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shamelessly_mkpPREVIOUS PART
WARNING FOR SOME SERIOUS KINK SHAMING AND A LITTLE BIT OF MENTAL-ILLNESS SHAMING. I myself have depression, and mean no disrespect to those who suffer from mental illness. Blaine has issues, poor bb.
They hadn’t talked any further that night. By mutual unspoken agreement, they’d decided it was best to take a step back and breathe. Kurt had left Blaine with a small folder of bookmarked websites and articles to look at, and extracted a promise from Blaine to do so, but other in that, the rest of their evening had been devoted to the tragic, epic romance that was Moulin Rouge. And to kissing. There had been a great deal of kissing, along with a good helping of groping, but before things could progress further, Kurt had had to go home.
Possibly for the best, considering the emotional ups and downs of the day, but they were teenage boys and therefore rather displeased with being cockblocked, even if it was by a curfew and not a person, as such. But as Kurt reluctantly pointed out, orgasms then weren’t worth the grounding that would occur, since that would in turn prevent more future orgasms.
Blaine had mangled an adage about orgasms in bushes, which Kurt took for agreement. (And also that his boyfriend should never try to change an axiom’s specifics in an attempt to make it match the context more precisely, because really, what?) And so, Kurt reluctantly took his leave, kissing Blaine at the door a bit longer than he really should have, but it really was Blaine’s fault, in the end. Kurt couldn’t help that his boyfriend was just so damn hot.
Luckily, his father hadn’t said anything when Kurt got home just past curfew, and Kurt went to bed all in all very satisfied with himself. His dreams that night were less satisfying - nebulous, shapeless things that went round in circles and never progressed, with flashes of Blaine sinking to his knees, of black leather stark against the brown of Blaine’s skin, of the softness in Blaine’s eyes, quiet, heated murmurs of the dirtiest nature, Blaine begging, voice high and tight and desperate, Blaine Blaine Blaine, beautiful and his and -
Kurt woke up, achingly hard and with a bone deep sense of loss. Maybe Blaine wasn’t the only one who needed something.
***
It was almost a week before they had the chance to be alone again. Blaine’s mother was home for a few days, and she wanted to spend “quality time” with her youngest.
Blaine explained over the phone that this meant a lot of watching documentaries and discussing Blaine’s college applications.
Blaine didn’t seem to particularly be a fan of said quality time. Kurt couldn’t blame him. Blaine’s parents seemed to alternate between ignoring him and expecting him to be a perfect, quietly respectful and obedient son.
Kurt tried bringing up the topic on skype once or twice, but Blaine always changed the subject abruptly. Kurt spent most of his time getting ready for New York, but when in Colombia on a shopping expedition, he couldn’t help but shyly make his way into a not-quite-so-sketchy-looking adult store. Keeping his head high, Kurt tried his best to look like he knew what he was doing. And also to not run screaming dear god what was that did that go inside you how would it fit?
Blaine couldn’t stop laughing when Kurt recounted his adventure later.
“-it was traumatizing, Blaine! I will never be able to unsee the things that I have seen!”
More laughter. Kurt scowled at the phone. His boyfriend should be commiserating with him, not laughing at him.
Kurt couldn’t bring himself to care too much, though. Blaine’s laughter was beautiful and infectious, as always. Kurt loved it when Blaine laughed.
When they did get the chance to be alone again, it was at Kurt’s. It was a little disconcerting, hanging out there rather than Blaine’s. Kurt wasn’t quite sure why - well, no. That wasn’t true. Kurt did know why. He loved his house, his family; loved welcoming Blaine into his home, pulling him into the dizzying hubub of the Hummel-Hudson household; he did. It was just…Blaine’s house was always empty, always just Blaine. And while that led to discomfort of its own (seriously, that living room looked like it belonged in a magazine), it also meant that sometimes, Kurt couldn’t help but pretend that it was their house - that Blaine’s room was their room, Blaine’s bed their bed. The furniture that Blaine would automatically climb all over without intervention - their furniture.
It was easy, being intimate there, in a house where there were only their own voices echoing back, only ever the sound of their own laughter and the slick slide of crisp clean sheets.
