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The knock on the door comes one hour and fifty-seven minutes after Blaine called to say that his flight had landed. Kurt lunges off the sofa so fast he almost pulls a muscle, tossing his magazine aside as he sprints toward the door.

He has the fleeting thought that he should greet Blaine with a seductive pose, maybe whip off his scarf or undo a few buttons to get things rolling, but he’s too impatient. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway: Blaine is on him as soon as the door slides open, throwing himself forward into a fierce hug before Kurt can catch more than the barest glimpse of him, a split-second image of dark hair and green plaid.

Kurt winds his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and squeezes back as hard as he can, breathing in the sweet, familiar scent of raspberry hair gel. “Took you long enough.” There’s no point pretending he hasn’t been watching the clock. Blaine knows him too well.

“Not my fault,” Blaine says. “Train delay. And traffic was a nightmare. The bus – “

“I don’t care about the bus,” Kurt says. He tucks his cheek against the warm, wonderful-smelling curve of Blaine’s neck. “Hi.”

Blaine laughs into Kurt’s shoulder. “Hi.”

They stand like that for a while longer, wrapped up together in the doorway. Eventually, though, the desire for a kiss hello overwhelms Kurt’s instinct to keep Blaine as close as physically possible. He nudges Blaine back, persevering through Blaine’s initial clinging resistance, and presses his smiling mouth to Blaine’s.

Blaine’s lips are soft and a little bit tacky, tasting faintly of coffee and the lip balm he applies obsessively on planes. He hums into the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle Kurt’s jaw, the other splayed over the small of his back, holding him close.

They’ve worked to rise above the worst perils of long distance, but it’s still so hard. For weeks at a time, the closest Kurt gets to Blaine is hearing his voice on the other end of a phone line, or seeing his face in a Skype window, pixelated and washed-out in the bluish light of his computer screen. Blaine is almost always the last person he talks to before he falls asleep, the first to text him in the morning, but Kurt misses him anyway. He misses this, Blaine’s mouth and his strong hands and the scent of his cologne, that sharp inhale through his nose when Kurt kisses him just the right way.

It’s bittersweet, of course. As happy as he is in this moment, he knows that two days from now he’ll have to let Blaine go again, and then it’s back to texting and Skype dates and the cold little pit of loneliness that grows in his chest every night that he goes to sleep in his big, empty bed with only Bruce’s limp weight to keep him company.

Not much longer, he reminds himself. The next time Blaine comes to New York, it’ll be for good.

With that in mind, he’s finally able to let go of Blaine long enough to get him and his bag inside. He closes the door behind them as Blaine walks further into the loft, looking around expectantly.

“Where are the girls?”

“Out for the night, if they know what’s good for them,” Kurt says, a touch darkly. Rachel complained that she wanted to see Blaine, too, but Kurt had to put his foot down. They barely got to spend any quality time together during Blaine’s last visit, forced to settle for rushed, unsatisfying handjobs while Santana and her freakishly keen demon hearing were in the shower.

Sure, they’ve gotten significantly more adventurous with their use of technology in the past couple months, but the occasional dirty Skype session can only take them so far. Kurt has needs, dammit.

Fortunately, he also has a fiancé with a wonderfully complementary sense of priorities. Blaine is already closing the distance between them, prowling easily back into Kurt’s space. He skims his hands up Kurt’s chest and smiles, slow and so very promising. “However will we pass the time without them?”

Kurt bites his lip, trying to rein in the big stupid grin that wants to break free. “I might have a few ideas.”

It gets kind of hazy after that. There’s a lot of kissing, and touching, and an unfortunate encounter with the sharp corner of a dresser that will probably have Kurt peeing blood tomorrow. There’s Blaine’s chest against his, Blaine’s mouth on his throat, Blaine’s round muscular ass in his hands, Blaine, Blaine, Blaine.

“I missed you,” Blaine murmurs, kissing wetly under Kurt’s jaw. “I swear you get hotter every time I see you.”

Kurt has a witty, sexy comeback for that, he does, but Blaine steals it away with the delicate touch of one fingertip, tracing light circles around his nipple. “Oh, fuck.” He arches into the touch, clutching at the back of Blaine’s shirt for support. His legs feel unsteady under him, bare thighs grazing the denim of Blaine’s jeans, and – wait a minute.

