Somehow Blaine wearing lingerie became a sort of 'verse, so here: have more!
Warnings are: riding, dirty talk, boys wearing sexy lingerie.
I have the visual for Blaine's garter-belt-and-stockings combo and panties on my Tumblr, so if you want to see them, follow the link below :)
Reviews, thank you for offering such lovely feedback. I love you all!
TUMBLR IS THAT WAY
endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com
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Their spring break goes by in a blur of too-balmy weather and too many parental figures around. After that initial weekend Blaine's parents come home and it seems like Burt and Carole never leave the house. Kisses—the searching, soul-deep kind that have Kurt's toes curling in his socks and his mouth opening wide against Blaine's—are stolen on couches and beds in the miniscule windows of alone time that they're given, but most afternoons and evenings are spent as PG-rated as possible. They get homework done. They read together. The watch movies and cuddle and nap together.
But Kurt still can't get the image of Blaine's thighs encased in black silk out of his head. When they go up town for a date that Wednesday Blaine drives and Kurt can't resist putting his hand on Blaine's thigh, imagining the feel of the silk under his palm instead of rough denim. This is a once-harmless gesture they'd both adopted after naturally growing closer during the course of their relationship, but now it's marred—in the best possible way—with visions of skimpy lingerie and skin and sweat and sex. He remembers Blaine's flushed skin, muscles knotted hard under his touch, flexing as he pushed Blaine's legs back; he remembers the fell of the silk gliding against his skin as Blaine's legs fall to wrap around his waist, cinching and tightening as Kurt fucks deep into him.
He's getting maybe a little too handsy lately, but he knows now, knows Blaine's secret and has seen it and he just wants more.
At Breadstix he's constantly pressing his foot to Blaine's ankle during their dinner, running it up his calf and then back down. Their waitress comes and goes with menus and drinks and dinner, none the wiser, but Kurt can see Blaine's fingers tighten on his water glass every time his foot goes particularly high.
"What's gotten into you?" Blaine finally asks, setting his fork down. He's not angry. His pasta is only half-done and he doesn't look intent on finishing it any time soon. His skin is flushed a light red, which means he's either embarrassed or aroused or both; Kurt's willing to bet that it's both.
"Nothing," Kurt replies sweetly, running the toe of his boot up Blaine's leg once more, remembering stockings and red boy shorts and how much he wants to see it all again. "Just admiring how handsome you look tonight." He reaches across the table and takes Blaine's hand in his.
"Bull," Blaine responds, smiling faintly. His eyes have softened and his free hand goes for his fork again. Kurt lets his feet rest on the floor for now, content to hold his boyfriend's hand while they eat in companionable silence.
They're about ready to flag down their waitress for their check when Blaine blurts out, "I have more."
Kurt tilts his head, taking one last drink of his iced tea before pushing the mostly-empty glass off to the side. "What?"
Blaine swallows, slowly beginning to redden again, and says, quieter, "T-the…lingerie. I—I have more. At home. It's hidden, but I have…more."
A too-quick too-hot spark of arousal flashes through Kurt's body like a whip. He sits up a little straighter in the booth, staring hard at Blaine's red face. "You do?"
Blaine chews on his lower lip and nods, pushing around the leftover sauce with the side of his fork. He looks up at Kurt through his eyelashes—god he looks so gorgeous and demure like that—and says, "I wanted to show you tonight."
"Aren't your parents home?" Please don't be, oh god, please don't be…
"Dinner party."
"Oh," Kurt says eloquently while internally he's jumping up and down. He rubs his thumb over the skin of Blaine's hand, trying—and failing—to not let his imagination run away with him. Blaine has more. He didn't specify, but Kurt's willing to bet that "more" doesn't just mean panties or stockings. When Blaine does something he usually goes all-out, a trait Kurt feels proud that they share. It could come in handy in the future.
"We have time," Blaine adds, leaning on his elbows on the table. Their waitress comes and takes their plates, leaving the check, and they both spring back awkwardly when she walks by, but all she does is give them a warm, secretive smile and a wink before walking away.
"How much?" Kurt asks when they lean close again. He inhales deeply, taking in Blaine's cologne, and fights back the urge to kiss him.
"A couple of hours," Blaine says. "That's more than enough, don't you think?"
