Notes: Reposted from kink meme.
Blaine didn't notice at first because Kurt had been so withdrawn when they first met that he'd seemed even smaller than he was – he would fold in on himself so much that sometimes Blaine even thought that he was the taller one. So when it had first become more and more obvious that he was not, Blaine had chalked it up to Kurt straightening his spine, squaring his shoulders, and holding up his chin. It didn't occur to him that Kurt was actually growing.
And Blaine had liked that Kurt was the same size as him. The idea of a six-foot-something boyfriend that he'd have to stand on a stepladder to kiss comfortably had never appealed to him. Kurt was the perfect kissing height; Blaine should know, he'd gathered a lot of empirical data. On the occasions when Blaine did have to tip his head back a bit to kiss Kurt, he attributed it to the boots Kurt sometimes wore when he was out of uniform – some of them came with substantial heels. Their cheeks pressed together when they hugged, and when they walked hand-in-hand to Warbler practice, neither of them had to stretch his arm down or bend his elbow for their fingers to interlace comfortably.
The fact that Kurt was also broader than Blaine had thought hit him like a ton of bricks and a plain white t-shirt that Kurt was supposed to mark up for the "Born This Way" number New Directions was putting together.
"I think I'm going to ignore Mr. Schue's 'something you don't like about yourself' spin and go with the obvious," Kurt said, looking in the mirror on the inside of his closet door with a critical eye. He traced his finger across the front, drawing out letters and considering how the words should be laid out across his chest. He caught Blaine's gaze in the mirror and smiled coyly. "Because I do like it."
Blaine smiled back from his seat on the foot of Kurt's bed and tried not to let on that he just wanted to gape at his boyfriend. At six weeks, they were still… Not chaste, not since Blaine had gotten the most beautifully-sung wake-up call in history, not when they kissed as often and as long as they could before one of them had to pull away for a breather (and Blaine lived for the times when it was Kurt). But they didn't grope each other, and Blaine hadn't felt like he had crossed the line from admiring Kurt to ogling him.
Until now. Because at some point between donning the Dalton uniform for the first time and taking it off for good, Kurt had grown. Blaine didn't know how the hell he'd missed the definition of his arms, but now that he knew he couldn't stop sliding his hands up them when they made out and pressing his thumbs into Kurt's biceps through his shirt sleeves.
Blaine didn't get to see them very often. Kurt usually wore at least three layers, and never less than two, even during the summer. Talking him into going to the public pool had been impossible, and Blaine had been very motivated - the thought of seeing Kurt, bare-chested and wet with his swim trunks sticking to his thighs, had settled into Blaine's head and refused to leave.
That June they agreed, with some blushing and stammering but mostly straight-forward conversation, to not let their hands stray below their belts. The making out still progressed to lying down, though they kept their hips apart. Blaine loved it when he ended up on top of Kurt: how firm and flat Kurt felt when Blaine was lying on his chest.
But he also really loved it when Kurt rolled him over, like it was easy, and pressed heavily down on top of him.
Then it was a new school year at a new school, and they weren't spending all of their time sitting in the Lima Bean or the movies or Breadstix, or lying down together on Blaine's big bed. Now they were walking through the halls together, or practicing dance routines together, and somehow Kurt's long legs had gotten even longer because now Blaine was conscious of having to look up to meet Kurt's eyes.
It was Sebastian, of all people, that first made him think about it beyond a dazed, how is it possible that my boyfriend keeps getting hotter?
Blaine had been called many things before, some complimentary, some very much not so. "Bashful schoolboy" was not one of them. And it stuck with him, for some reason, the way the most off-the-cuff comments sometimes did.
Granted, it wasn't on Blaine's mind when he fumbled with his key to let Kurt and himself into his empty house (his parents, naturally, had been too busy to go to opening night; they'd grown accustomed to not having to be home for him when he'd been boarding at Dalton and, rather than break their habits now, had declared that he was old enough to not need supervision). He hadn't been thinking about Sebastian or anything Sebastian said when Kurt and he climbed the stairs to his bedroom hand-in-hand. Nor when they slowly peeled off their layers – Kurt's vest first, then Blaine's sweater, then Kurt's top, then they kicked off their shoes and climbed into bed, and there were soft touches and softer kisses until Kurt plucked at the edge of Blaine's tank top, and they both sat up and pulled their undershirts over their heads.
Sebastian couldn't have been further from Blaine's mind when he drank in the sight of Kurt shirtless. His soft belly had gotten firmer, his arms bigger, his chest more pronounced. Blaine lunged at him, and Kurt laughed when he hit the mattress, and they rolled around like that for a while, grinning and kissing, kissing and grinning. The last bit of undressing they did for each other, kissing long and deep as they unbuttoned each others jeans, pulled down each others zippers, and tugged each others pants down and off their legs.
Blaine couldn't think about anything but Kurt as they stroked and rocked against each other, until Kurt finally took over and wrapped one hand around the both of them. It was all Blaine could do to groan Kurt's name and clutch at his wide, wide back as Kurt's cock head brushed against his balls and lower, into the crease of his thigh, while his own slid across Kurt's amazing, firm, and yet unbelievably soft, abdomen.
