, bored out of his mind and amazed that he managed to crash that party and get fucked by guys in their twenties. One of them was even a rock star.
"I've been hoping to catch you, but man, they're strict about who they let backstage!" he says, and he's got that look in his eyes, the one that says he's seen me out of these clothes. "I've been to every show!" I am honestly speechless at this point. "So. Um. Are you busy tonight or...?" He brushes blond hair behind his ear. "If you want to hang out. Or something."
Or something. The most blatant euphemism for sex since human beings developed language.
"Who's he?" Quinn now asks sharply, her eyes thinning.
"A fan, what the hell does he look like?"
Kenneth's eyes widen a little, and thank god he has the sense to be embarrassed. "Um, I didn't mean to interrupt. Um. I'm sorry. Um."
Quinn takes another look at him and then turns her scandalized eyes to me. "You've fucked him"
"My god, you're paranoid," I bite back, but it's useless because she's made up her mind.
"Fucking keep him then!" she snaps at Kenneth and heads out of the bar, and Kenneth looks severely alarmed, even if his eyes are still slightly hopeful like he can keep me.
So I fucked him a little. I was drunk. Why do kids these days fail to understand the concept of casual sex? My god, every groupie or fan just wants to meet up again. I am not interested.
He says, "I'm really sorry if –"
"Look," I bark at the kid. "Get a reality check. I don't give a crap about what happened that night, alright? You don't matter. I'd already forgotten you even existed, so why don't you just go back home to your mom and dad and never mention it to anyone ever again? Am I making myself clear?!"
Kenneth takes a step back. He looks slightly heartbroken. Fucking idiot.
"Fuck!" I swear angrily and storm out of the bar, actually having to run to catch up with Quinn, who's made it half a block already. "Quinn, come on!" I say, but she frees herself the second I manage to get a hand on her shoulder. She swirls around, expression furious.
"You are gay!"
"I –"
"Don't tell me you didn't fuck that kid because I know you did! How many more are there?! I mean, Kurt I can maybe understand! He's gorgeous! He was convenient! Maybe I can get that if I try hard enough, but there've been others too!"
"Kurt and that kid, okay, fine, but I swear –"
"Why would I believe you?" she asks, backing away as she keeps her eyes on me.
"Quinn, for the love of god, you're making too big a deal out of this!"
"Puck was right."
"He wasn't!" I persist and take a firm hold of her. She tries to fight me off, but she's tiny, always has been, and I push her against the wall of the building next to us and kiss her. She mumbles an angry "Blaine!" against my mouth, but I only take the opportunity to push my tongue into her mouth, muffling further protests. She doesn't respond, but I don't care, keeping her trapped between the wall and me. When I pull back for air, she's panting too. "Would I do that if I wasn't into women? Huh?" I ask demandingly and then lean right back in to kiss her again. She breathes against my mouth unevenly, and I've got her. She's always had a weakness for being bossed around.
"Blaine, what are you –" she starts to ask when I break the kiss, but she ends up moaning when I move to her neck, sucking on the skin, and my hands are pulling her skirt up, piling it around her waist. "We're in the middle of the street!" she exclaims, but that's the point. It's quiet, but someone could easily see or walk by, and she's always had a kink for that. I've got a hand inside her panties within seconds, slipping into her warmth. Her breathing hitches when my forefinger presses against her clit.
I attack her mouth again, feeling so fucking desperate, but not to get off, not to fuck her, but just to make this nightmare stop. I like women. I like fucking Quinn. I've just forgotten that, and I need reminding that I don't get on my hands and knees for anyone. For other men. God, I'm not like that.
"You believe me now?" I ask against her lips.
"Maybe," she groans, pushing her hips forwards, and my fingers move from her clit and slip further. She's starting to get wet already. I'm half-hard. Of course I am. I'm not fucking relieved by it, for god's sake. She asks, "You gonna fuck me here?"
"Maybe," I counter and capture her bottom lip, sucking on it. I can make her come in ways Puck can only dream of.