Kurt squeezes his hand and lets go, wrestling the check out of Blaine's grasp and placing his card in the slot before Blaine can even fumble for his wallet. "No amount of time is ever enough," he says. "And stop that. You're taking me home, the least I can do is pay."
xxxxXxxxx
They get up to Blaine's room and Blaine is immediately shoving Kurt back into the hallway, kissing him once on the lips before shutting the door with a parting "Wait here just a few minutes."
So Kurt waits. He takes this time to admire the Andersons' upstairs hallway, looking at the various family photos over the years, the professional sibling shoots of Blaine and Cooper hung in heavy, expensive oak frames along the walls. It looks homey enough to a passerby, but Kurt can't help and feel an undercurrent of loneliness and neglect whenever he comes here. Blaine's room in the only part of the house that shows any character besides we have money; this is what we do with it. The décor has a subtle don't-touch vibe that Kurt always carefully obeys.
"Kurt?" Blaine finally calls softly from the other side of the door, wrenching Kurt from his picture-observing thoughts and making his stomach jolt and knot in anticipation. "You can come in now."
Kurt takes a deep breath, willing his heart to stop racing, his palms to stop sweating, the fog to clear from his head and the lead to dissipate from his limbs. This isn't new. He's seen this—he loves this as much as Blaine loves this. He loves making his boyfriend fall apart and he loves that he gets to share this little intimate part of Blaine's life, this thing that makes him special and happy.
They've been each other's everything for so many months now that it all bleeds together, a blurry finger-painting of dids and will dos. Kurt tries not to remember a time without Blaine, and when he does he focuses on memories of mouths, of fingertips and sexy is so much more, you're so much more.
Blaine's a part of his soul now, etched together and sewn with unbreakable thread. That red string is twined firmly around their wrists, winding its way through their fingers and the very corners of their bodies.
He loves and is loved.
And he never wants to stop doing this.
He takes the brass knob with a sigh and a clammy grip, twists and pulls it open. What's waiting on the other side is more beautiful than the sunrise or any New York landmark. What's there is his home, pastpresentfuture.
He steps in and lets the door click shut behind him.
"Hi," Blaine says from the middle of the room, voice just as shy but also holding a hidden note of strength, one that wasn't there the last time. His posture is straight, his hip slightly cocked. His fingers are playing absentmindedly with the frills on his panties. Oh—frills. Nothing like the simple boy shorts Blaine had last time—these are extravagant, gorgeous and brightly-colored pink-and-purple.
"Hey," Kurt breathes, eyes wide as he stares. Swallows and it echoes, a great gulp of a sound. It would be comical in any other situation except in this one it's too, too fitting.
He takes tentative steps forward, his footfalls almost too loud. Like he's disturbing something.
Blaine doesn't move, just meets Kurt's eyes and holds his gaze, unwavering, as Kurt approaches. Kurt lets his fingers drift, skimming, once he's standing in front of Blaine, and feels the whisper of silk, the roughness of lace. He takes the bow on the far left of Blaine's panties between his fingertips and rubs, letting the material scratch together with tiny vibrations.
He could go lower, feel Blaine's cock already hard and heavy from anticipation, this intense once-over, but he doesn't.
The top of the garter belt wraps around Blaine's lower abdomen in a swirl of black flowers and sheer mesh, tight against tan skin, and crisscrosses at his upper thighs before it meets at the top of his stockings. It enhances the narrowness of his waist, pulls focus to the broadness of his shoulders where most of the strength in his body from years of boxing and exercise is held and filled out.
"Fishnets," is all Kurt says, voice throaty and cracking. Somehow this affects him more than the simple black silk of last time; perhaps it's the danger of it all, the society-given connotations with fishnet stockings. Perhaps it's because this time everything is a little more detailed, more expensive, and Blaine has great taste and looks even better.
"These are my favorites," Blaine admits, taking Kurt's hand and bringing it to the waistband of the belt, letting their twined fingers trace the divots of a flower, the curves of a swirl and the scalloped cut of the edges. Underneath their hands Blaine's torso heaves as he breathes hard. Underneath their hands are taught muscles, tightened, and it would be so…easy to toss everything to the wind and take Blaine now, shove his panties aside and jerk him off until he comes, white on black, with an arching, strangled cry.