He didn't think about it when they collapsed, panting and sweating, into each others arms, nor when he reached over to grab some tissue from the box beside his bed and clean them up, nor when they laid there for almost an hour in the afterglow, petting each other and smiling so hard Blaine actually thought it might stick that way. He also didn't think about it when Kurt finally slipped off of the bed and began redressing, tossing Blaine small, intimate smiles as he laced up his shoes and slid on his vest. He didn't think about it when Kurt went back home, just in time to claim he was late getting back from the opening night party, nor when he curled up in the sheets that still smelled like Kurt and fell asleep.
It wasn't until the morning after the day after that it came back to Blaine, when he was standing in front of the mirror, doing his triweekly shave.
He knew that Kurt didn't shave yet. Not too long ago Kurt had been grumbling that he probably would never need to shave. Blaine had laughed at the time and told he was going to savor the lack of stubble burn while he could, although Blaine had to admit that the mental image of Kurt with stubble was a compelling one.
But as Blaine stood in front of his mirror, razor in hand and half of his face still covered in cream, he suddenly thought to wonder if his facial hair – or, hell, his body hair in general, which he was pretty ruthless about waxing (chest) and trimming (pubes) away – meant that he was further along than Kurt on the puberty scale. Suddenly Sebastian's comment was echoing in his head and, God, what if he was done growing?
And, more importantly, what if Kurt had barely even started? What if he just kept shooting up until he was as tall as Finn?!
…Okay, that wasn't so likely. But still. What if he stayed the same height while Kurt's continued to creep upwards? What if he kept the belly he couldn't seem to do anything about while Kurt seemed to get flatter and firmer every time they hugged? What if he stayed the cute schoolboy while Kurt turned into a hot college guy who started feeling awkward about showing pictures of his high school boyfriend?
Blaine knew he was being ridiculous. For one, if he wanted to look older he was pretty sure all he had to do was skip shaving for a couple days. For another, he didn't really have any doubts about where he and Kurt stood – even if Kurt started doing it a head above him. Kurt wouldn't break up with him over him not changing. He wasn't nearly that superficial, and even if he were, he'd liked Blaine's looks well enough so far. Kurt may not have been into dirty talk, but he'd called Blaine "handsome," "dreamy," and "cute" often enough for Blaine to know that Kurt's attraction wasn't just mental and emotional.
Blaine finally continued shaving the other side of his face, and fought back a grimace to do it. It just made him feel stupid and superficial for worrying about it if Kurt didn't, but he couldn't help it. And it wasn't that he didn't appreciate the way that Kurt was growing up, exactly, because he did. He spaced out in booty camp sometimes, letting muscle memory carry him through the routines they were still going over for Finn and Rory's benefit, and got caught up on staring at Kurt's chest, or arms, or shoulders, or back. Kurt had grown so much that the definition of his body was starting to be noticeable even when he piled on the layers.
Sometimes Blaine would look at old pictures he'd snapped of them on his phone, back when they'd just started to be friends, and compare the Kurt in them to the Kurt that he got to see every morning at his locker. Even Kurt's face had changed, subtly but undeniably; it was thinner, the jaw stronger – even his neck was thicker.
Whereas the Dalton school photo still hanging in Kurt's locker could have been taken yesterday.
Blaine just felt like he was losing parts of Kurt that he'd liked. And while he loved Kurt regardless of anything… well, he was allowed to miss those parts, wasn't he?
The reality of parents and step-siblings and after-school activities meant that Kurt and Blaine didn't get a chance to be alone together again for another six days. When they finally did, it was completely unplanned – Blaine's mother was suddenly called into work to deal with a crisis, leaving the two of them alone in the house.
Blaine hardly had time to shut off the DVD player before Kurt was dragging him upstairs by the hand. He spun on his heel once they made it to Blaine's room and fell backwards onto the bed, pulling Blaine down as well; Blaine ended up sprawled across Kurt. "Hi," he said once he was there, crossing his arms over Kurt's broad chest and grinning down at him.
"Hi," Kurt answered with a soft smile of his own. He took a breath – not particularly deep, but still fortifying – and said, "I want to go down on you."
Blaine's eyes widened. "Oh."
Kurt was blushing, a little, but his voice was direct and he wasn't evading Blaine's eyes. "I've been… thinking about it. A lot," he went on. Blaine wasn't sure if Kurt thought he needed convincing, or if he knew exactly what he was doing to him. "And I really want to."
Blaine swallowed. His voice was still a little strangled when he said, "Okay."
Kurt cracked a grin at that, and Blaine was comforted by the fact that he wasn't the only one bubbling over with giddy excitement and nervousness. His hands landed on Blaine's thighs, and then he rolled them over without so much as a warning; Kurt ended up between Blaine's thighs, which spread wide to accommodate the breadth of Kurt's torso and pressed down against the mattress under his weight. Blaine was immediately, almost embarrassingly, hard: dizzy and dry-mouthed and straining against Kurt's abdomen.
Kurt paused, a light frown of consideration drawing his eyebrows down. "The pamphlets said you should use condoms for oral sex."
"Oh," Blaine said. "I mean, okay. Whatever you want."
"I'd rather not. I don't think it'll taste very good." Kurt rose up onto his elbows. "If you promise not to come in my mouth – not just yet, anyway–"
"Yes, yes, absolutely," Blaine swore. "I will – I mean, I promise that I won't."