"Prove it," she breathes, and I hum in question, letting myself suck on her earlobe. She smells of perfume, fruity and sweet. "Prove that – Blaine," she adds helplessly as I push a finger in her. I don't give a fuck that cars are driving by just behind us. I don't care anymore, about anything. Her hands get tangled in my hair, and she brings her mouth to my ear, her words urgent. "Prove that there's nothing going on with you and him."
I pull my hand back a little, going back to rubbing her clit, but now without focusing on it.
"Blaine," she whines slightly, her cheeks flushed. I pull my hand out of her underwear, the tips of my fingers wet.
"And how am I supposed to do that?" I ask, my voice husky.
She tries to catch her breath, her blonde hair messy and covering half of her face. "Show me."
Kurt doesn't notice me at first as he's halfway into his bunk, on the tips of his toes as he leans inside. I watch from the doorway, staring at the way his red, tight t-shirt is too short for him, the way his jeans cup his ass. He knows what his best features are and shows them off. I'm reminded of the first time I saw him. Pretty much this exact same spot.
"Hey," I say eventually, and a loud thump follows as Kurt hits his head to the bunk ceiling.
He retreats instantly, rubbing his head and forcing a half-smile as he looks at me. "Jesus, you scared me."
"Sorry." I try to sound smooth. Not nervous. Not wrecked. "Looking for something?"
"My Jack Daniel's t-shirt. Mason's probably stolen it, and his limbs are all long and if he pulls it out of shape, I'll..." he mutters, but his eyes are on me and he's smiling. "Anyway. How are you?"
I shrug nonchalantly as he walks over, and he doesn't stop where, say, Nick would, but he steps right into my space, and I meet him halfway, our lips brushing together as a greeting. He places a hand on my hip, fingers absently playing with the fabric of the dress shirt that disappears into my pants. He doesn't stand as close as he could, and there's an awareness about him that says he is processing where to place his hands, what to do, what not to do. He's been spending the past few days waiting for me to give him the okay. It couldn't be more different from him inviting himself to my home when we first got to LA.
He smiles at me warmly. "So what did you do last night?"
"Quinn and I went to a friend's house, and we all got high," I sum up, voice flat as it really wasn't anything worth getting excited about. "You?"
"We got drunk and danced all night. Matt passed out, we called Beiste at the hotel, and then he came to pick us up. He was kind of pissed about that," he chuckles. I try to smile but can't. Everything feels heavy right now, the same kind of nausea settling in that I experienced when Quinn asked me if I was in love with Kurt. He frowns at me. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I nod, and that's a lie. I lie too much. I'm not sure if I always have, but it's become second nature so I no longer notice it. And I'm not okay either and can't remember the last time I was. When I was younger, I wanted to prove that I could make a name for myself, and then when I did, I never felt any different. Kurt clearly doesn't buy my words, so I try and get to the point. "I was talking to Quinn about... the fact that I've been sleeping with you."
His eyes widen, and he steps back. "You told her?"
"Puck told her." Kurt opens his mouth, but I cut him off with, "I know, an asshole move. And they know that I know about them and, really, we all know now, but Quinn and I, we get each other. She's a smart girl. I'm lucky to have her, really."
"You call that lucky?" he asks, and I give him a glare. He better not have a go at her. He doesn't even know her. "So what are... I mean." He looks confused. "What did she say? Did you two break up?" He might sound just the tiniest bit hopeful. If he is, he covers it up with forced neutrality.
"No."
He frowns. "But she's been sleeping with Puck."
"Like I've been doing that much better," I note, and he looks a bit like I've just slapped him. I didn't – I didn't mean it like that. It's not him exactly. It's what he inevitably is – a man – and it's not like he can help that. "Look, we were talking and then I- Well, I got an idea, and I mean that- I think we should have a threesome. Quinn, you and me."
He blinks. He stares. He takes a further two steps back, expression one of complete confusion. "What?"
"She thinks you're hot. She liked the idea. You fuck her, I fuck you, we can do loads of things. It'll be fun." I ignore how I'm trying to sell the idea, how crude it sounds when I actually voice it.
"You... want me to fuck your girlfriend?"