Here, his family was everywhere (even when, like now, Kurt had the house to himself). That was the dent from Finn’s head hitting the door-frame, and that was the tacky fishing plaque his dad was so proud of. The AC hummed with traces of Carol’s favorite song, and the air always had just a hint of car oil.
It felt strange, and Kurt didn’t quite know what to do. They’d been alone in Kurt’s house before, of course, but not since before - well, before. But then Blaine was kissing him, and Kurt forgot about the strangeness. How could that matter with this wonderful boy in his arms?
Reluctantly, Kurt pulled back. Kissing was all well and good, kissing was fantastic, but they needed to talk. Blaine tried to kiss him again, but Kurt dodged.
Blaine pouted.
Kurt rolled his eyes a little and gave Blaine a brief peck. “No pouting,” he said sternly. “It’s talking time now, not kissing time.”
“Should be kissing time,” Blaine grumbled.
“You think all of the time should be kissing time.”
“Well, it should.”
Kurt gave a huff of amusement and pulled Blaine across the room to sit on Kurt’s bed. Kurt sat crosslegged in front of him. “Talk,” Kurt ordered.
“Well, I hear it’s supposed to rain later, but I don’t believe it; I mean, just look at the sun-”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“You said to talk!”
“And you know very well what I meant.”
Blaine had his most innocently befuddled face on. Unfortunately for Blaine, Kurt knew he was faking.
“About the articles, Blaine,” Kurt said patiently. “About what we talked about the other day.”
Blaine looked like he wanted to be anyplace but here. With a sigh, Kurt changed tack. “Did you read the articles I bookmarked for you?”
Blaine nodded, uncomfortably.
“Did you understand them?” Kurt asked, trying to be patient.
Blaine shrugged.
“Did you not understand them?”
Blaine shrugged.
Kurt sighed, and couldn’t quite hide the note of exasperation. “That’s exceptionally helpful, Blaine; thank you.”
Blaine sighed resignedly. “I don’t know, okay? I mean, I understood what they were saying, but what they were saying didn’t make sense. All that stuff about submission being a gift and the sub being in control - isn’t the whole point that the dom person is the one calling the shots? And okay, so apparently pain makes the body release endorphins or something, but there’s still something just wrong with a person who wants to be hurt. Like, people get sent to the loonybin for cutting themselves all the time. And wanting to hurt someone? That’s just fucked up.”
Kurt really wanted to interrupt, but Blaine was actually talking, so Kurt bit back his knee-jerk reaction of wrong, wrong, you are so very very wrong.
“And all that control stuff - the dom telling you what to wear, what to do, hurting you if you disobey them - that’s like, the definition of an abusive relationship, right? So okay, I guess if people want to do that kind of stuff, it’s their prerogative and all that, but it’s just kind of screwed up, and I don’t - why are you doing this, Kurt? It doesn’t - you’re not like that. You’re not - I just don’t understand. Make me understand.”
Blaine’s voice was plaintive, and he was rubbing the inside of his left wrist, again and again in a clearly unconscious gesture of upset. Kurt reached out and gently covered Blaine’s hand with his own, holding his wrist firmly enough to be an anchor. “It’s not abuse, Blaine. I mean, it can be, but so can any relationship. It’s…about trust. You - I mean, the sub - trusts the dominant to hurt them without hurting them, or set boundaries for them or whatever, and the dominant trusts that the sub will tell them if they are hurting them. Like - okay. When we were first … getting physical, you kept saying you didn’t want to push me, right? And I didn’t want to push you, and we both weren’t ready. So we made a no-hands-south-of-the-equator rule. And other than that, we said we could touch each other however, you know? You could put your hand up my shirt or I could give you a hickey from hell. And the reason we could do that is because we trusted each other to say if something wasn’t okay, something made them uncomfortable. It’s just like that - but on a larger scale.”
Blaine didn’t seem convinced. “But they’re hurting each other.”
“Sometimes,” Kurt said carefully, “People need to be hurt - maybe because they feel guilty about something and need a way to atone, or because they’re stressed, and just need the release of the adrenaline and endorphins, or even just because they like it and it turns them on.”