Kurt grinned at him. Then his hands were at his belt, undoing it and pulling down his zipper. Blaine lifted up his hips, then his legs, as Kurt tugged his jeans and underwear down. Kurt resettled between his legs once he was stripped at the waist, hands laid gently but firmly on the inside of Blaine's thighs. "Oh," Kurt said, a small exhalation. "I didn't get a chance to really look last time." He wrapped his hand around the base of Blaine’s cock, gave it a few light strokes, and stared; he dragged his gaze away and looked up at Blaine's eyes. "You're really hot," he said with soft sincerity. Blaine had to bite his lip to stop from outright whimpering at the sight of Kurt hovering over his cock. Kurt's shoulders looked wider when Blaine was looking down on them.
"I'm just going to – start, then," Kurt said; he licked his lips and Blaine did whimper then, which seemed to give Kurt a sudden burst of confidence. "Tell me if something's good. Or bad," he added quickly. "Especially then."
Then he leaned down and wrapped his lips around the tip.
Kurt had asked for feedback, but Blaine felt like he had been suddenly stripped of speech; it wasn't "good," it was amazing, indescribable – words were inadequate for the draw of Kurt's lips, the hot suction of his mouth, the soft exploratory brushes of his tongue. Blaine's hands fluttered uselessly at his sides; he wanted to hold onto something, but grabbing Kurt's head seemed rude and pushy. They landed on Kurt's shoulders instead, and Blaine sucked in a shocked breath. The hard flex of muscle under his hands hit him like an electric surge and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Kurt felt his pulse jump on his tongue. "Fuck, Kurt, Kurt, you've got to stop–" he sputtered, scrabbling at his shoulders. Kurt pulled off of his cock with a wet smack and sat up on his knees. Blaine wound one arm around Kurt's neck and more clung to him than sat up himself.
A rumbling moan escaped him and he leaned in for a kiss. Kurt turned his head so he got his cheek and demurred, "I was just–"
"I don't care, I don't care, please," Blaine gasped. Kurt turned back into his mouth, kissed him, dragged his fist up Blaine's cock until the spit-slick head slipped against his hot palm, and Blaine came all over his hand.
Blaine nearly literally tore Kurt's pants off in his haste to get his fly undone; thankfully the stitching held out as Blaine yanked it open and stuffed his hand down the front. Kurt was hot, hard, and leaking, and Blaine groaned and kissed Kurt a little harder. He didn't have much room to move his hand: he could drag his palm up and down the shaft and press it against Kurt's abdomen, but before he could gather the presence of mind to finish taking Kurt's pants off, Kurt shuddered and came.
Kurt fell forward and they lied there silently for a while, Kurt half-lying on him, half-tucked in the crook of his arm.
"That was easier than I thought it would be," Kurt finally mused.
"That was… wow. Just… wow," Blaine said, and Kurt huffed out a pleased laugh. Blaine looked down and realized for the first time what a mess he’d made of Kurt’s clothes. "Crap, I'm sorry about your shirt."
"That's okay," Kurt shrugged. "It doesn't really fit me anymore."
A certain amount of incivility was to be expected when speaking to Santana. Blaine had known that before he'd transferred; he had vivid memories of her threatening Karofsky with hidden razorblades and, even more recently, of her orchestrating a piano torching.
He hadn't necessarily believed that he was responsible for her decision to leave New Directions, but he'd approached her about it anyway. It had been clear at the time that Finn wasn't going to reach out to her diplomatically on behalf of the team – not when she was insulting him worse than anybody. If he was going to be snippy and rude to Blaine for no reason, then Blaine didn't expect him to rise above it when he had a legitimate complaint against someone.
And the last time he'd addressed concerns about solo distribution, he'd gotten to make out with Kurt. Blaine had thought that was a pretty awesome track record for conflict resolution.
Unfortunately, it hadn't gone well at all. He'd tried to point out that cheery choir room numbers for the sake of morale didn't have any bearing on who would be getting competition leads. Santana had laughed in his face, told him he had no idea how Mr. Schuester operated, Shelby had ten times the directing talent, and she'd never go back to being literally hidden behind Finn on stage because Mr. Schuester didn't understand simple height arrangements.
"But you'd be in the front either way," she'd added snidely.
They hadn't spoken again outside of West Side Story rehearsals, and the play had ended weeks ago.
Blaine had still readily agreed when Kurt proposed that they sing Fuckin' Perfect to her, but he hadn't been surprised by her reaction.
Santana gave them her sarcastic clap and stood up. "Are we done, or are Bambi and Thumper going to make me sit through another one?"
Blaine pursed his lips. Bambi and Thumper? Really?
"This will work," Finn insisted after Santana walked out, with Brittany hurrying after her. "She just needs to know that we're here to support her, not as another excuse for a solo." He looked at Blaine. "Maybe it would help if you actually looked at her while you were singing."
Blaine was overcome with a very vivid fantasy of punching Finn in the face. The fantasy was soured a bit by the fact that he would have to stand on a chair to get it to land satisfyingly in the center of his face.
He counted to five, slowly exhaled, and made a mental note to hit the gym later.
It was while he was scrubbing his hair dry after his shower that Blaine thought of it: his hair. Before Kurt had gotten his summer haircut, there were times when he'd teased a few extra inches out of it. And Blaine certainly had the volume to do the same.
Blaine dropped his towel over the bench, grabbed some product and a comb, and went to work on the hair that was already starting to frizz. He spent a good fifteen minutes spraying and yanking his hair into position. Then he finally stopped, looked at the reflection of the monstrosity that was on his head, got his gel out of his bag, and flattened it all down again with a sigh.
Blaine was spending a lot more time in the gym. Finn had stretched his politeness to the limits and he felt like he was constantly a hair's breadth away from yelling at him. More infighting was the last thing New Directions needed at the moment, but it was hard when Finn's new method of ignoring his opinions was to look right over his head when he was talking.