“Why,” he says, focusing very hard on stringing a coherent sentence together, “why am I the only one who’s naked?”

Blaine breathes hot over Kurt’s nipple, brushes over the hard peak with the curves of his lips. “I’m busy.”

He’s clearly gearing up for a long, torturous evening of driving Kurt completely out of his mind. Kurt has exactly zero objections to that, but first, Blaine’s clothes have got to go. There’s still so much of Blaine’s body hidden away from him, waiting to be unwrapped. He’s aching to get his hands on all that skin.

Besides, Blaine’s jeans are way too tight to have been chosen for traveling comfort. Kurt would hate for him to feel that his styling choices have gone unappreciated.

He distracts Blaine with a kiss, teasing his tongue between Blaine’s lips as he plucks open the buttons of his shirt. A few tugs to free the tails from Blaine’s waistband, and the whole thing goes sliding easily off his shoulders. His strong, broad shoulders, all smooth and beautifully defined…

Kurt maybe gets a little distracted himself, for a minute.

He has a mission, though, and he intends to see it through. The pants will require a bit more strategic maneuvering. He starts moving blindly backwards, towing Blaine with him, until the mattress hits the back of his knees and he can sink down onto the edge of the bed.

“Hey, no, come back,” Blaine protests, pulling feebly at Kurt’s shoulder.

Kurt smirks up at him. “I’m busy,” he says innocently, and palms the shape of Blaine’s half-hard cock through his jeans.

The sound that leaves Blaine’s mouth then is nothing at all like a protest.

Blaine’s jeans are tight enough that they don’t budge at all when Kurt unfastens them. He drags them off inside-out, peeling the denim down Blaine’s thighs – and, wow, those are some really small briefs. Normally that’s the sort of thing he’d take time to properly appreciate, ideally with his mouth, but right now they’re the last thing standing between him and Blaine’s naked body, so off they come.

With the last of Blaine’s clothes disposed of, Kurt takes a moment to admire the sight before him: the meticulously tidy patch of dark curls, the thickening length of Blaine’s cock, the cut of his pelvic muscles. He cups the backs of Blaine’s thighs and draws him closer, kisses the warm skin of his hip. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Blaine’s hand settles on the back of his head, fingers carding gently through his hair. “I’m not totally sure whether you’re talking to me or my dick.”

Kurt doesn’t want to reward that with a laugh, but he can’t help it. “Be honest,” he says, looking up very deliberately through his eyelashes, “do you really care right now?”

“Oh, god, not even a little,” Blaine groans, and shoves him eagerly down to his back.

Blaine is all over him in an instant, pressing him into the mattress with lips and hands and the weight of his body, seizing control again after Kurt’s little tease. Kurt lets him have it, for now. They have all night, and Blaine feels incredible on top of him.

“Missed you,” Blaine says, the words muffled as he kisses and bites a drunken, wandering path down Kurt’s chest. “Missed you so much. Your skin, your smell, your – fuck, Kurt, you smell so fucking good, god – ”

Kurt moans, less from the heat of Blaine’s mouth than from the words tumbling out of it. Blaine almost never swears, even in bed. If he’s this riled up already…

Blaine rubs his whole face against Kurt’s belly. “So beautiful, Kurt, I – did you miss me? Do you miss me like, like I – ”

Even in his current state, Kurt knows it’s a real question, one Blaine needs an answer to. He cups both hands around Blaine’s head, holding him where he is. “You know I do. I miss you every day.” He rolls his hips a little, nudging his swelling erection up against Blaine’s chest, and adds pointedly: “And every night.”

“Kurt,” Blaine sighs, and Kurt’s skin prickles all over at the heat in his voice. His name on Blaine’s lips is a full sentence, sometimes: a promise, a plea, a song of devotion.

Kurt’s back arches right off the bed at the first touch of Blaine’s mouth, a hot fleeting suck against the very tip of his cock. Blaine doesn’t stay there, though. He drags his lips down the underside of the shaft, down to the loose grip of his hand around the base, and immediately moves lower to lave his tongue over the heavy hang of Kurt’s balls.