He decides not to, bides his time and makes the decision to draw everything out a little more, play Blaine until he's strung like a too-tight guitar chord, ready to snap at any second, muscles and ligaments and the very fibers of his being quivering with contained energy,
Instead, he takes in a different way, kissing Blaine open and sloppy, sucking on his tongue and changing angles as he grasps onto Blaine's shoulders, fingers digging into the corded muscles there, bunched up in anticipation. Blaine whimpers as he tries to keep up, wraps arms around Kurt's waist and tugs him closer to rub against his hip slowly as their kisses get wetter and wetter.
Kurt pulls away and watches Blaine's lashes flutter as he slowly opens his eyes, jaw still slack, saliva glistening on pink lips, on his chin with the barest hint of late-in-the-day stubble. "You are so beautiful," Kurt whispers, thumbing over Blaine's cheekbone. He puts a hand on Blaine's hip, digs that thumb into the divot of his hip bones. "I know I keep saying it but when you're like this it's all I can say."
"Why don't you show me instead?" Blaine whispers back, voice pitched low, eyes darkening like the onslaught of an early-spring thunderstorm. It's a challenge, Blaine's way of initiating this. He shouts for his attention in almost-subtle ways, always wants to prove his worth and prove that he's worth it. So far, this might be Kurt's favorite way.
"Mm, you want that?" Kurt asks, smoothing his hands down the curves of Blaine's torso and pressing his lips against Blaine's cheek. He slides his hands around to cup Blaine's ass through the lace, kneads his fingers and feels the resulting full-body shudder. "You want me to fuck you over your desk like this, your pretty little panties pushed aside? How about against the wall? You want me to suck your cock or lick your desperate asshole until you come?"
The last words are spoken directly against Blaine's ear before Kurt darts his tongue out, licks at the curve and then Blaine is moaning, grabbing at the front of Kurt's shirt and pulling-then-pushing him away. He looks desperate, strung tight. He looks amazing.
"Just fuck me," he pleads. "I'm two seconds away from dropping onto the floor and shoving my ass into the air. Kurt," he adds when all he gets in response is a twitching smile and an unmoving boyfriend.
"On the bed," Kurt commands, kissing Blaine again, and again, again until Blaine backs towards the bed, falls down when his knees connect. He doesn't move, just looks up with wide eyes and parted lips. Waits for Kurt to move, to make that first integral play.
Kurt strips his vest off first, carefully undoing the buttons, then his shirt, and those buttons he's a little rougher with; his shoes and socks follow, and finally then his jeans all fall into a crumpled heap on Blaine's bedroom floor. He's seen the sight enough to appreciate it more and more every time that it happens. His clothes on another boy's carpet are…it's a thing for him, he thinks. It's him shedding his protective shell, all his vulnerabilities, and leaving them down to get trampled on. It's like their first time all over in giving themselves to the other.
When he's down to his boxer briefs he steps toward the bed, letting his eyes roam freely over Blaine, from his well-developed shoulders and biceps and chest, down his abdomen where the faint beginnings of a six-pack are starting to show; down past the band of the garter belt and the purple-and-pink frills of the panties, bright against Blaine's tan skin.
This is ridiculous, how good Blaine looks in these, like this, and Kurt's never thanked this lucky stars more than he has these past few days. Something that is these colors, this style, should look out of place on a male body, but it adds the perfect disconnect and anyone would have to be crazy not to want Blaine like this.
Hands rest on Blaine's thighs, Kurt crooking his fingers enough to put pressure indentations on Blaine's skin. "So sexy," he breathes, letting his nail catch on one of the small holes, drawing it up and away. It comes back down without the satisfying snap Blaine's last stockings had, but he supposes that these are…okay.
(More than okay, oh god, so much more.)
Blaine scoots up the bed, going until he can stretch out comfortably without having his feet dangling over the edge. Kurt crawls up after him, letting one hand drag up along the length of Blaine's leg as he goes. The bed bounces and dips, squeaking as they situate with blushing giggles to find the perfect position.
He finally settles between Blaine's legs, running palms along the material of the fishnets again—he can't stop, doesn't think he would even if he could—before squeezing Blaine's upper thighs and feeling the crisscross of the lace on his skin. He props himself up, hands on either side of Blaine's head as he leans in; their lips slide together, wet and sucking, and Kurt can't resist rocking down, meeting the hard line of Blaine's cock with his own.