On the upside, his arms looked better than they ever had before. His waist was still tiny and his legs were still short, but at least he was capable of growing in some way.
He'd lost track of how long he'd been hitting the bag – long enough to work up a sweat and for his hair to start to unstick, at least – when he landed a punch and, instead of swaying with it, the bag stopped short. Blaine's rhythm faltered, body and mind thrown off by the interruption; why–?
"There you are."
Oh. There was Kurt, with a flirty lilt and a sweet smile and his hand laid flat on the other side of the bag. "Hi," Blaine said, smile a reflex. His eyes drifted down to Kurt's raised arm. It was winter and Kurt was bundled up in one of his many coats, but Blaine could still see the way his bicep bulged.
Kurt's eyes skated down Blaine's front, then back up to his. "Are you done?" he asked hopefully, and Blaine's smile widened.
"Absolutely." Whatever temper he hadn't burned off already had dissipated with Kurt's appearance.
"Good," Kurt said, voice going soft as he leaned in closer. "Because we should practice for sectionals."
The gleam in Kurt's eyes said everything that probably shouldn't be in the McKinley gym. Blaine swallowed and focused his mind on the feat of successfully unstrapping his gloves. Once he had his hands free and his imagination quelled he met Kurt's gaze again.
"I need to take a shower," he said. The "flirting with me right now could make things difficult" was implied.
"You have a shower at your house," Kurt said.
Well, Blaine couldn't argue with that logic.
Kurt waited outside the locker room while Blaine stuffed his things into his bag and pulled his coat on over his workout clothes; he wasn't going to change back into his all-Brooks Brothers ensemble while he was still damp with perspiration.
Kurt beamed at him when he emerged from the locker room and offered his hand. Blaine clasped it and they walked hand-in-hand through the hallway, all but abandoned at this time in the afternoon.
"What's your workout routine?" Blaine wondered, as they swung their arms and he watched the shift of Kurt's muscles out of the corner of his eye. Outside of booty camp he couldn't recall Kurt exercising, unless circling the mall all day counted.
"Hmmm, I do some aerobics," Kurt said casually. "To keep limber."
Maybe he should start eating whole cheesecakes, Blaine mused, because Kurt was clearly doing something right.
"For dancing!" Kurt blurted. "I meant I keep limber for dancing." Blaine glanced over at him, not bothering to hide his grin. Kurt huffed and rolled his eyes, but he smiled, too, and squeezed Blaine's hand.
The cold air hit Blaine's sweaty skin the moment they stepped outside. He shivered, and Kurt's face folded into contrition. "God, Blaine, sorry, I didn't think."
"It's fine," Blaine said, and was about to suggest they power-walk across the parking lot. But then Kurt slipped his hand from his and wound it around his back instead; he got a hold on Blaine's waist and tugged him flush against his side. Heat spread through Blaine, and not just what he was soaking up from Kurt's warm torso and enveloping arm. He stayed there in the crook of it, and didn't hurry to the car.
Finding time to be alone together was even harder after sectionals. Before, Finn had opted to go over to Rachel's house rather than get caught in the middle of his girlfriend and his brother. But now that Kurt and Rachel were friends again, and he and Finn had also buried the hatchet, Rachel came over to the Hummel/Hudson's to see Kurt as often as she did to see Finn, whom had stopped avoiding Blaine's company.
And then there was Sam.
Blaine didn't begrudge Sam a place to stay, of course. But he couldn't help being frustrated when Kurt and he were in the middle of something and had to pull away because they heard the front door open.
The third time it happened, Blaine had been straddling Kurt on his bed and jerking off while he rolled back against Kurt's cock. He nearly let out a sob when he heard Sam's key in the lock, but he let go of his cock and started to climb off.
"Wait," Kurt whined, grabbing his hips. "Please, I'm nearly, let's just finish," he babbled and tugged at him. Blaine didn't need any more persuading; he sank back down and muffled a moan as Kurt's cock slid along the cleft of his ass. Kurt's hands moved down to cup and pull at his cheeks until he was pressed more firmly between them, and then he resuming whimpering softly and rocking up against him. Blaine took himself in hand again and watched the way Kurt's abdomen flexed as thrust his hips up and the rapid rise-and-fall of his flushed chest.
It didn't take long, for either of them. Kurt came with breathy gasp on the curve of Blaine's ass, and Blaine soon followed. He slumped forward with a groan, one hand braced against Kurt's torso, the other hovering awkwardly for a moment before he brought it to his mouth and licked his palm off with a broad swipe of his tongue.
"I have tissues," Kurt said.
"But this way I don't have to get up," Blaine said, lying down on Kurt's chest. He unfolded his legs and stretched them out, cracking his toes. Kurt's hands drifted down to his thighs and he dug soothing, massaging fingers into the muscle – until his fingers slipped through some of the come that had dripped down onto the back of Blaine's thigh. Kurt wrinkled his nose and pulled his hand away, but Blaine caught his wrist before he could order Blaine off and get up for a tissue, and drew Kurt's fingers into his mouth.
Kurt's expression was a combination of distaste and fascination as he watched Blaine suck his fingers off and tongue at the skin between them. "You actually like that?" he asked.
Blaine released Kurt's fingers with a pop. He laced them with his own instead, and turned Kurt's hand over to kiss the back. "Sure."