I nod, because really, that sums it up. I'll be there too, and Quinn will see how it's just a kink. She will see how we can share that kink and how Kurt and I don't have a thing. Kurt goes from looking confused to downright pissed. "I'm gay, Blaine."
"So?"
"So?!" he repeats angrily. "How is that hard to get? I don't sleep with women! I'm not attracted to women! And even if tomorrow I woke up with a craving for pussy, Quinn would not be the first on my list!"
"Hey!"
"She's sleazy! Come on, you fucking know she is," he barks angrily. That's not even true; Quinn is classy in her own way. "I can't believe you're asking me to do that," he says, and Jesus Christ, he's being a prude now? He sleeps around plenty. What a hypocrite.
"Come on, not like it'd be our first threesome," I say with a roll of my eyes.
"But I'm gay!"
"And I'm straight, but I'm still fucking you, aren't I?!" I snap at him, letting my volume rise up the way he's doing.
"Oh, right, you're straight. I almost forgot for a minute! How many heterosexual men do you know who fuck other men? I'm just asking out of curiosity," he notes, voice heavy with sarcasm, and I don't like what he's implying. "I mean, can you even admit the possibility that you just might be –"
"You better not go there," I say sharply, my hands curling into fists.
He keeps his lips pursed and drops his gaze from my face, and I can sense his disappointment and anger. He doesn't see where I'm coming from with this. It's my own fault, really, for getting into this mess. You would think that he would be open to the idea of a straight man who just likes fucking men. Likes fucking him. Hell, he sure loves getting fucked, so why the hell is he complaining? The guys don't get it, Quinn doesn't get it, and right now even I don't get it. But I thought that he at least would.
"You work for me," I then note, even if it's not true. He works for Ryder. "You should do what I say."
"But I will never do that!" he snaps, voice sad and anguished. He looks at me like I'm someone he doesn't even know. Most of the time, it's exactly how I feel, looking into the mirror and realizing I'm someone I've never met. But I'm not a fag. I have a girlfriend. And I'm offering Kurt a chance to be a part of that arrangement, and he better fucking take it. He can't be as stupid as not to take it. If he doesn't, then that's it. That's the end. I've exhausted my brain trying to make the puzzles fit, and this is the only way that I can.
"This is about the other night, isn't it?" he now asks quietly, voice sad somehow, and I feel my guts burn from the memory. "You've been acting weird ever since we- But you don't have to. Blaine, you don't have to prove anything," he rushes out, now stepping closer to me again. "They're just labels, and you don't have to say you're one thing or the next. I'm fine with that. Really, I won't care if you just don't make me do this, if you –"
His voice has sounded increasingly more anguished, and I can't stand it, not coming from him, and I grab his wrist and pull him in for a kiss. He kisses me back instantly, hands on the sides of my face, and it's desperate, the kiss, me, him, and he tastes good. I just like how he tastes and smells and feels, how insane he makes me feel. And that has got to stop.
"Blaine, please," he whispers against my lips. I shake my head, hands on his hips and holding onto him tight, my eyes closed. "You're panicking, that's all. I didn't mean to push you too far, I thought you – I just wanted you so bad, I'm sorry if I –"
"It's not about that," I force myself to say. And it's not. He talked me into it, but I wanted it. I wanted him in any way I could get. And that's the problem. That need. I take steps back, letting him slip from my grip. "I'm practically inviting you to bed with me and Quinn. Don't be stupid, Kurt."
He stares at me in astonishment. "But I won't do it."
"What do you mean you won't do it?" I snap.
"You're honestly going to choose her over me?"
Choose? Is there a choice? What exactly does he think is going on here? I was never going to choose him. There was never any choice – it's a damn tour fling, if even that. And Quinn's not perfect; she's made some bad decisions just like I have. And now Kurt is assuming things, based on what? That I let him fuck me once? Please.
"Choose?" I repeat incredulously, almost amused, focusing on that rather than the pain in my chest. And when I think about it rationally, I realize how laughable this situation is. Who the hell even is this guy?
His jaw sets tight. "Forget it."