“Oh – oh, Blaine – “

“Gonna take care of you.” Blaine licks at his balls again, takes one gently into his mouth before just as gently releasing it. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Kurt tugs lightly at Blaine’s head, testing to see if he can be guided back to where Kurt is throbbing for him. Blaine resists the press of Kurt’s hands, ignoring the hint, and Kurt knows better than to force the issue. Blaine is impossibly stubborn when he’s in a mood like this. He has a certain plan in his head, and he won’t be budged from it. No amount of hinting, pleading, or even ordering will sway him at this point.

Kurt may as well lie back and enjoy it.

Blaine is as good as his word. He leaves no part of Kurt’s body untouched, no freckle unkissed. He runs his hands all along the length of Kurt’s legs, bites at his calf muscles and strokes over the sensitive arches of his feet. He brushes light, barely-there kisses up and down the insides of Kurt’s thighs, pinning them against the mattress when they start to tremble. He crawls back up in search of Kurt’s mouth, briefly allowing Kurt the kiss he’s starving for – and then he’s gone again, slipping free of Kurt’s grasping hands to slide down, down, pursing those soft wet lips against the tight, delicate skin behind Kurt’s balls.

Kurt is unbearably hard, flushed dark and straining. Every touch of Blaine’s mouth and hands goes straight to his cock, leaves him twitching and jerking above his belly, and Blaine – Blaine ignores it entirely. He scrapes his teeth down Kurt’s thigh, licks up the same path in sweet apology. He sucks ticklish little kisses where Kurt’s leg meets his body, and laughs when Kurt squirms at the treatment. He nips Kurt’s ass cheek and spreads him open to lap over his hole, making him shake.

“Blaine,” Kurt moans, his voice gone high and breathy. He won’t beg, they both know that, but it’s getting more and more difficult not to just seize Blaine by the ears and yank that teasing mouth back to where it belongs.

Blaine presses his lips to Kurt’s hipbone – an oddly chaste touch, after everything that’s come before it. “Love you,” he whispers, the words warm on Kurt’s skin.

“Love you, too.” Kurt strokes Blaine’s hair with a shaking hand. “Even if I kind of want to kill you right now.”

Blaine laughs, short and breathless, almost squeaky. Oh, Kurt’s missed that. Blaine never laughs that way for anyone but him. It’s his laugh, he thinks, a little deliriously. All his, just like Blaine.

His gorgeous, giggly, wonderful Blaine, who is finally turning his attention to where Kurt needs him most.

The time for teasing is clearly over. Blaine licks over his lips, getting them nice and wet, and then he sinks down around Kurt’s cock with a muffled groan of relief, as if he’s the one who’s been so cruelly denied all this time.

“Ah!” Kurt clutches at the back of Blaine’s head, frantically digging his fingertips in to crack apart the gel. He needs as good a grip as he can get. “Blaine, oh, fuck – oh, your mouth – “ He breaks off with a gasp as Blaine sucks hard at the head of his cock, velvet-soft cheeks and tongue and lips closing in from all sides. He knows how much Blaine likes to be talked to, but he just can’t right now, can barely breathe for how good it is. He’ll make it up to him later.

Blaine sucks him like he’s dying for it, his hot wicked mouth working over every inch from base to crown, again and again, messier and more desperate with each pass. One of his hands settles firmly on Kurt’s hip, while the other slides up Kurt’s chest to pinch and twist at his nipples.

Kurt pushes himself up unsteadily to his elbows, craving the visual he knows is waiting for him. He stares down at Blaine, spellbound by the sight of his dark bobbing head, those wide bronzed shoulders between his own pale thighs. Blaine’s lips are stretched around his cock, red and plush and greedy. His eyes are closed, black feathery lashes fluttering against the flush of his cheeks. He looks so good like this. They look so good, together.

