A/N: This story is taking an unexpected turn that I didn't see coming (they're always fun), but I know where it's headed and I can only hope you'll like it too in the upcoming chapters. Thank you again for the wonderful feedback on this story :)
Blaine's naked, except for his boxers, laying on his front on his bed, laptop open as he scrolls through the blog of 'highinthemiddle' for the third time this week.
The first time was straight after he replied to their message so he could get an idea of who this person was – sexually or otherwise – and his willpower to look only at basic information written down the side of the blog (there wasn't much of it anyway) crumbled in thirty seconds and he spent the next ten minutes stroking himself slowly, eyes darting over pictures of sweat soaked skin and a firm ass being held open by both hands so Blaine could see everything – pink skin, the shine of lube, a stretched hole – and it was that that brought him to completion, streaking his hand and chest with come.
The second time was two days later when he was starting to think his reply was ridiculous and desperate, screaming virgin so loud that boys in Australia were cringing. He'd thought about it again, I'd take it and scream, and huffed before clicking onto his blog and forgetting all about it when his inbox flashed the number three at him and inside was a reply from the elusive (gorgeous) commenter, simply saying Your virgin ass would beg.
And, boy, did Blaine know that to be true.
He didn't reply, it seemed like dragging the conversation out to just say Yes, so he'd left the message in his inbox and had clicked the username, breath catching straight away at the latest picture – a full body shot (except for the face and Blaine understood that piece of privacy) on his bed, darkened lights and flushed skin, hard cock resting on his stomach and Blaine was distracted again with a hand on himself straight away.
He's there again now, seconds away from sitting up and palming himself, because this boy (Blaine's been looking long enough now to know he's eighteen) is beautiful, hot and every complimentary word Blaine can think of. There's been ten new pictures in the past three days – his cock, his ass, the arch of his slim torso as he comes – and Blaine's fixated on every one, so much that his own blogs been silent, tumbleweeds rolling past the picture he's sure everyone's bored of by now.
He didn't mean to get so lost in the boy's blog, forget about his own and leave a few people hanging who've been asking for more, but this still feels new sometimes, being wanted so much, and he still thrills when he remembers the first message this boy sent, talking of sex against walls and the squirm of Blaine's body as he was fucked. The impacts the same every time, making desire shoot through Blaine's veins, and he still can't explain why it's that message that got him, why it's this boy he wants to see so much of, but he's running with it and indulging himself, staring, drooling, enjoying.
With a final once over of the newest picture, Blaine clears his head, as much as he can anyway, and opens up a new text post, writing I've been away in the middle of a high, but my ass is back and open.
He grabs his camera as soon it's posted, a little proud of himself for the somewhat hidden message, vaulting off the bed and sliding his boxers off, pointedly ignoring the jolt his hips give at the rush of cool air over his cock.
This is all still the same too. The tingle down his spine and the relaxing of his muscles he gets at the thought of any picture he takes being admired and jerked off to.
Maybe it's a little perverse, it sounds it in his head sometimes, that he wants to be people's porn, wants to be looked at at his most vulnerable and objectified as the gay virgin who just wants to be fucked, but this makes him happy. Every like, reblog, simple question or fantasy he's told is another fuck you to Ohio, fuck you to every Neanderthal jock or short-skirted cheerleader that's put him down. People want him like this, untouched by another, pure someone called him last week, and he's happy to give it to them, feeling comfortable in his skin and sexuality, forgetting every sneer and insult that's been thrown his way because he is desired, he knows what he wants and screw society, this is his life.
So he flips the camera in his hand and sits on the edge of his bed, thinking of how far to take it today. He wants to up his game now, make sure the pictures get more close and more intimate as he goes but with a glance to his shut bedroom door, he's mindful that his parents are still at home this morning and while they're not prudish or close-minded, he keeps this part of himself secret from the world outside the internet or potential boyfriends (there's a distinct lack of those, however) and he'd rather they didn't walk on in him making good use of the box of sex toys labeled as hiking boots.
He sits still for a moment more and listens for noise outside, sliding further back onto the bed and sitting against his headboard when he hears the faint sound of his mother's laugh and the clinking of metal on ceramic as his Dad makes coffee.
