Notes:
A re-write for the Klainetober 2020 prompt 'pumpkin patch'.
Kurt stands at the end of their bed, hands resting on hips as he indulges, examining his sexy husband, eyes traveling down Blaine's body. Kurt licks dry lips as his eyes fall past Blaine's bare chest and linger on the white cotton sheet covering his hips down to his legs, knowing without seeing that all he's wearing underneath is a pair of purple briefs.
Kurt's gaze returns to Blaine's face. He pauses, biting his lower lip to stifle a giggle at the bright pink paste caked all over his husband's tan skin.
"Tell me again," Kurt whimpers when the urge to laugh becomes irresistible, "how you are covered in head to toe poison ivy?"
Blaine sighs, wiggling his nose when it itches, staring forlornly at the paisley print oven mitts on his hands, duct-taped around the wrists to keep him from ripping them off and scratching himself within an inch of his life.
"Kurt ..." Blaine groans, rolling dry, irritated eyes to the ceiling, "we've been over this three times already."
"I know, I know. But the part I can't seem to wrap my mind around is how a grown man comes home covered in poison ivy when his eight-year-old daughter and their dog don't seem to have a single rash."
Kurt turns his head to look back at Tracy, mimicking her Papa with her hands on her hips, almost delighting in helping get her Daddy into trouble. Kurt examines both child and dog with shrewd eyes to make sure his assessment is correct.
"Nope." Kurt turns back to his husband with a wicked grin. "Not a rash to be seen on those two."
"Well," Blaine starts, watching his amused husband smirk at his predicament, "I … can't really tell you. I don't exactly know."
"Tracy" - Kurt glances over his shoulder - "would you like to tell your daddy why it is that you're not covered in poison ivy like he is?"
"Because Elphaba sensed the danger and kept me away," she says proudly, giving her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel a scratch behind her ear.
"That's right," Kurt coos, his voice dripping condescension. "That means that you, Blaine Ander-Hummel, have less common sense than a dog."
"To be fair, dogs are very intelligent," Blaine retorts.
Kurt shakes his head. "Okay, well, there's nothing much more I can do for you. You have your calamine lotion open and ready to be applied, you have a Big Gulp of Coca-Cola, and …" Kurt grabs the remote for the TV off the bedside table and puts it on the sheet beside Blaine's left oven mitt "… now you can watch your programs." Kurt winks, smiling sunnily. Blaine frowns, grimacing when the calamine lotion cracks again right below his eyes. He purses his lips and blows a stream of air up to try and dislodge a flake from his eyelid. He finally gives in and brushes it away with the rounded dome of the oversized mitt.
"I'm taking Tracy out for ice-cream as a reward for her restraint. For not running halfcocked, arms waving wildly over her head, cheering about the Great Pumpkin, then sliding straight into a patch of poison ivy ... like her father did."
Tracy leaps in the air and cheers, thrilled at the promise of a fudge-dipped soft-serve cone, running off with Elphaba on her heels to put on her sneakers. Kurt's eyes follow her out the door, then his gaze turns back to Blaine, lying helpless on the bed.
"Do you know what this reminds me of?" Kurt purrs, sliding up slowly, trailing light fingers over the sheet, fingertips barely brushing Blaine's skin.
"W-what?" Blaine asks, eyes focused on where Kurt's fingers dance above the sheet in little circles to and fro without making contact.
"Do you remember that blessed time before we had a little girl and a dog? When we could fuck in the living room in the middle of the day …?" Kurt leans over, his lips traveling an inch above Blaine's chest, breath tickling his skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end (or try to since they are effectively plastered down with calamine lotion). "I used to tie you to the bed," Kurt whispers in a husky, hungry voice, watching the bulge beneath the white sheet grow as he speaks in soft tones against Blaine's cheek. "I sucked you off till you couldn't see straight …" He lets a single finger tease the head of Blaine's cock through the sheet. "I licked you and teased you, kept you on the edge of cumming all night long … and you used to call me Master?"
Blaine moans into Kurt's mouth where it hovers, lips parted, within a kissing distance of his own.
"Yes?" Blaine sighs, waiting for Kurt to put him out of his misery. It would only take a minute. Blaine doesn't have a rash anywhere near his cock. Tracy can definitely wait in her room for a few minutes.
Or seconds.
Kurt grins wide, pulling away slowly, feeling Blaine's cock throb once beneath his fingers as he steps back to view his handiwork - his ridiculous husband, completely helpless to do anything to relieve the pressure. "Good to know." Kurt takes a step backward toward the door. "I'll just let you think about that while we're out. Consider the true consequences of your actions."
Blaine suddenly realizes that Kurt is leaving, and his eyes widen with panic over being abandoned in this particular position.
"Wait … wait, Kurt …" Blaine looks down his body at his now rock-hard cock straining against his briefs.
Kurt chuckles as he disappears out the door.
"Kurt?" Blaine calls after him. "Kurt? Help me, Kurt!"
"Don't worry," Kurt yells from the front door. "I'll bring home something to cool you off. See you in an hour!"