"No, let's not. Let's talk about this bit where you think for some ridiculous reason that I'd leave Quinn for you. It's like Puck thinking she'd leave me. She and Puck have nothing mutual there, that's for sure, and you and I? We have sex. That's all we fucking do. We –"
"Okay. Great. I get your point," he says.
"Do you? Because –"
"Stop! Just – stop talking!" he snaps at me, but he's not upset like he was a minute ago. His hands hang by his sides as he seems to take my words in. When he looks up, there's cruelty to his features, but I'm not sure if he plans on being cruel to me or himself. "You've made your point."
I take in a deep breath. "Good. And the offer still stands." God, I need a drink right about now too. But I did this. Did what I was meant to do. "How's tonight for you?"
"For what?"
"The sex."
"There'll be no sex," he says, and now is my turn to feel confused. "I'm sorry, did I not make my point?" he asks in faux surprise. "Let me break it down for you! Never in a million fucking years would I join you and your girlfriend as some kind of a fucked up sex toy. Alright? Is that clear enough?"
"God, fags are dramatic," I groan with a roll of my eyes.
"Did you just –" he starts snapping before he must realize that he's proving my point. "I can't do this," he then says, sounding like he's speaking to himself rather than at me. He swallows hard, shaking his head. "No, I- I quit."
I laugh involuntarily, amused by his idle threats. Someone's a bit touchy today. "Is this like when I quit the band?" I ask as he now removes the all access pass around his neck.
"No, this is not like one of your mood swings," he says, and I try not to feel offended by his comment. I don't have fucking mood swings. He passes me the pass, which I automatically take. "Unlike you, I can actually quit. And I just did."
He pushes past me into the bus lounge, and I follow him, feeling angrier with every second that passes. "Kurt, stop messing around." He doesn't listen to me, but I grab his arm, forcing him to turn around.
"Don't touch me!" he snaps and pulls himself free.
"Well, that's a first."
"Fuck you!" he spits venomously and keeps going, now reaching the driver's seat.
"Would you just wait?!" I bark at him angrily. We still have a handful of shows left. He can't quit. For fuck's sake, he's pissed off and I can see that, but now he's just being fucking childish.
He turns to face me, and I've never seen him like this. He's been angry, pissed off, sad, reserved, but this is all of those things at once, like there's chaos inside him that he's trying to contain but is barely managing it. "What do you want from me?" he asks. It comes out broken.
"I –"
I can't finish the sentence. I want him to do as I say, and I want him not to be so goddamn stubborn. I want him to see how this is the only solution there is. I want things he won't give because he's too damn inflexible, too sure of himself, completely unwilling to compromise. And I envy that.
"You can't fucking quit," I snarl instead.
"Give me one good reason not to," he challenges me, eyes angry. I open my mouth, mind racing. I can't think of one half-truthful thing to say. He scoffs. "That's what I thought."
His pass is still in my hand, and I clutch it violently, feeling it materialize in my hand as something else entirely, the absence of him if he goes, that feeling of –
"If you do this, I swear I'll make you regret it."
He laughs. "What could you possibly do?" He's right. There's nothing I can do. Write an angry song at most, but he doesn't deserve that much. I feel even angrier because of it. "Tell Ryder I left," he adds, pressing one of the dashboard's buttons, and the bus's doors open.
"Kurt!" I say, like repeating his name will make him change his mind. The panic has set in now as I realize that he's not kidding. He's angry, overreacting, being irrational. But if I know one thing, it's leaving, and Kurt's standing in front of me, and I can tell that he's packed his bags, set his course, his sails are now flapping in the wind, and he looks at me with hurt and anger, and I never wanted him to look at me like that. I thought he'd be the one person not to see me like they do.
He's made up his mind. He's ready to just leave me. God, he's no different from the rest of them. "Okay, then go!" I snap, motioning at the opened doors. "Go on then! Fucking go! You think we can't replace you in an hour? You think I can't fucking replace you in ten minutes?"
"I know you can," he says, and I don't like how he sounds. It was supposed to piss him off, but this acceptance is even worse.
"Then what are you still doing here?"
"Don't worry. I'm fucking gone," he swears and gets off the bus.
And, just like that, he is.