Kurt looked dubious. "Doesn't it taste bad?"
"Mm, kinda like seawater. Depends on what you eat." Blaine grinned at him. "For the record, mine tastes better than yours."
Kurt scoffed. Blaine's grin widened and he leaned forward to kiss him, but Kurt clapped his free hand over his mouth. "Uh-uh. Go get something to drink."
Blaine pouted, but it wasn't very effective with Kurt's hand still covering his mouth. He sighed and sat up.
"Do you want anything?"
"Some warm milk would be lovely, thank you," Kurt said, smiling up at him so beatifically that Blaine couldn't even tease him about it. Blaine smiled back, gave Kurt's hand an affectionate squeeze, and slipped off the bed. He grabbed a wipe from Kurt's vanity and rubbed off the rest of the come before he reached for his pants. Mindful of Kurt's eyes on him, he made a little show of wiggling into them.
Kurt laughed. "Hurry up so I can kiss you."
Blaine loped downstairs. He was well-acquainted with the kitchen, and he got himself a glass of juice and gulped it down before he started making Kurt's milk. He was getting the nutmeg out of the cupboard when Sam walked into the kitchen; Blaine nearly spilled it across the counter. As loopy on love and sex as he was, he'd completely forgotten that Sam had come home.
"Hi, Sam," he said, smiling disarmingly and going about his business like he always stood around in the Hummel/Hudson's kitchen with bare feet and no shirt. "Good afternoon."
Sam's eyebrows rose slightly, but all he said was, "You, too," and started looking through the cupboard.
Blaine stuck Kurt's mug in the microwave and silently urged the timer to move faster as the silence stretched on. At least, he thought, Sam wasn't shirtless too. He was most of the time at the gym, and it could be discouraging.
He glanced over at Sam, and it occurred to Blaine that the shirt he was wearing looked familiar – and much too designer for Sam's usual tastes. "Is that Marc Jacobs?"
"Huh?" Sam glanced up, then followed Blaine's line of sight. "Oh, maybe? Kurt cleaned out his closet and told me to go through his old clothes before he put them on eBay." Sam went back to reading the nutritional information on the back of the chips. "These fit much better than the ones he gave me last spring. It's kinda crazy how much he grew since I left. It's great, though, Finn's clothes are way too big."
"Yeah," Blaine said, as the microwave beeped.
Christmas time was the biggest shopping season of the year, and Kurt liked to take advantage of that. Blaine had known that last year, but now that they were boyfriends Kurt wasn't shy about dragging him around town for sales.
Blaine wasn't the bargain hunter that Kurt was. He liked being fashionable, but he had his staple stores that he went to when the new collections came in and he didn't branch out much from that. For Kurt shopping was more like a treasure hunt, and a couple hours of searching could turn up some perfect new piece.
Blaine didn't mind it; on the contrary, any day spent with Kurt was a good day, and the way Kurt lit up when he found something he liked was adorable. Blaine had even found things for himself that he wouldn't have otherwise, and he and Kurt had only fought over a bow tie once. Considering the overlap that existed with their personal styles, Blaine thought that was quite an accomplishment. Just one more in a long list of reasons why Blaine was sure they were meant to be.
(When they stopped off at the gas station, Blaine bought another packet of gum while Kurt was busy filling up the tank.)
That morning they were going to thrift stores rather than braving the mall. One of the ones that Kurt frequented was down the street from a church; every year at this time, Kurt explained as he drove them there, the store was suddenly flooded with donations, prompted by a sermon about charity and the true spirit of the season. And thanks to the older members of the congregation, Kurt regularly found valuable vintage items this way.
He made a beeline for a bowl of brooches as soon as they arrived, and Blaine began to make a slow circle around the store and browse. The place was obviously not used to holding as much product as it currently was; the shelves and bins were overflowing, and even more stuff was piled onto the floor. Blaine felt like he was in an episode of Hoarders. He was trying to wiggle a (very nice but unfortunately stretched-out) cardigan back onto an overstuffed rack when his gaze fell onto a stack of shoe boxes. Perched on top were a pair of simple, stylish black boots.
Blaine scooped them up immediately and turned them over in his hands. They were in good condition – scuffed around the toes, but not worn through. Their size had been rubbed off from the inside sole, so Blaine toed off his own shoes and sat down to tug the boots on. He zipped them up and wiggled his toes; a little loose, he mused, but not so much so that he felt like they were going to fall off. He stood up to see how they felt, and a grin overtook his face with the sudden new perspective.
Granted, it wasn't like he was on stilts; it was only about two inches. But two inches made all the difference when he strolled back over to Kurt, who looked up from his brooches, and actually had to look up.
"Beatle boots?" Kurt asked, eyeing them a moment before shooting him a grin. "Very nice. Are you going to get them?"
"Yes, I think so," Blaine said, a little breathless with his new vantage point. God, his boyfriend was really, really hot. Not that Blaine could ever forget, but sometimes it knocked him over all the same.
Blaine paid for the boots with a crisp five-dollar bill and wore them out of the store, his other shoes tucked under his arm. As soon as he was on the frosty sidewalk it was clear they needed some insolation, but Blaine was so caught up in admiring Kurt – the slope of his nose, the fan of his eyelashes, the swell of his lip – from his new perspective that he hardly noticed. Occasionally Kurt caught his eye and grinned in that pleased/sweet/exultant way of his that made Blaine actually tingle.