“How can pain turn someone on? That’s fucked up, Kurt.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Blaine.” Kurt tried to think of another example, and finally came up with one. “I like it when you give me hickeys, don’t I?”
“Yes,” Blaine answered cautiously, suspiciously.
“That hurts when I do it to you, doesn’t it?”
“No-”
“A good hurt, but it still hurts. It’s bruising the skin.”
“I guess so, but-”
“Is it fucked up that I like it when you do that? All sorts of people give each other hickeys.”
“But-”
“But what? ‘That’s different?’ Bullshit. It may be a different level of pain, but it’s still pain, and pain we both enjoy.”
“Fine, whatever,” Blaine said, pulling back defensively and crossing his arms. Kurt noticed him rubbing his wrist again, too. “But you can’t tell me that it’s normal for someone to be in control like that. Relationships should be equal.”
“Just because the dynamics are different from the relationships other people have doesn’t mean that a d/s relationship isn’t between equals, Blaine. If the dom and sub didn’t see each other as equals, it wouldn’t work.”
“I’m sorry, Kurt, but it doesn’t make sense.”
Blaine looked so upset that Kurt couldn’t help but try to kiss the frown away. “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” Kurt said slowly, pulling back. Blaine scrunched up his face in confusion, but stayed quiet. “My telling you isn’t working, is it?”
Blaine shook his head minutely.
“What if I show you?” Kurt asked, keeping a hand cupped to Blaine’s cheek, gentling him as one might a skittish horse.
“Show me-how?”
Blaine sounded apprehensive, and Kurt couldn’t blame him. “Nothing with pain,” he quickly assured his boyfriend. “Well, not beyond the level of hickeys, anyway.”
“Then what-”
“Just…let me take care of you?”
***
Let me take care of you?
Blaine wasn’t sure what that meant, but it made heat stir deep inside him and Kurt was looking at him, face open and wanting and tentative, like he was afraid Blaine was going to say no. As if Blaine ever could.
Blaine’s mouth was too dry to speak, so he just nodded instead, and as his reward got to see Kurt’s face light up.
“It’ll be good, Blaine,” Kurt said, and Blaine couldn’t help but rub his cheek against the hand that cupped it. Kurt’s smile was fond as he pulled Blaine in for a kiss. “I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.”
Blaine believed him.
He didn’t know what to expect, though. All that stuff they’d been talking about - he almost pulled back as a wave of nausea ran through him. He didn’t want that stuff. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t some kind of freak. He just had to show Kurt that, and then everything could go back to normal.
A stinging nip to his bottom lip forcibly brought his attention back to the kiss. Kurt pulled back for a moment, looking fierce. “Stop that,” he scolded. “Stay here, Blaine. Stay with me.”
Blaine was about to protest that he hadn’t gone anywhere, but then Kurt was kissing him again and at some point he must have taken hold of Blaine’s wrists because suddenly they were lying back and Blaine’s hands were over his head and Kurt was holding him down and his wrists were aching, so so sweetly and it matched the ache in the pit of his belly, the ache in his balls and cock, and he was melting, melting into the kiss, into Kurt and it was okay because Kurt had him and he would never let him go.
NEXT PARTIt was almost a week before they had the chance to be alone again. Blaine’s mother was home for a few days, and she wanted to spend “quality time” with her youngest.
Blaine explained over the phone that this meant a lot of watching documentaries and discussing Blaine’s college applications.
Blaine didn’t seem to particularly be a fan of said quality time. Kurt couldn’t blame him. Blaine’s parents seemed to alternate between ignoring him and expecting him to be a perfect, quietly respectful and obedient son.
Kurt tried bringing up the topic on skype once or twice, but Blaine always changed the subject abruptly. Kurt spent most of his time getting ready for New York, but when in Colombia on a shopping expedition, he couldn’t help but shyly make his way into a not-quite-so-sketchy-looking adult store. Keeping his head high, Kurt tried his best to look like he knew what he was doing. And also to not run screaming dear god what was that did that go inside you how would it fit?
Blaine couldn’t stop laughing when Kurt recounted his adventure later.
“-it was traumatizing, Blaine! I will never be able to unsee the things that I have seen!”