I could stay like this he thinks as he runs his tongue along the roof of Blaine's mouth, rubbing and rocking and moving until it all becomes too much. They've done it before, on days when their time alone was minimal, and Kurt likes the inherently male way it feels, where sweat collects in the fabric of clothes they haven't bothered to take off.
Blaine whimpers underneath him, hooking his ankles around Kurt's thighs. He kisses back harder, rests his weight on his elbow as he surges up, takes what Kurt gives. It's a mutual part when they do, chests heaving, lips rapidly swelling and tingling as they catch their breath. Blaine's eyes are dilated a glassy black-hazel and the hints of a smile play at the corners of his lips. He's so relaxed and it's such a change from the last time he'd stripped down to this and bared all.
Kurt shifts his weight to one arm, bringing his hand up to brush back a few of Blaine's curls that have spilled across his forehead and unfurled like flowers at his temples. Before he can reach, though, Blaine's grabbing his wrist and, ignoring Kurt's curious look, opens his mouth—never breaking eye contact—and slides Kurt's index and middle fingers between his lips.
Kurt's breath stutters and his cock jumps. "Oh, fuck, Blaine," he groans. Blaine's tongue laves over his skin, his mouth a hot, wet suction. Blaine blinks, looks up through thick, dark lashes as he works lips and tongue over flesh, hollows his cheeks and bobs his head. The sight isn't new—no, not in any way—but it never fails to get his skin jumping, his pulse pounding.
There's the gentle bite of teeth, scraping along his knuckles, and his hips stutter against Blaine's once more, pressing and rocking and wanting release. The arm he's holding himself up with shakes, muscles beginning a protest, and Blaine only sucks harder, pulling back slowly to slurp purposefully and lick at the tender skin between fingers. His lips are stretched into a grin when he sinks back down onto Kurt's fingers.
"You tease," Kurt complains. "I thought you wanted me to fuck you."
"I do," Blaine says, giving a parting lick to Kurt's index finger. "I just thought I'd get a head start in preparing you to prepare me."
Kurt looks at him, dumbfounded. "Blaine Anderson," he begins, "when did you become so cheeky?"
"When you showed me what it really means to feel good," Blaine replies with a salacious grin; then he's grabbing the back of Kurt's head and dragging him down, kissing him harder, tongue swiping along Kurt's lower lip before their mouths even meet.
Kurt works a hand between them, feels over the ruffles of Blaine's panties before cupping his cock and squeezing, swallowing down Blaine's desperate, keening moan. He swipes his thumb over the tip and feels the damp stickiness on the silk insides, traces along the lines of hardness and rubs the broad of his palm to feel Blaine's breath hitch and torso undulate.
"I haven't even touched you properly yet and you're already this hard," Kurt whispers in amazement, kissing Blaine's chin, then his throat where he sucks a bruise just at the hollow. He slips his fingers under the waistband, circles around the base of Blaine's cock, works his way down his chest to lave over his nipples, suck another mark into the skin above his left pectoral.
Blaine pushes his hips up into the pressure, arches his back and digs his head into the pillows. Kurt inches the waistband down until Blaine's cock is resting against his stomach and the black lace of the belt; then he's wrapping his hand around, keeping his grip loose, and pumping up once.
"Oh, god," Blaine moans, grabbing onto Kurt's shoulders. His nails dig in, sharp pinpricks of pain, and he hitches his legs higher, scratching fishnets over Kurt's skin. "Kurt, oh, yes. I want to ride you, please let me, please." The words come out rushed, like Blaine hadn't meant to say them, but they're out, now, hovering in the air and waiting to be evaluated.
Kurt's hand stills at the head of Blaine's cock, grip tightening to the point where Blaine bucks futilely up, and it's a miracle that they both don't come at this very moment. In all of his fantasies since that first time he'd never envisioned Blaine riding him. He'd never imagined how it'd feel, what it'd look like, anything. He'd been content with the things he knew: Blaine on his hands and knees, Blaine under him, him under Blaine. Those images had been safe, things he'd seen and thought about before.
And now, he can't stop. Not with the feeling of Blaine under him, the scent of sweat and sex beginning to steep into the air. He imagines Blaine's strongly-muscled calves and thighs flexing as he works himself on Kurt's cock, and it's new but he sees the garter belt still on and snug to Blaine's skin. "Yes," he replies because it's all he can say right now.