Kurt still doesn’t like porn, for all that Blaine has tried to teach him to appreciate it. It’s too hollow, too scripted and detached. He gets himself off like any other guy his age, but he relies mainly on memory and fantasies – most of which involve Blaine, because of course they do. Even when they weren’t together, his mind always drifted guiltily back to thoughts of Blaine. He’d try halfheartedly to think of other men, but the lure of those memories was too strong. Irresistible. Even now, he never gets himself off harder than when he’s picturing Blaine exactly like this, taking him deep and moaning gratefully around his cock. He honestly can’t imagine anything sexier. Unless, maybe, it’s Blaine’s face as Kurt rides him, or the helpless unfurling of his fingers above his bound wrists, or the spread of his thick ass around Kurt’s cock, or –

He has a lot of material to work from, is the point.

He’s lost all sense of time, but it feels like an instant before Blaine’s little vibrating moans have him dangerously close to the edge. He would almost be embarrassed, except that it’s Blaine. Blaine, his first and only love, his future husband, who’s spent so long learning every last inch of his body, and knows just how to make it sing.

Still, he doesn’t want to come yet. Not like this.

It takes a herculean act of willpower to tug at Blaine’s hair, urging him back off his cock. Blaine blinks up at him, dazed. His lips are obscene, swollen and slick. God, he has the most beautiful mouth.

He wraps a hand around the back of Blaine’s damp neck and drags him up into a deep, filthy kiss. Blaine tastes like him now, and it makes him crazy, makes him want to lay his mark all over Blaine’s perfect body so everyone knows who he belongs to.

He arches up to feel Blaine against him, the firm planes of his chest and the softness of his belly. Blaine’s cock is rock-hard and dripping against his hip. Kurt has barely even touched him, but he’s throbbing with arousal, just from giving Kurt pleasure. Everything about this man is a miracle.

Kurt slides his hand down between them, wraps his fingers around Blaine’s hot, silky cock. Blaine whines, and Kurt sucks hungrily on the softness of his bottom lip. “I want you.”

Blaine swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Okay.” His eyes are wide and dark. Trusting. “Where…?”

Kurt kisses him again, in approval this time. “In the drawer. Same place as last time.”

He lies down on his stomach while Blaine stretches over to the bedside table for supplies. The duvet feels dangerously good under his cock, and twice as good again once Blaine starts toying with his hole, tracing over the rim with slick fingers. He forces himself to keep his hips still, resisting the instinct to grind against the bed. Once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. Blaine wouldn’t mind, not at all; he loves making Kurt come any way he can. It would be so easy to finish this way, to rut down into the mattress and bring himself off with Blaine’s fingers in his ass and his low, honeyed voice in his ear.

He could, but he won’t. He has something even better in mind for tonight. And Kurt Hummel never settles for second best.

Normally he likes to let Blaine take his time opening him up. Blaine has amazing hands, but it’s more than that. There’s something about the careful, deft way Blaine touches him that just unlocks him, makes him feel so cherished, so secure.

Tonight, though, he’s impatient. He wants to feel the way they fit together, the perfectly imperfect rhythm of their two bodies working to make each other feel good. He hurries Blaine through it, twisting eagerly back onto his fingers, shuddering at the stretch.

Blaine smoothes his free hand over Kurt’s ass. “You’re in a mood tonight.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at that. “Please, like you’re one to talk, after– ah, fuck, forget I said anything, you can talk as much as you want, just – yeah, god, like that, just like that.”

As incredible as Blaine’s magic fingers feel, Kurt doesn’t let him linger. The moment he deems himself relaxed enough, he pushes up onto his hands and knees. Blaine lets out an appreciative groan, but he doesn’t slide his fingers out, so Kurt spurs him on with a little shimmy of his hips, arching his back for maximum effect.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” he purrs.

Blaine whimpers softly behind him, and Kurt grins, triumphant.

He listens for the telltale sounds of Blaine preparing himself: the crinkle of foil, the faint snap of latex, the wet slide of Blaine’s hand. He hums in satisfaction when Blaine nudges up against him, spreads him ever so slightly with just the blunt pressure of that beautiful thick cock. A pressure he’s dying to yield to.

“Now,” he demands. “Now, now, now.”

It burns a little when Blaine pushes inside, just enough to spark all Kurt’s nerves to life. He rocks back into it, chasing that overload of sensation, the hot solid sliding stretch that shorts out his brain and makes his legs shake. It’s so much all at once, so much more than anything he can do for himself. Only Blaine can give this to him.

