“Blaine,” Burt says after he opens the door and lets Blaine in, and Blaine hums his hello, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts before he starts to fidget. “It’s summer, what the hell are you doing here so early instead of sleeping in?” His voice is rough with sleep but kind, and Blaine smiles.
“Kurt and I are going to get coffee. Is he, um—”
“He’s upstairs, go ‘head,” Burt says, nodding, and Blaine gives Burt an awkward wave before hurrying up the stairs. He knocks twice with no answer before just pushing the door of Kurt’s bedroom open, and his breath catches once he realizes Kurt is still in bed, bare shoulders peeking out from under the thin sheet covering him.
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“Where are you running off to?” Kurt mutters, eyes trained on his roommate’s back in the doorway.
“I’m going out,” is Blaine’s terse response. He doesn’t move from the doorframe though; instead he turns to look at Kurt, who refuses to make eye contact as he pretends to look over his textbook review pages. Blaine grins. “Just how smart are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I consider myself pretty intelligent, but I’d never succeed at studying an upside-down textbook.”
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“Do you want kids?”
Kurt doesn’t answer and keeps pushing Blaine’s shirt up, peppering small kisses up his chest. Blaine gasps as Kurt licks leisurely at his nipple, sucking hard until Blaine’s hands fly into his hair, his body writhing beneath Kurt’s mouth.
“Kurt,” he pleads, a hitch in his breath. “Come on, I’m being serious.”
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Kurt knows something is off when he gets back from class and Blaine isn’t making lunch in the kitchen like he usually does, since his class lets out half an hour earlier than Kurt’s.
Instead, Blaine’s curled up on the couch in his Nightbird costume (Kurt’s still not entirely sure why Blaine brought it to New York with him, but given the one or two times they’ve experimented with superhero roleplay in the bedroom, Kurt’s also not complaining), the cape wrapped around his shoulders while he watches Dance Moms.
“Blaine?” Kurt asks softly, dropping his bag next to the couch and sitting down next to Blaine. “Or… Nightbird?”
Blaine huffs, sinking lower on the couch and mumbling, “‘m not playing, I just— I’m doing laundry and I didn’t have anything else to wear.”
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“C’mere,” Kurt says, sprawling out on his bed and holding his hand out for Blaine, and Blaine steps forward slowly, a smile tugging at his lips.
“I thought we were going out tonight?”
“Maybe I just want one kiss first.” Kurt pouts, leaning back on his elbows and tilting his chin up, and Blaine gives in with a groan, crawling into bed on top of Kurt. The kiss is slow, a gentle press of lips that makes a pleasant warmth spread through Kurt’s stomach, and he can’t resist pulling Blaine on top of him, legs hitching up around Blaine’s waist.
“Just one kiss, huh?” Blaine asks, mouth stretched in a smile against Kurt’s.
“I did say maybe,” Kurt whispers back. Blaine’s heavy on top of him, warm and sweet-smelling from the shower he just took, and Kurt sighs happily, lips parting when Blaine starts to kiss him again. “Besides, we have all of next year to go out in the city together. I just want to spend tonight with you. Alone. Preferably in this bed.”
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“Do you ever get self-conscious about your belly?” Kurt asks, and Blaine glances down to where Kurt’s cheek is pillowed on the soft part of his stomach, the slight bump that surrounds his navel and stubbornly persists no matter how many crunches he does. Kurt looks peaceful and unfairly gorgeous like this, shoulders bare and eyelashes brushing his cheeks when he blinks, and it takes Blaine a second to answer.
“Are- are you— I mean, should I be?”
“Oh, no!” Kurt says immediately, sitting up. “I probably didn’t phrase that right, did I? Sorry, my mind is still…” Kurt trails off, but his eyes are bright, mischievous. “It takes a while for my brain to start working again, you know. After.”
“I know that feeling well,” Blaine says hoarsely.
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They’ve been making out for half an hour now, trading kisses on Kurt’s bed until they’re both breathing hard, when Blaine finally groans and starts to tug impatiently at Kurt’s shirt.
“Off,” Blaine says, almost a whine, his fingers fisted in the back of Kurt’s pajama shirt. “Off, please, just—”
“Shhh,” Kurt hushes, rolling off of Blaine and staring, wide-eyed, when Blaine starts to undress, throwing his shirt over the side of the bed. “We’re supposed to be quiet. Rachel and Santana—”
“Just forget them,” Blaine interrupts, pulling Kurt close and kissing him hard as he tugs Kurt’s shirt up and off, only breaking the kiss for a second and then surging forward again once the shirt is gone. “Need you, Kurt.”