He slips a hand down over his chest and abdomen when he's settled, taking his cock when he reaches it and tugging on it three times, bringing it back to full hardness, the swollen head bright and red in the strips of sun coming through his blinds. He decides it's a somewhat artistic position he's got himself in, stripes of white light cutting across his stomach and down to his thighs and he drops his cock to his stomach as he lifts the camera to his shoulder, angled down to take in the whole of his torso and focus on his cock, leaking precome and pulsing steadily with his heartbeat.
Blaine's glad he doesn't get nervous doing this as the camera clicks by his ear because he's certain a red flush would be obvious as embarrassment rather than arousal and he's not egotistical, but he thinks the olive tone of his skin, some parts brightened by the lines of sun so he looks almost pale, looks good in the picture against the dusting of dark hair covering his chest and trailing down to his cock.
He's never thought much of his chest hair, thought it arrived too early and might never stop coming, but it seems to have stopped as it is, a light covering over his chest, thinning to a line down to his cock and as he tilts the camera to look over the picture again, squinting down at the small screen, he thinks it makes him look a bit older and he can't argue with that when he's off to college in the fall and he wants to look like anything but a child.
He pops the memory card out of the bottom of the camera and puts it in the slot on his laptop, grabbing the blanket at the end of his bed to throw over his lap while he waits for it to load because putting his boxers back on would just be restricting and a blanket hides more if his parents do come in. He's also hoping blocking the visual of his cock might stop him from jerking off yet, his need to get the picture online outdoing his need to feel the splatter of come on his chest and he keeps one hand curled around his knee while the other works on his laptop, pointedly ignoring the heat in his stomach and the twitch of his cock.
The pictures uploaded in the next two minutes, his cock still hard and tenting the blanket, arousal never dimming when he thinks about showing off and his favourite follower, the boy, liking what he sees and leaving another message.
Blaine feels a little bit like he has a fan, albeit a short-winded, faceless, nameless and so-far-only-seen-through-cyberspace fan, and it's possible Blaine likes this guy more than the guy likes him but they've talked, the boy called him beautiful and Blaine still doesn't know why, isn't sure he ever will know why, he wants this boy, out of all his followers and people who send messages (all fans in their own right he supposes) to be his biggest fan. He thinks it may be his desire to please and his desire to be wanted by someone like him – a lover of sex, eighteen and a boy of the internet with the pride to show off – and he shrugs, giving up on trying to work nothing out and refreshes his blog, puffing out a breath of air when nothings changed, no notes on the picture yet, no new messages, and throws the blanket off and heads for the bathroom thinking he can save himself a clean up job and potential embarrassment if he jerks off in the shower instead.
It's lunchtime going on mid-afternoon (half one) by the time Blaine emerges from his bedroom, showered, sated and a spring to his step. He slides onto a stool at the breakfast bar, tapping his feet against the wood underneath as his Mom comes in from the living room and presses a fleeting kiss to his temple as she passes, a smile gracing her face which Blaine returns a little too widely. His Mom says nothing though, sliding him a plate with a ham sandwich on and Blaine thinks that if she's noticed he's happier, she's not prying and he loves her a little bit more for that.
They've never been the closest of families, with his Dad working away until Blaine was thirteen, his Mom deciding her own hours with her interior design business, in and out when she pleased and his brother, Cooper, raising him to a certain extent but disappearing to college as soon as he could, only visiting now when he finds time between auditions for commercials, TV shows or anything really.
They love each other though, in their own way. They took holidays when Blaine and Cooper were younger, a month away sometimes to a lodge at Lake Erie with no one around for miles and it was just the four of them, talking, swimming, being a family and while others think that's not family at all, it seems more like an obligation, Blaine's never felt unhappy.
He could've needed his Mom around more when he came out, needed a few more hugs or reassuring words, but he was glad at least that his family accepted him, even if it took his Dad a couple of months to come round and start calling him "bud" again. The extra comfort would've been welcomed earlier, especially through his four years of high school where he was insulted daily and bruised mentally and physically but he feels a little stronger in himself for getting through it mostly alone, like he can do anything if he can be happy in himself after all the pain.