Blaine starts off slow, always so careful, no matter how many times Kurt tells him he doesn’t need to be. Maybe he really still thinks Kurt is that delicate – or, more likely, he likes the ways Kurt goads him into speeding things up.

“Harder.” Kurt rolls his hips back to meet Blaine’s measured thrusts, trying to urge him into a faster pace, and grits his teeth in frustration when Blaine refuses to cooperate. “Come on, I know you can do better than that. Fuck me.

“Bossy,” Blaine observes, as if that’s news. As if they don’t both know perfectly well how much he likes being ordered around. “Maybe I want it this way.”

He’s an awful liar. Kurt can feel the strain of holding back in the tight grip of Blaine’s hands at his hips, the tremble in Blaine’s thighs when they press briefly against his own. Blaine wants this as much as he does. He’s just waiting for the right words from Kurt to set him free from his own restraint.

Fine. If that’s the game they’re playing, so be it. Blaine should know by now that Kurt plays to win.

“I have waited – uhh – six weeks for this,” he grinds out. “All those nights I watched you get yourself off with your hand, wanting so bad to touch you, take care of you. Fingering myself, imagining it was you.” He tightens up around the next push in, underlining his point. “Last chance, Blaine. Fuck me now, or I swear I’ll put you on your back and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow – “

The switch is instantaneous. Kurt doesn’t even have time to breathe before Blaine is doing exactly what he’s been told, pounding forward hard and fast, yanking Kurt’s hips back into every thrust. Kurt drops his head and revels in it, letting himself have a moment to just take it before he starts pushing back again.

Good boy, he thinks. Maybe he says it out loud; he’s not sure even Blaine can interpret the sounds coming out of his mouth right now.

Blaine’s breath is coming faster than before, more labored, but he doesn’t pause or slow down to give himself a break. If anything, he gives it to Kurt even harder, slamming into him, rocking him forward on his knees. Kurt’s arms are starting to wobble under the strain, so he goes down to his elbows, abruptly changing the angle in a way that makes both him and Blaine groan.

“Right there, right there, Blaine – ”

Blaine obliges, fucking into him with long, powerful thrusts that drag just right over every nerve. His hips smack against Kurt’s ass, a loud jarring sound. They’ll both be sore tomorrow, maybe even bruised, marked up by each other’s bodies. Kurt’s mouth goes wet at the thought of helping those bruises along, sucking and biting at each one until they stand out dark and vibrant against Blaine’s golden skin.

He fists his hands in the sheets and wishes they were on Blaine’s shoulders instead, or in his hair, which must be well on its way to gorgeous dishevelment. He wishes he could hold onto Blaine the way Blaine is holding him, wishes he were staring at Blaine’s pretty mouth or his cock thrusting into him rather than his own dove gray pillowcase.

He loves this position, normally. He loves how deep it is, loves the leverage it gives them both, loves the way Blaine always ends up folded down over him by the end. As good as it is, though, he’s starting to get restless. It’s been so long since he had Blaine in his bed. He wants to see him, to feel more of him, as much as he can.

Any other time, this would be perfect, but it’s not what he wants tonight. It’s not enough.

He shifts his weight onto one elbow and flails his other hand back to grab Blaine’s hip. “Wait.”

Blaine stills instantly, halfway into Kurt’s ass. He lays a hand on Kurt’s back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just – back up, I’m rolling over.”

He knows it’s the right decision as soon as he lands on his back. Blaine is a vision above him, red-cheeked and luminous, gleaming all over with sweat.

“God, I almost forgot how sweaty you get.” Kurt reaches up to touch, trailing his fingers down the slick hollow between Blaine’s collarbones.

Blaine ducks his head, looking strangely shy for someone who only moments ago was fucking Kurt to within an inch of his life. “Sorry,” he says. “I know it’s gross.”

Oh. Not shy, then. Embarrassed. Well, that won’t do at all.

“It’s not gross.” Kurt pulls Blaine down with a firm grip behind his neck and licks a long, slow stripe up his throat. His cock throbs at the faint rasp of stubble under his tongue, the taste of Blaine’s skin and fresh, salty sweat. He nips at Blaine’s jaw and breathes into his ear, “It’s hot.”