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“So now that we’re alone…” Blaine says, crawling forward on the bed, and Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, feigning an innocent look as Blaine all but faceplants into Kurt’s lap, nuzzling shamelessly against the bulge at the front of Kurt’s mint-colored pants.
“Hmm?”
“Please let me peel these pants off you, Kurt, god,” Blaine groans, using his thumb to trace the shape of Kurt’s hard-on through his jeans, where it’s straining obscenely under the stiff material. “It’s been hell, staring at you all night.”
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Kurt’s curled up on the couch, catching up on episodes of Top Chef when Blaine sits down next to him, kissing Kurt’s cheek.
“Hey,” Blaine says, and Kurt hums in response, eyes glued to the television. “Want to head to bed soon?”
“Mm, sure,” Kurt mumbles, but Blaine knows his husband’s not really paying attention. He rolls his eyes, sliding his hand across Kurt’s stomach, over his t-shirt.
“It’s been a while since we’ve gone to bed early. A long while,” Blaine says pointedly, lips brushing Kurt’s jaw as he moves his hand lower, until it’s resting over the waistband of Kurt’s pajama pants. Kurt’s gaze never falters, but Blaine isn’t particularly offended. Kurt’s been like this about TV since they were teenagers - they both take their reality television watching very seriously, and it’s part of what Blaine loves about living with Kurt.
But it’s been days since they’ve had time to just be together, alone, no interruptions, and Blaine’s not about to let the moment slip away.
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Kurt Hummel is a thirty-six year old professor at an academy for gifted young men and women. Blaine Anderson is a seventeen year old boy who works as a groundskeeper on campus to support his family. This is their story.
Fanfiction
Scarves and Coffee
Let’s make a sex tape.”
It’s the last thing Kurt would have expected Blaine to say while Kurt’s pants and underwear are down around his thighs and Blaine’s palm is broad over his straining cock. He sits up with a “What?” that sounds a lot less incredulous than he feels, and he struggles to catch his breath as Blaine looks at him with wide, earnest eyes, the pupils dilated and dark.
“Let’s make a sex tape.” Blaine says it again, lips curling around the words like they’re a particular delicacy. He squeezes Kurt’s cock and Kurt can’t help but groan and arch into it. “No one’s going to be home for hours.” He leans in, trails his tongue along the shell of Kurt’s ear, and Kurt shivers, swallowing audibly as Blaine whispers, “And I really, really want to see what I look like with your cock buried in my ass.”
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He tries to be so quiet, but Blaine always knows.
“Kurt?” Every time, his name comes out slurred by sleep, soft, hopeful, adorable. “Hey, babe.” That’s usually more muffled, because Blaine has dropped his head back into the pillow, but Kurt can still make it out.
“It’s me.” He says it from the kitchen most nights, but sometimes he goes straight to their bedroom door so Blaine can hear it better, unencumbered by walls, then goes back to set down his things and peel off his coat and scarf.
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“Kurt, do you mind— can I talk to you for a minute? In the hallway?”
Kurt turns slowly, his eyebrows furrowing a little in concern. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I just— I want to tell you something before I forget. It’s kind of important,” Blaine adds with a nervous laugh, and he closes his fist tight around the box as they walk out into the hallway together, not stopping until Blaine reaches their spot at the end of the hallway, by the display case and the doors.
“What’s going on?” Kurt asks gently, and Blaine sucks in a shaky breath, holding the box between them and watching Kurt’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Blaine?” he asks, his voice high.
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“Well, don’t you look like hell.”
Blaine lifts his head from where he’s been hiding in his arms on his desk and straightens up. “Kurt,” he says as Kurt smiles and walks in, closing the door behind himself.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Blaine says and rubs a hand over his face, wincing as it drags over his cheek. He definitely needs to make sure to get rid of the scruff tonight. “Just… a lot of things to do.”
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“You’re doing it again.”
“What?” Kurt startles, looking up at Daphne.
“You were staring,” she says slowly.
“No, I wasn’t. Staring at what?” Kurt reaches forward, trying to grab anything on the desk that will make him look busy.
“You were leaning forward so much you practically fell out of your chair in your desperation to get another glimpse of Mr Anderson’s ass before he disappeared from your view.”
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