He goes to slide Blaine's panties down before he stops, realizing his problem: this stocking-and-garter-belt hybrid is all one piece. He looks at Blaine, who's flushing again, struggling into an upright position. His cock leaves a wet, glistening smear on his abdomen and the belt when it slides away to bob between his legs.
"These are…sort of hard to get off," Blaine says sheepishly, shifting on the bed. "I have to take the garter belt and stockings off first."
"As long as you put them back on," Kurt replies, voice tight. His hands go to the waistband of the belt, fingers slipping underneath and drawing it away from Blaine's skin. Blaine's fingers join him and they both inch the top of the belt down to Blaine's thighs.
"I've got it," Blaine says, smiling and standing up. He slowly works the stockings down and off his legs, laying them gently next to Kurt on the bed, and before he can touch the waistband of his panties Kurt's hands are there, brushing over Blaine's hip bones, the deep V and the trimmed patch of dark pubic hair, the length of his cock and the waistband tucked under his balls. Kurt leans forward, licks over the head of Blaine's cock once and is rewarded with a throaty groan and fingers briefly in his hair.
Kurt backs away and slides Blaine's panties off, letting the backs of his fingers brush gently over Blaine's skin as he goes. He holds eye contact, watches the nearly-imperceptible widening of Blaine's darkened eyes as he lifts up one foot, then the other, and Kurt lets the panties fall to a heap between Blaine's legs.
"Hold on," Blaine says quietly, more to himself, and he reaches for the stockings again, rolling them slowly up his legs and fitting the band snugly around his waist. Kurt sucks in a deep breath and lies back on the bed, propped up by the pillows, his heart pounding and cock throbbing.
"C'mere," Kurt murmurs, holding out his hand. He doesn't stop his eyes from roaming Blaine's body, doesn't stop his gaze from lingering on Blaine's cock, hard and dark and wet at the tip, jutting away from his body, away from thighs and a trim waist encased in feminine black material.
How he got this lucky, he doesn't know.
Blaine carefully straddles Kurt's hips and looks down, raising an eyebrow at the straining front of Kurt's boxer briefs. "I think this whole 'naked' thing needs to be mutual."
Kurt smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and kisses Blaine, pressing a palm to his cheek and feeling the hinge of his jaw working as Blaine's tongue rubs against his own. They pull away and he carefully inches his underwear down, letting Blaine slide it off his legs and drop it to the floor.
Blaine straddles his waist again, bending down to fit his mouth over the jut of Kurt's collarbone and take a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and rolling until Kurt's arching up against him with a cry, rutting their cocks together.
"Lube," he breathily groans when Blaine licks over the blossoming bruise he'd left. Blaine lifts his head, raising his eyebrows.
"No condom?"
Kurt shakes his head, grabbing onto Blaine's shoulders before sliding down to brush against the garter belt and crisscrossed lace straps. "I want to come inside you." It's the first time he's ever said those words outside late-night fantasies and something blooms warm inside him when he does at the knowledge that they've come this far; he can say these things.
Blaine swallows and straightens up. He carefully reaches into his bedside drawer and fishes around until he finds the bottle, pressing it into Kurt's hand. His fingers tremble slightly where they press against Kurt's but he still smiles, looks more at-ease than nervous.
Kurt presses it back with a shake of his head. "I want you to prepare yourself," he explains at Blaine's confused look, and this, however, is new, the whole touching-themselves-in-front-of-the-other thing.
Blaine chews on his lower lip and nods, popping open the cap. He looks a little unsure, nervous, but at the same time Kurt can see that he wants. He squirts a dollop onto his index and middle fingers, rubbing it around with his thumb to warm it up. Kurt holds onto Blaine's hips, waiting, and sucks in a breath when Blaine spreads his legs a little further and reaches a hand behind himself to circle his hole before pressing in.
Blaine lets out a quiet sound, arm flexing as he begins to work in two fingers. His hips stutter forward and Kurt reaches out, rubs his thumb over the head of Blaine's cock and down the length along the veins. Blaine moans, lashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks as he stretches his fingers, pulls out to add more lube and press three deep to the last knuckle, his groan getting caught in his chest. Kurt stares, can't look away, as Blaine works himself slowly open, pushing back against his fingers and moaning quietly whenever he presses just right and skates across that spot.