Whether or not Blaine recognizes the turn of phrase, the words have the desired effect. He relaxes under Kurt’s hands, the awkward stiffness in his muscles draining away until all that’s left is a very different kind of tension. Kurt takes his time sucking a bright little mark below Blaine’s ear, a reward to himself for a job well done, and then falls back against the pillow and fixes Blaine with his best seductive smile.

“Now,” he says, pitching his voice low and sultry, “where were we?”

Blaine settles easily against him now, a familiar warm weight between his thighs. He drags his mouth up Kurt’s neck, kisses him hard and open-mouthed as he pushes in again.

Kurt sighs into it – the kiss, the slick stretch, the solidness of Blaine above him. Oh, yes. This is what he wants.

“Good?” Blaine asks, still cautious.

Kurt draws his legs up to fold around Blaine’s waist, trapping him close. “So good.” He presses both hands to the small of Blaine’s back. “Come on, honey. Move for me.”

Blaine obeys. His hips start to roll against Kurt’s again, slowly picking up speed until he’s found a rhythm. Not as fast as before, not as deep, but still good. Better, even.

Kurt’s hands are restless, drifting from Blaine’s back up to his shoulders, down his arms, around to his chest. He can touch so much more of Blaine now, can stroke and pet and clutch wherever he likes. He doesn’t have as much influence over the pace like this, splayed on his back with Blaine pressing down heavily on top of him, but that’s okay. He can cede that small bit of control if it means having Blaine in his arms, between his legs, right where he’s supposed to be.

Besides, there are certain other options this position affords him.

He unwraps his legs from Blaine’s waist, letting them fall away to either side, and skims his hand down Blaine’s hard, sweat-slippery back, all the way down to the flexing muscles of his ass. He squeezes one full cheek, feeling the rhythmic clench and release under his fingers as Blaine drives himself forward again and again, giving Kurt everything he can.

He teases his fingers down between Blaine’s cheeks, grazing his hole, and Blaine whimpers, hips stuttering.

“Kurt – “

“Ssh,” Kurt whispers. “You just keep fucking me, honey. Let me worry about the rest.” He slides his hand back to grip Blaine’s ass cheek again, pinching and caressing all that round, yielding flesh. He waits a few more moments, long enough for Blaine to let his guard down, and then swiftly raises his hand and brings it down in a loud slap.

Blaine jerks forward like he’s been shot. “Fuck!” Kurt hits him again, and he shakes and writhes, overwhelmed by the sudden shock of it. “Kurt, oh my – oh, god – “ His hips jolt against Kurt’s ass after every slap, wild, out of rhythm.

It’s not the best angle, especially now that Blaine is so deliciously distracted. It doesn’t matter, though, not when it feels so good to be with him again, loving each other so well. Kurt feels drunk with it, floating on the pleasure of Blaine’s thick cock stretching him with every thrust, Blaine’s ass going hot under his hand.

”You going to come for me?” He kneads Blaine’s quivering cheek, then slaps him again, harder than before. “You’ve been so good, Blaine. Want you to come now. Can you do that for me?”

Kurt,” Blaine begs. He’s close, voice raw and vulnerable like it always gets right before he comes. He sounds flayed open, and Kurt aches for him, tender and ravenous. Blaine gives himself so entirely, and it only makes Kurt hungrier for him.

He cups the smooth, generous swell of Blaine’s ass, soothing over the heated skin. “Go on. Let me feel you.” Blaine sobs into his neck, beautifully undone, and Kurt clenches around him and brings his hand down one last time, as hard as he can.

Blaine shatters against him, crying out the agony of his climax. Kurt wraps him up tight, folding his arms around Blaine’s shaking shoulders and pulling his legs back up to squeeze hard around Blaine’s waist. He cradles Blaine’s head against his shoulder with one hand, keeping him steady and safe as he’s shaking apart.

“I’ve got you,” he tells him, gentle now. “That’s it, Blaine. I’ve got you.”

He gives Blaine a minute to calm, easing him down with soft touches and quiet praise as he pants against Kurt’s neck. He’s done so well. Kurt can wait a while longer.

He knows Blaine’s coming back to himself when he starts to talk, mumbling short bursts of words against Kurt’s skin. Loveyou, Kurt makes out, shaky and slurred, and Kurt, which means just about the same thing.