They tried two more thrift stores – one was a bust, although they did get some laughs out of the aggressively ugly knit Christmas sweaters, and one had a belt that Kurt fell in love with – before they called it a day and went to the Lima Bean.
"Where to next?" Kurt asked, once they'd washed down a reindeer cookie and climbed back into Kurt's car. "Finn picked up our tree this morning; want to come over and help decorate it? It should be fun, though apparently Rachel has very strong opinions about star tree toppers," Kurt added with friendly exasperation.
"That does sound fun," Blaine said, and it did: now that everyone had made up, going over to the Hummel/Hudson's felt a bit like being wrapped in a giant fluffy blanket. Especially when he and Kurt got Sam on their charades team during game night. Just because they were friends again didn't mean he didn't enjoy beating Finn. "But my dad had a layover on his business trip, so he's visiting my brother."
"The mysterious brother you have no photos of," Kurt said, face a picture of mock intrigue.
Blaine smiled. (He didn't care to get into it, but Cooper had taken all of them when he left home to save money on head shots.) "And while he's away, Mom's taking the opportunity to visit her disapproving aunt in Columbus."
"So what you're saying is that your house is empty," Kurt summarized.
"Until eight at least," Blaine nodded.
"Well, I'm sure we can still make it to mine for dinner even with a detour," Kurt said as he made a U-turn. His hand crept over the center console; Blaine caught it with a grin and cradled it in his lap, stroking his thumb over Kurt's knuckles while Kurt drove as quickly as he dared on wintry roads.
They didn't open the front door so much as cram the key in and crash into it; the knob hit the wall with a clang that echoed through the chilly house. Blaine took the stairs to his bedroom backwards, getting started on the various buckles and snaps on Kurt's coat on the way up, until his heel hit a step and he nearly fell onto his ass. Kurt grabbed him around the elbows and kept him up. "Whoa," he said. "Careful."
Blaine got his feet back underneath him even as he envisioned throwing himself at Kurt and seeing if Kurt could carry him up the last few steps to his bedroom. He swallowed, tightened his grip on Kurt's lapels, and tugged him up to kiss. Kurt tilted up into it eagerly, his grip on Blaine's elbows loosening and then sliding down Blaine's forearms. His hands encircled Blaine's and squeezed lightly as he opened his mouth, and Blaine groaned and pressed in deeper.
He finally rocked back, letting go of Kurt's coat but keeping hold of his hands. He got to watch Kurt's tongue slip back behind his lips and his eyes flutter open again, smokey and crackling, and the tempo of his heart picked up just from that. Blaine pulled Kurt into his bedroom by their clasped hands, and as soon as he had the door closed again he was pressing Kurt up against it. He leaned in to suck beneath the hinge of Kurt's jaw and was momentarily thrown off when he realized his new couple inches made the familiar move awkward. He bit his ear instead, which made Kurt gasp and roll into him.
Blaine pushed the flaps of Kurt's coat aside to splay his hands over Kurt's chest and dragged them down, feeling out the shape of Kurt underneath the pullover, shirt, and undershirt Kurt was currently wearing. His legs folded underneath him and he gripped Kurt's waist to steady himself as he eased down to his knees.
He nuzzled into Kurt's belly with a happy sigh and pressed a kiss just below his navel. He began to unbuckle Kurt's belt. "Oh," Kurt let out a breath and Blaine felt his stomach dip under his mouth. "So you're in a hurry."
Blaine paused in the middle of untucking Kurt's shirt and looked up. Kurt's eyes were wide and bright, and spots of color were already appearing on his cheeks. "Sorry, do you want me to come back up there?" he asked. "It's just I've been thinking about sucking you off all afternoon."
"No, go ahead," Kurt said, voice going high the way it did sometimes when they were like this. "You have good ideas."
Grinning, Blaine rucked Kurt's shirts up to his chest and bared the firm abdomen underneath. He stroked his thumbs over the space just below Kurt's ribcage and leaned in to suck spots onto his soft skin. Kurt's legs spread, making the tenting in the front of his jeans all the more noticeable. His hands spidered against the door when Blaine's lips dragged across the valley beside Kurt's hipbone, and his hips twitched into his mouth. Blaine let go of Kurt's top layers, which slid a little farther down Kurt's torso but not enough to get in the way, and unzipped his jeans with a good pull. He pressed his mouth to the side of Kurt's hard cock and blew out a hot breath through the cotton.
"Blaine." Kurt squirmed and pushed forward, and his clothed cock rubbed against Blaine's cheek. (Blaine was suddenly glad that he'd shaved that morning, as he was struck with the thought of accidentally sandpapering Kurt's cock with his face. Maybe, Blaine considered, he should start shaving every day.)
"Blaine." The way Kurt said his name had him straining against his own zipper. "I thought you were in a hurry."
Blaine flashed him a quick grin, peeled Kurt's jeans and underwear down, took Kurt's cock in hand, and wrapped his lips around the tip. Kurt's head hit the door with a thunk as he threw it back and one of his hands left the wood to clutch him. After his fingers scrambled uselessly at the back of Blaine's head for a moment without finding a grip, Kurt's hand slid around to cup Blaine's jaw. Blaine let out a loud moan that startled even himself, but he hadn't expected having his face held while he was giving head would feel so good.