More laughter. Kurt scowled at the phone. His boyfriend should be commiserating with him, not laughing at him.
Kurt couldn’t bring himself to care too much, though. Blaine’s laughter was beautiful and infectious, as always. Kurt loved it when Blaine laughed.
When they did get the chance to be alone again, it was at Kurt’s. It was a little disconcerting, hanging out there rather than Blaine’s. Kurt wasn’t quite sure why - well, no. That wasn’t true. Kurt did know why. He loved his house, his family; loved welcoming Blaine into his home, pulling him into the dizzying hubub of the Hummel-Hudson household; he did. It was just…Blaine’s house was always empty, always just Blaine. And while that led to discomfort of its own (seriously, that living room looked like it belonged in a magazine), it also meant that sometimes, Kurt couldn’t help but pretend that it was their house - that Blaine’s room was their room, Blaine’s bed their bed. The furniture that Blaine would automatically climb all over without intervention - their furniture.
It was easy, being intimate there, in a house where there were only their own voices echoing back, only ever the sound of their own laughter and the slick slide of crisp clean sheets.
Here, his family was everywhere (even when, like now, Kurt had the house to himself). That was the dent from Finn’s head hitting the door-frame, and that was the tacky fishing plaque his dad was so proud of. The AC hummed with traces of Carol’s favorite song, and the air always had just a hint of car oil.
It felt strange, and Kurt didn’t quite know what to do. They’d been alone in Kurt’s house before, of course, but not since before - well, before. But then Blaine was kissing him, and Kurt forgot about the strangeness. How could that matter with this wonderful boy in his arms?
Reluctantly, Kurt pulled back. Kissing was all well and good, kissing was fantastic, but they needed to talk. Blaine tried to kiss him again, but Kurt dodged.
Blaine pouted.
Kurt rolled his eyes a little and gave Blaine a brief peck. “No pouting,” he said sternly. “It’s talking time now, not kissing time.”
“Should be kissing time,” Blaine grumbled.
“You think all of the time should be kissing time.”
“Well, it should.”
Kurt gave a huff of amusement and pulled Blaine across the room to sit on Kurt’s bed. Kurt sat crosslegged in front of him. “Talk,” Kurt ordered.
“Well, I hear it’s supposed to rain later, but I don’t believe it; I mean, just look at the sun-”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“You said to talk!”
“And you know very well what I meant.”
Blaine had his most innocently befuddled face on. Unfortunately for Blaine, Kurt knew he was faking.
“About the articles, Blaine,” Kurt said patiently. “About what we talked about the other day.”
Blaine looked like he wanted to be anyplace but here. With a sigh, Kurt changed tack. “Did you read the articles I bookmarked for you?”
Blaine nodded, uncomfortably.
“Did you understand them?” Kurt asked, trying to be patient.
Blaine shrugged.
“Did you not understand them?”
Blaine shrugged.
Kurt sighed, and couldn’t quite hide the note of exasperation. “That’s exceptionally helpful, Blaine; thank you.”
Blaine sighed resignedly. “I don’t know, okay? I mean, I understood what they were saying, but what they were saying didn’t make sense. All that stuff about submission being a gift and the sub being in control - isn’t the whole point that the dom person is the one calling the shots? And okay, so apparently pain makes the body release endorphins or something, but there’s still something just wrong with a person who wants to be hurt. Like, people get sent to the loonybin for cutting themselves all the time. And wanting to hurt someone? That’s just fucked up.”
Kurt really wanted to interrupt, but Blaine was actually talking, so Kurt bit back his knee-jerk reaction of wrong, wrong, you are so very very wrong.
“And all that control stuff - the dom telling you what to wear, what to do, hurting you if you disobey them - that’s like, the definition of an abusive relationship, right? So okay, I guess if people want to do that kind of stuff, it’s their prerogative and all that, but it’s just kind of screwed up, and I don’t - why are you doing this, Kurt? It doesn’t - you’re not like that. You’re not - I just don’t understand. Make me understand.”