So it's not the best family in the world but not the worst either and if he could ask for another, he wouldn't because as his Mum sits opposite him, flicking through the paper and sipping at her coffee, comfortable, homely silence between them, the click of his Dad typing in the next room echoing around the house, he knows that if his parents, or Cooper, did find out about his blog, find out he's a sex-obsessed virgin or walk in on him, legs spread and three fingers in his ass, they'd eye him a bit oddly, might take a while to understand, but they would understand and he doesn't think he can ask for more than that.
His Mom clicks the lid off her pen and starts the crossword in the paper as Blaine finishes his sandwich, her eyes flicking up to him as he slides the plate away and she says, "Any plans for today?"
Blaine shrugs and savours the warm lilt of his Mom's voice, genuinely inquisitive, not just looking for small talk. "I have a bit of reading to start for college."
His Mom nods and swallows her mouthful of coffee, drumming her fingers on the outside in a steady rhythm when she lowers it. "You could come to the airport with me," she says, taking another drink and looking at Blaine over the top of her mug. Blaine frowns and climbs off his stool, shaking the crumbs on his plate into the bin then putting the plate in the dishwasher. At his bemused expression his Mom says, "Cooper's flying in from LA."
Blaine falters on his way to the sink to wash his hands, says, "I thought he wasn't home until August."
Cooper's rarely home these days and Blaine equally loves and hates the times he is. He loves Cooper, they're friends first, brothers second, but he can't help the twist of his gut at news of his unexpected visit because Cooper's an attention whore (Blaine's sure they're both exhibitionists, in and out of the bedroom) and he just gets used to his parents undivided attention when he asks for it, then Cooper comes back and it's all talk of LA, pretty girls, how successful he's been and Blaine feels a little on the sidelines, the unpopular kid at school. Cooper's always apologetic though, making time for Blaine for dinner's out or a movie and Blaine's stomach settles as he turns back to his Mom, drying his hands and refolding the towel.
"He's taking some time off." She tips her mug at him. "He said he wants to see you. Catch up."
"Isn't much to catch up on," Blaine sighs, sitting back at the breakfast bar, dropping his chin into his hand.
His Mom rolls her eyes fondly and drains the last of her coffee. "Indulge him, sweetie. He wants to hear about your college plans and talk about New York."
"What about New York?" Blaine asks slowly, carefully, huffing when his Mom shrugs him off and heads for the sink, rinsing her mug out and leaving it upside down on the draining board.
"You'll see," she says and Blaine huffs again, standing and rolling his shoulders.
"I'll come with you," he says.
His Mom nods and checks her watch, looking up at the clock on the wall as well and tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "I'll be going in an hour or so." Blaine smiles as way of saying he heard, his Mom calling, "I'll get you when I'm ready," as he pads out of the room, says a quick good afternoon to his Dad as he passes before heading back to his bedroom.
He flops back on his bed when he gets there, bouncing lightly as he hits the mattress and scratching at the faint stubble along his jaw, blinking up at the ceiling with his brow drawn.
He doesn't know what to think about Cooper wanting to talk about New York. It's where Blaine's heading for college, where he's always wanted to go, and if that's where Cooper now wants to be too, the celebrity of LA boring him at last, Blaine's not sure if it's a good or bad thing.
He wouldn't mind having Cooper with him or near him, a friendly face in the bustling crowds and hoards of new people, but if things get tough and Blaine finds it hard to settle in at first, he knows he'd run to Cooper and become dependent, latching on to the only real home comfort around for miles, hundreds of miles, and it wouldn't do him any good.
He sighs and runs his hands over his face, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes until there are flashes of technicolour behind his eyelids and he takes them away, dropping them to the bed with a dull thud.
Deciding to ignore his nagging mind for a while, he lolls his head to the side and blinks down at his laptop, still open at the end of his bed, and sits up to draw it closer, playing mindless online games until his Mum's voice carries up the stairs and he prepares to face the loud, occasionally endearing, manners of his brother.
Stay tuned for the Cooper cameo.