They'd done this a handful of times in the past month, but never like this before: with one of them on their knees while the other stood up. Having Kurt loom over him like this made Blaine's heart pound and his cock throb and all he could think was yes, yes, yes as he worked mouth and hand in tandem and relished the clean savory tang of Kurt's skin and the hot slide in. Kurt's fingers scrunched up against his jaw as he whimpered above him, catching on his ear – God, Blaine loved Kurt's hands, and they seemed so much bigger with his palm cupping half of Blaine's face. A surge of heat left him flushed and he pulled back to tongue at the head of Kurt's cock and breathe.
Blaine dropped his other hand off from where it had been resting on Kurt's thigh and clawed at the fastening of his own trousers. He shoved his hand down the front of his pants and tugged his balls to keep from coming right there, and nearly did anyway when Kurt let out a breathy little "Oh, Blaine…" His hand slipped down, middle finger dragging along the shell of Blaine's ear, and Blaine squeezed his eyes closed. He pushed his hand deeper into his pants, lower, below his balls, until he could just skim a fingertip below the rim of his hole and think, if…
He sucked Kurt's cock harder, drawing as much of it into his mouth as he could (which was, unfortunately, not nearly as much as he wanted to). It was seconds before Kurt was gasping, "ah, ah!" and his hand dropped down to grab Blaine's shoulder and push him back.
Blaine rocked back onto his heels as he let Kurt's cock slip from his lips, and he licked them to chase the taste. His eyes cracked open and focused on it, flushed with blood and molten in his palm. Now was when Blaine got back up where Kurt could kiss him while he gave him the last few strokes he needed to come in his hand. That was how it had ended all the other (four) times they'd done this. But Blaine could feel his spit running down under the ring of his fingers, and when he looked up and saw the way Kurt's chest expanded with each breath and Kurt looking down on him he groaned and blurted out, "Oh, God, Kurt, you gotta, please, come in my mouth."
Kurt swayed against the door. "What?" he croaked.
"Please, please, please," Blaine panted, feeling like he was overheating in his blazer and sweater vest. "Let me?"
Kurt let out a soft exhalation like he was trying to speak, and then gave Blaine a jerky nod. Both of his hands came up to grasp Blaine around the neck, and Blaine grabbed his thighs to keep him from sliding down the door as he drew his cock back into his mouth. All it took was a tight pull with his lips and his tongue sliding along the underside before Kurt let out a soft cry and came.
It wasn't really that much, and if Blaine had been able to close his mouth he could have swallowed it all, but with Kurt's cock stretching his lips some of it dripped down his chin. He tried to suck it all down with a big slurp that made Kurt moan and shake and push in a little, which was dizzyingly hot but then he had to pull off. Blaine turned his head to the side and coughed to clear his throat, and then poked his tongue out to lick at the corner of his mouth. He wiped the last of the spit and come off with his hand as Kurt tugged at him, urging him up. He wobbled for a moment – he'd forgotten about the heels – but he let out a pleased laugh when Kurt held him up by grabbing his ass.
Kurt pushed off of the door and held him close as he buried his face in his neck and panted. Blaine's hands landed on his arms and he squeezed, digging into the muscle through the three layers of sleeve.
"Sorry," Kurt murmured.
Blaine blinked. "What for?"
"Thrusting. I'm sorry," Kurt repeated and pressed a sweet kiss to the side of Blaine's neck.
"Oh," Blaine said, and rubbed Kurt's arms reassuringly. "I liked that. We should work on it."
Kurt pulled back enough to look him in the eyes, his own dark. One of the things Blaine loved about Kurt's eyes was how obvious it was when they were dilated; how overtaken it made him look when he was turned on. "You liked that, right?" he asked. "It didn't sound gross?"
"No," Kurt murmured breathlessly. "Not gross." He started to walk forward, and then his hands dropped down to tuck under Blaine's thighs, and the next thing he knew Kurt had hoisted him up and tossed him back onto the bed. Blaine hit his mattress with a bounce and a stunned whimper, and Kurt hopped on as well, making the bed jostle and dip under his weight. He kneeled over him as he shrugged out of his coat and pulled his sweater, shirt, and undershirt off over his head all at once. When he reemerged his hair was wild and he was naked save for the jeans and briefs that were sliding down around his knees. Blaine groaned and had to squeeze the base of his cock again.
Kurt grasped his wrist and pulled it out of his pants. He pushed at Blaine's blazer, so Blaine sat up to slip his arms out of the sleeves. Kurt reached behind Blaine's back to grab the bottom of his sweater vest and pull it over his head. Blaine sank back against the mattress once it was off and Kurt followed him, crawling over his body and settling down on top of him. Blaine shifted his legs wider until Kurt's thigh fell between them. He threw his head back and groaned as he began to rub up against the solid muscle.
Kurt's lips latched onto his bared neck and his fingers sought out the collar of his shirt. The buttons slipped free with a minimum of fumbling, and then Kurt's soft mouth was moving down, pressing kisses to each new spot of skin as it appeared. Blaine whined when the thigh he'd been grinding against slipped away, and he shivered lightly when he was exposed to the cool air, but it was impossible to find fault with Kurt's warm mouth. He arched up into it, trying to follow it as Kurt moved from the dip above his breastbone, to a peaked nipple, to the thin skin over his ribs, to his soft belly. Kurt slid farther down the bed until he had settled between Blaine's spread thighs. Blaine's pants had already slipped down his legs, and Kurt freed his cock with two fingers tucked into the elastic of his underwear and a tug.
