Blaine’s voice is pitched small, timid, his breath exhaled shakily. Kurt rolls over, heel of his palm to his eye to rub the sleep from it, and blinks away the last spiderweb shrouds from his vision. Silhouetted by the light from the hallway, Blaine’s shape is a black mass of hunched shoulders and nervous, twisting fingers.
“Baby?” Kurt murmurs, voice sleep-thick and rough; he’d accidentally fallen asleep for real this time, worn out from work and nights spent working on his projects while helping Blaine study for tests. The allure of their soft, warm bed had been too much, and though Kurt had kept an alert ear trained on the door for Blaine’s telltale shuffle across the warped floorboards, he’d found himself pulled under. “What’s wrong?”
“God, Kurt, fuck, baby, please…Jesus, put it back in, put it back in—oh god.” Blaine’s voice is a broken, wrecked sob, loud and harsh and echoing in the room. He’s on hands and knees on the bed, thighs spread so wide they’re trembling, his cock and balls heavy and hanging between his legs. Kurt’s hands are tight on his hips, fingers bent to dig in slightly, and he keeps the head of his cock scant inches from Blaine’s quivering, lube-slick hole.
Brody kisses Blaine when Kurt’s shedding his clothes, and Kurt had never known how hot it would be to see his boyfriend under another man, neck arched back and thighs tilted up in that unsure space between leaving his feet flat on the floor or wrapping his legs around Brody’s waist. Something stirs inside him, sharp and making itself known, and suddenly he wants—no, he needs—to see Blaine being fucked. He needs to watch the responses he’s grown so used to from a different perspective, one of the outsider.
“What would people think of you now?” Kurt murmurs, eyes half-lidded as his body trembles with each powerful thrust in. Blaine’s cock shifts, brushes against his prostate, and Kurt gasps, throwing his head back and arching his chest up. His button-up slips a little further down to the crook of his elbows, and he can feel the grain of the wood beginning to redden and rough his skin. “F-f—uck. The popular Professor Anderson fucking some little high school twink over his desk after hours?” He can feel the ridge of Blaine’s cock dip out of his hole before sliding roughly back in, and he shivers, letting out a shuddery moan and clenching his hands into fists at his sides.
Kurt tilts his head to change the angle, gain back a little of the dominance that Blaine’s stolen since they laid down together. He moans when Blaine’s tongue rubs against his, lifts his head to chase it and nip Blaine’s lower lip instead, worrying it between his teeth and tugging until Blaine’s grinding down, fingers gripping the sheets next to Kurt’s torso a little harder.
Blaine reaches down to cup Kurt through the opening in his jeans, rubbing his palm over the thin cotton of his boxer-briefs, and breathes hot into Kurt’s ear, words precise and dipped low enough to hit Kurt just right: “I wanna ride you.”
The first time Blaine swallows, it’s an accident, like much that has happened during their admittedly short sex life—they’re teenagers, after all, who now have access to sex whenever and wherever they can get it.
Blaine flushes darker, rubbing the back of his neck as he laughs self-consciously. “Uh, well, no. It’s something a little more useful for, like, a—oh, screw it.” He’s already in deep; he may as well finish it. He takes a deep breath and says, in a rush of jumbled consonants and vowels, “I bought a dildo. One of those suction-cup ones.”
darrensderriere prompted: Kurt orders a dildo online and when it comes in the mail he opens it with Blaine and it turns out they got the wrong toy sent to them and the dildo they’re sent is REALLY BIG but they decide to try it out anyways 3
“Yeah!” Blaine says brightly, running his fingers along the (realistic, wow) head, dipping under the ridge and along the folds of silicone skin beneath. “It’s a double-sided dildo, right? Well, I know we’ve both mentioned how much we’d love to be fucked at the same time without the intrusion of a third partner.”
Blaine’s wanted to be a husband his whole life. That much he’s been sure of, even when sexuality was confusing and everyone was telling him what was wrong (right) and right (wrong). He’s wanted to be that person in someone’s life: the person who cares, who cooks and loves and knows just what his partner would need. He likes cleaning and cooking and watching crappy daytime TV with an aging tabby cat who’s ten pounds heavier than he should be.
“You want us to…have sex on a webcam?” Blaine asks, chin propped up on Kurt’s stomach as he looks up at him. His brows are furrowed but he doesn’t look angry, just contemplative.
“No,” Kurt’s quick to correct, fingers shaky where they thread through Blaine’s sweat-damp curls. He still feels the phantom fullness of Blaine inside him and can’t resist wiggling his hips a little to intensify the familiar burn. “I want to finger you on camera. On the internet.”
You know what would be funny?
If Blaine sent sext meant for Kurt, but it got sent to one of the other guys in Glee. Like Mike. Or Puck.
Heck, one of the girls like Santana would be hilarious, too.
And he walks into Glee club and everyone is staring at him because whoever got it showed everyone. And they’re just like, “Woooaaaaaah, bro. You kinky.” or something.
And then Kurt walks in and they all giggle.
This time, Blaine is on his back, hands cuffed above his head to the slats in the headboard. Between his lips is a red rubber ball gag, the straps fastened tightly around the back of his head. His eyes are wide, clear, focusing on everything Kurt does as he sinks his mouth down around him, Blaine’s back going taut as he tosses his head back and moans around the rubber.