Kurt fumbles for where Blaine dropped the lube, clicking the cap open and messily slathering his cock, his hips stuttering up into the touch. Blaine's fingers slide free and he moves forward, reaches that same lube-slick hand down behind him to grasp the base of Kurt's cock and hold it upright. Kurt grips onto Blaine's thighs and presses their lips together as Blaine slowly begins to slide down.
"Oh, god," Blaine groans when his ass is finally flush to Kurt's hips. His eyes are squeezed shut, forehead pressed to Kurt's and sweat beginning to shine on his skin. The fishnets are rough on Kurt's skin, rubbing reddened marks onto his thighs and sides.
Kurt clenches onto the X of the crisscrossed straps, rocking his hips up. Blaine moans but doesn't move, only swivels his hips slightly on Kurt's lap as he adjusts.
They don't say anything. Eventually Blaine's breathing evens out and that's when he sits up, grabbing onto the headboard, and lifts up before sliding back down. Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and moans, thighs quivering on the bed. Blaine slides back up, almost to the head of Kurt's cock, and down with a soft grunt.
Two moans, and it's like the invisible boundaries they'd had set up come down. Blaine grips his cock with his free hand, rocks forward and swivels his hips. Kurt's head presses back into the pillows and whenever Blaine lifts up next Kurt fucks up to meet him halfway, their skin slapping mutedly together. Blaine's muscles work under the fishnet and lace and Kurt briefly wonders what it would have looked like to see his cock slide in and out of Blaine's hole from behind, to grip onto the waistband of the garter belt as he fucks in and out.
"Fuck, yes," Blaine moans, head tipped back as he works his fist over his cock with a series of slick noises. "Oh my god, Kurt. Fuck me harder, please, fuck."
Kurt blinks his eyes open and watches the slackness of Blaine's jaw, the light sheen of sweat over his skin. He watches Blaine's thighs flex under the stockings, can't look away from the slick red-flushed head of Blaine's cock reappearing and disappearing into the circle of his fist. He finally gets Blaine balanced up on his knees and fucks hard into him with thrusts that rip grunts from his chest and shake the bed frame. Blaine whimpers, his weight supported with both hands on the headboard, and remains still until Kurt slumps back down.
"Close," Blaine groans when he takes control, rocking his hips side-to-side, lifting up and fucking back down. He bends down, presses his mouth to Kurt's sloppily, nearly missing his mark. Kurt tangles his hand in Blaine's hair, working through the loosening gel to tug. "Baby…right there, ooh, yes."
"Come on, sweetheart," Kurt cajoles, pulling back enough so that their lips still brush when he speaks. Blaine's breathing harshly, heavy like he does when he's close, and his eyes are unfocused when Kurt pulls back all the way to place his hands flat on Blaine's hips and rub over the lace and mesh.
Blaine lets go of the headboard, leans back and places his palm on Kurt's thigh. Weight supported there, he lifts up until just the tip of Kurt's cock is stretching him and slams back down, angling his hips along the way. His back arches and he cries out, repeating and repeating until he slams back down one last time and starts to come over his fist, back rigid and mouth dropped open.
He clenches around Kurt as he comes and that's all it takes for Kurt to groan and shallowly thrust up into Blaine's pliant body, cock pulsing as he comes. Everything is static in his post-orgasm glow, fuzzy and heavy and perfect.
When Kurt blinks his eyes open he notices the splashes of white on the belt, on Blaine's abdomen, and on his own chest. Blaine carefully gets up, wincing when Kurt's cock slides free, and flops down beside Kurt with a deep sigh.
"I can feel your come inside me," Blaine eventually says. Kurt flushes red. "It's…I don't think 'nice' is the right word, but it's not bad." He turns his head and stares into Kurt's eyes, a sated smile crossing his face. "It's you so I guess it is nice."
"You're so cheesy," Kurt responds, swiping his thumb over Blaine's cheekbone and then smoothing his palm along the dips of Blaine's sides, down to his hips where he plays with the band of the belt. "I'm just happy you're sharing this part of you with me.'
It's Blaine's turn to blush now, crossing his legs over each other self-consciously. "I'm just glad you like it," he says softly, nearly mirroring his words from last time. "I was so, so afraid you wouldn't."
"I love everything about you," Kurt replies, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Blaine's lips. "Sexy lingerie or not, Blaine, I love you and that's all that matters."
"Good," Blaine says against his lips, sliding his fingers into Kurt's hair, "because I have a lot more."