Finally, Blaine lifts his head, mouthing lazily at Kurt’s jaw. “You?” he asks, simply.

“Not yet.”

“Mmm.” Blaine sounds pleased. “Good.”

Kurt can’t hold back a gasp when Blaine slips out of him; he’s still so turned on he thinks he might come at the first touch of Blaine’s hand or mouth. Blaine kisses him apologetically, open and a little sloppy – mouth, he definitely wants that mouth – then takes care of the condom, tying it off with fumbling fingers and dropping it off the side of the bed. (Into the trashcan, Kurt sincerely hopes.)

Blaine goes easily when Kurt nudges him onto his back. He makes a tiny noise when his ass hits the mattress, but he’s smiling, dreamy with contentment. Kurt loves him like this, all fucked-out and pliable, reaching out clumsily to help as Kurt clambers up to straddle his shoulders.

The touch of Kurt’s own hand on his cock is electric, jolting pleasure up into his gut. He drags the leaking head over Blaine’s jaw, painting the flushed skin, and Blaine turns his head, blindly seeking him.

Kurt nearly comes on the spot when Blaine’s soft, swollen lips close around his cock, drawing him into the luxurious wet heat of his mouth. Kurt’s hips rock forward instinctively, before he can restrain himself, but Blaine only lets out a low, muffled moan around his cock. He’s so fucking good at this. He wants it so much, and god, Kurt wants to give it to him.

“Just like that,” Kurt murmurs, knowing how badly Blaine craves the praise, the encouragement, even after he’s come. “Good, Blaine. You’re so good to me.”

Blaine opens his eyes to stare up at him, long lashes trembling, and Kurt is done for. He can hold off for a while against the sweet suction of Blaine’s mouth, and even against the clever fingers that have found their way back inside him, but he has no defense against that look in Blaine’s eyes – the naked devotion there, as deep and wide and bottomless as the ocean.

It all happens very quickly after that. Blaine’s fingertips drag expertly over Kurt’s prostate, and Kurt’s hips jerk forward, pressing himself deeper. His whole body seizes up, teetering on the edge – and then Blaine swallows, throat flexing around the head of his cock, and he’s gone, lost to the shocking waves of heat that rip through him, burning him up from the inside out.

Eventually, once he can finally see and hear and feel his fingers again, he realizes that he has about five seconds before his legs give out under him. He eases himself carefully out of Blaine’s mouth and collapses to the side, only barely managing not to knee Blaine in the face. It’s not the most comfortable position he’s landed in, but he’s content enough to stay like this for, oh, maybe the next six hours or so. Just until he remembers how his arms work.

Blaine, it seems, has other ideas. He tugs at Kurt’s foot, then his calf, pleading his case with pitiful little whines, like an ignored puppy. He won’t give up until he gets his way, so Kurt somehow scrapes together the energy to wriggle into a position better suited for a post-coital cuddle. In the end, he winds up on his side with Blaine plastered contentedly against his back, both of them sweaty and thoroughly exhausted.

Kurt traces idle fingers over Blaine’s arm where it’s curled around his waist. “Shower?” They’ll feel better in the morning if they do at least a quick rinse-off now.

Blaine’s arm tightens around him. “Ssh. Cuddling.”

“We’ll make it quick. Come on, I’ll even let you use that body wash you like.”

He starts to pull away, and Blaine makes a dismayed noise. “Cuddling,” he repeats, so plaintively that Kurt has to laugh.

“Okay, okay,” he says in surrender, settling back against Blaine’s warmth. “But only because I’m not sure I can make it to the bathroom without falling over.”

“Nnngh,” Blaine agrees, already half-asleep.

Kurt laces his fingers through Blaine’s and closes his eyes, savoring the feel of Blaine wrapped around him, loose-limbed and sated, nuzzling drowsily into the nape of his neck. This is how it will be when Blaine moves here, he thinks: curling up with Blaine in their bed every night, holding hands and kissing in public and making love whenever the urge strikes them. He can’t wait to start their life together, reunited at last in the city of their dreams, ready to take the world by storm.

New York isn’t going to know what hit it.