There he pauses, contemplates his words and what he’s going to say and how he’s going to phrase it. Kurt can choose not to say yes—that’ll be fine. He’ll be a little disappointed, but it’ll be fine. He just…he wants to know what it will be like. The fullness, the burning, the stretching. He wants to see the look of wonderment of Kurt’s face as he sinks in, wants to feel every twitch of his fingers as he twists and moves.
Blaine had bounced up to him that day, eyes sparkling, and said he’d wanted to try something new. When Kurt had only raised a brow in question and finished putting his schoolbooks into his bag, shutting his locker shut as he began the walk out to his car, Blaine had grabbed his arm and pulled him close, looking around the rapidly emptying hallways before leaning closer and conspiratorially whispering “69” into his ear.
He nudges Blaine’s door open with his foot and crosses the room, dropping Blaine to the bed with an oomph, a creak of springs and mattress, and a groaned “Kurt.” Turning and smiling to himself, he shuts the door with another creak of hinges and a whisper of wood against carpet. It closes with a finalized noise, the lock clicking in place, and through the wood Kurt’s gentle, cajoling words of “Sit up for me, sweetheart, and spread your legs” can be heard.
“I know we did everything backwards,” Kurt says, meeting Blaine’s eyes with only a little bit of difficulty. “We had sex before…sex-sex.”
Blaine’s nose scrunches up and he smiles, biting his lower lip. He actually looks bashful, like he’s the one embarrassed to be saying all this aloud. “’Sex-sex’?”
Kurt rolls his eyes and swats at Blaine’s shoulder with his free hand. “You know what I mean, smartass. What I’m trying to say is…I want to—I, uh…I wanna blow you.” He says the last part in a mumbled rush, ducking his head.
“Blaine’s in the condom aisle of CVS having a mini breakdown.” Mike tells her, his tone of voice somehow manages to convey the sheer ‘how is this my life?’ bizarreness of their current situation, “I think I need to go rescue him. ”
Will hears about Artie's advice to Blaine during West Side Story and decides he needs to make sure that Kurt's okay. (Spoilers up through The First Time, possibly for Mash Off.)
Unreliable narrator, creepy creepy creeperness - nothing actually happens but could be triggering regardless
While out together, Blaine and Kurt bump into the last person Blaine wants to meet. Just a short fluffy one-shot to help calm my emotional turmoil post "Dance With Somebody". Klaine with spoilers for Ep 3x17.
Written for this prompt on the gkm: Sometime in the future, Kurt and Blaine are having a night out in New York, and go to a club. They're both tipsy/drunk, and Kurt really wants to dance and show Blaine off to the other guys at the club. Cue Kurt and his sinful hips grinding against Blaine until they're both needy and desperate and one of them drags the other off to the bathroom/backroom for some dirty fun.
Fill for this prompt: "First time fic, Derek comes in Stiles without asking. Stiles is indignant/weirded out at first. But then Derek pulls out and starts fingering him... and Stiles is kinda into how smug and possessive and seriously turned on Derek gets feeling his own come slicking Stiles up inside."
Stuff Stiles doesn’t like to deal with first thing: hot, moist dog breath in his face, a cuddly werewolf creepifying his perfectly normal morning wood with shades of bestiality, and his dad holding his service revolver up against the skull of his bedmate, never mind the fact that his bedmate could possibly be a vicious unhinged rogue omega.
AU where: a) everyone knows about werewolves, b) werewolves do a full-shift, and c) everyone thinks Derek is dead.
Puck's just looking for a room where he can spy on Brittany and Santana while they're getting their mack on. He's pretty sure he hits the jackpot when two people stumble into the room that he's hiding in. The problem is, as it turns out, that isn't two girls .
Sharp, warm points drag against his throat, and Derek probably doesn’t even need to hear the staccato of Stiles’ heart, although he’s sure he can. Can probably feel Stiles’ jugular doing a tap dance against his tongue. If he wasn’t about to die horribly, Stiles might laugh. All the hours he’s spent imagining Derek’s mouth on him and he’s finally got it.
The thing is, it looks like Derek's cooked for Stiles. Which is just strange on so many levels. (Spoiler alert: Derek didn't cook, but he can and would. For Stiles. Yeah, Stiles is still working on that thought, too.)
"What's wrong with Derek?" Then a possibility occurs to him, because he's Googled everything the Internet has to offer about werewolves, and the results have included some profoundly embarrassing erotic fiction. "Oh my God, do you think he could be in heat?"
“Hey, hey, hey!” the puppy called up at him, jumping to his feet and dancing around the base of the tree. “Kitty-cat, hey!”
“Is all that noise necessary?” Kurt replied, stretching out on the branch and flicking his tail.
The puppy laughed, trying to run up the tree. When he fell backwards, landing in a heap, Kurt laughed, too.
“I’m Blaine!” he said. “The Anderson-humans adopted me! They’re totally awesome! And they feed me human-food. Kitty-cat, human-food is the best.”
Kurt sighed, resting his head on his paws. Dogs were exhausting.
In which Stiles is baffling and Derek is determined to get to the bottom of it.
>>PROMPT: "The one where, upon realising he has a crush on Derek, Stiles proceeds to go to extreme lengths to hide it-- buys shitty cologne/perfume because he read online somewhere that it can confuse your natural ~scent of attraction~, digs out his mp3 player from somewhere and keeps it in his jacket pocket on a low volume to disguise the sound of his heartbeat, etc"
Kurt has never been kissed and he’s fine with it. Most of the time. But then, his coworkers take him out for his twenty-first birthday and there’s a (gorgeous) stranger who kisses him to get away from a guy who just won’t understand that he’s interested.
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