Blaine’s voice was plaintive, and he was rubbing the inside of his left wrist, again and again in a clearly unconscious gesture of upset. Kurt reached out and gently covered Blaine’s hand with his own, holding his wrist firmly enough to be an anchor. “It’s not abuse, Blaine. I mean, it can be, but so can any relationship. It’s…about trust. You - I mean, the sub - trusts the dominant to hurt them without hurting them, or set boundaries for them or whatever, and the dominant trusts that the sub will tell them if they are hurting them. Like - okay. When we were first … getting physical, you kept saying you didn’t want to push me, right? And I didn’t want to push you, and we both weren’t ready. So we made a no-hands-south-of-the-equator rule. And other than that, we said we could touch each other however, you know? You could put your hand up my shirt or I could give you a hickey from hell. And the reason we could do that is because we trusted each other to say if something wasn’t okay, something made them uncomfortable. It’s just like that - but on a larger scale.”
Blaine didn’t seem convinced. “But they’re hurting each other.”
“Sometimes,” Kurt said carefully, “People need to be hurt - maybe because they feel guilty about something and need a way to atone, or because they’re stressed, and just need the release of the adrenaline and endorphins, or even just because they like it and it turns them on.”
“How can pain turn someone on? That’s fucked up, Kurt.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Blaine.” Kurt tried to think of another example, and finally came up with one. “I like it when you give me hickeys, don’t I?”
“Yes,” Blaine answered cautiously, suspiciously.
“That hurts when I do it to you, doesn’t it?”
“No-”
“A good hurt, but it still hurts. It’s bruising the skin.”
“I guess so, but-”
“Is it fucked up that I like it when you do that? All sorts of people give each other hickeys.”
“But-”
“But what? ‘That’s different?’ Bullshit. It may be a different level of pain, but it’s still pain, and pain we both enjoy.”
“Fine, whatever,” Blaine said, pulling back defensively and crossing his arms. Kurt noticed him rubbing his wrist again, too. “But you can’t tell me that it’s normal for someone to be in control like that. Relationships should be equal.”
“Just because the dynamics are different from the relationships other people have doesn’t mean that a d/s relationship isn’t between equals, Blaine. If the dom and sub didn’t see each other as equals, it wouldn’t work.”
“I’m sorry, Kurt, but it doesn’t make sense.”
Blaine looked so upset that Kurt couldn’t help but try to kiss the frown away. “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” Kurt said slowly, pulling back. Blaine scrunched up his face in confusion, but stayed quiet. “My telling you isn’t working, is it?”
Blaine shook his head minutely.
“What if I show you?” Kurt asked, keeping a hand cupped to Blaine’s cheek, gentling him as one might a skittish horse.
“Show me-how?”
Blaine sounded apprehensive, and Kurt couldn’t blame him. “Nothing with pain,” he quickly assured his boyfriend. “Well, not beyond the level of hickeys, anyway.”
“Then what-”
“Just…let me take care of you?”
***
Let me take care of you?
Blaine wasn’t sure what that meant, but it made heat stir deep inside him and Kurt was looking at him, face open and wanting and tentative, like he was afraid Blaine was going to say no. As if Blaine ever could.
Blaine’s mouth was too dry to speak, so he just nodded instead, and as his reward got to see Kurt’s face light up.
“It’ll be good, Blaine,” Kurt said, and Blaine couldn’t help but rub his cheek against the hand that cupped it. Kurt’s smile was fond as he pulled Blaine in for a kiss. “I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.”
Blaine believed him.
He didn’t know what to expect, though. All that stuff they’d been talking about - he almost pulled back as a wave of nausea ran through him. He didn’t want that stuff. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t some kind of freak. He just had to show Kurt that, and then everything could go back to normal.
A stinging nip to his bottom lip forcibly brought his attention back to the kiss. Kurt pulled back for a moment, looking fierce. “Stop that,” he scolded. “Stay here, Blaine. Stay with me.”
Blaine was about to protest that he hadn’t gone anywhere, but then Kurt was kissing him again and at some point he must have taken hold of Blaine’s wrists because suddenly they were lying back and Blaine’s hands were over his head and Kurt was holding him down and his wrists were aching, so so sweetly and it matched the ache in the pit of his belly, the ache in his balls and cock, and he was melting, melting into the kiss, into Kurt and it was okay because Kurt had him and he would never let him go.