"God, Kurt," Blaine panted. His fingers slid into Kurt's thick hair – to grip, not to pull, as per their previously-discussed terms – and he chanced a look down. It was almost too much to see the span of Kurt's shoulders between his legs. On a whim he slid one of his legs up, hooking his knee over Kurt's shoulder and letting his leg hang over his back. Oh, right, he thought fuzzily. Still wearing the heels.
Kurt turned his head and planted a kiss to the soft skin of Blaine's inner thigh. His leg tightened and his fingernails scratched Kurt's scalp.
"Fuck, Kurt, I'm so – if you suck my cock I'm going to come," Blaine warned.
"I hear you," Kurt murmured, breath tickling Blaine's skin. Then he leaned forward, licked a wide stripe over Blaine's balls, closed his lips around one, and sucked.
Blaine hadn't known he could even make sounds like that.
He came back down he was gasping and twisted tight around Kurt, who'd gone back to sucking on his thigh. His head felt like it was full of static but it slowly faded along with the tingling. Soon all that was left was the prickle of the cold air on his sweaty skin. He relaxed the fist his hand had made in Kurt's hair and let his leg flop off his shoulder. Kurt was grinning when he met his eyes.
"C'mere," Blaine said, trying to beckon with a boneless arm. "Come cuddle."
Kurt pushed himself up the bed and crashed into Blaine, squishing him between the mattress and his body. Blaine loved it, and he looped his arms around Kurt's waist and held him closer. Kurt shifted around for a few moments, and it took Blaine that long to realize he was shucking his jeans the rest of the way off. Then Kurt curled around him fully, and Blaine let out a happy sigh as they slotted together.
"I got a hair in my mouth," Kurt commented.
Blaine would have winced if he weren't feeling so blissed out, post-orgasmic and secured beneath Kurt's weight. "Sorry," he said. "I could shave more."
Kurt hummed and said, "It was worth it."
"Mmmm, good to know." Blaine tucked his face into the juncture of Kurt's shoulder.
Kurt laughed softly. His hand came up to cradle the back of Blaine's head. "You're all strung out."
"Never held out that long before," he mumbled.
"We're getting good at this," Kurt said, sounding extraordinarily pleased. Blaine cracked a grin.
"We were always good. Now we're getting great."
Kurt laughed again and started to sit up. Blaine tightened his grip on him and said, "Nooo, where are you going?"
"Under the covers. Your house is cold, Blaine."
"We don't leave the heater running while no one's home," he grumbled, unhappily letting Kurt slip out of his arms. He finally kicked off his shoes as Kurt drew back the sheets, and then slid under the blankets together.
Kurt laced Blaine's fingers with his and scooted closer until their noses were brushing together.
Blaine hesitated for a moment before he thought, what the hell. "Kurt?"
"Yeah?" Kurt's eyes slid back open.
"Could we spoon?"
Kurt blinked. "Sure," he said.
Blaine disentangled their hands and rolled over before Kurt had a chance to misinterpret. Kurt's arm slipped around his middle and tugged him back tight into his chest, and Blaine let out a happy sigh at the way their bodies fit together. He trailed his hand slowly up Kurt's arm and then took his hand again. Kurt laid his cheek against Blaine's and settled down for a nap, but Blaine stayed up, thinking.
Kurt's seemingly unending growing up – and out – had had Blaine preoccupied with the fact that he was losing things about Kurt that he'd liked. He'd never considered that he might like what he was getting even more. But he couldn't ignore how much he enjoyed having Kurt wrap him up like this, nor did he really want to.
Blaine was excited about being on television; everyone was, even if their viewership was probably only going to be in the double digits. He just wasn't excited about being directed by Artie again – he had a tendency to get overly and arbitrarily critical about random details.
It wasn't as bad as Blaine had feared. There was plenty of rushed, antsy energy on set, but New Directions was used to doing things on the fly, and the cheerios were used to learning routines under Coach Sylvester's instruction, which made Artie's style look laissez-faire. He had also let Kurt and Blaine wear their own clothes, which was a major victory. Kurt refused to talk about the first Officer Krupke costume Artie had tried to get him to wear. Which was understandable, though privately Blaine had liked the booty shorts.
On the whole, things were going well – except Artie kept lamenting that they couldn't get a box for Blaine to stand on because he wanted to get long shots while they were dancing, but he also wanted to pan from Finn to Blaine and have Blaine's head actually in the shot, and maybe Blaine should stay on the second floor during the duration of the show, and on and on…
Blaine stayed in character and put up with it, since they were going live in two days and they had bigger problems to work out, like making sure the dancers didn't run into the piano. Blaine ended up sitting on the back of the love seat after Finn and Puck showed up – but so did Kurt, so Blaine didn't see why it had been necessary to make a big deal out of it.
He'd thought he'd done a good job of masking his frustration, but apparently not enough. "Are you okay?" Kurt asked, once they'd dropped Mercedes off and Blaine's car was idling in front of Kurt's house.
"Just Artie," he said, rolling his eyes as the irritation sprang up fresh. "If he's so worried about the composition of his shots then he shouldn't put Finn and Rachel next to each other. I don't need to climb on furniture to be in the frame."
"I thought you liked climbing on furniture," Kurt said, arching an eyebrow.
"That's for performances," Blaine grumbled. "It's not like I have a Napoleon complex."
Kurt's lips quirked up. "Oh, really?"
"Yes," Blaine huffed. "And for the record, Napoleon wasn't even short! The French just used a different system of measurement!" A small silence followed his assertion. Blaine glanced over at Kurt and saw that the humor had disappeared from his face, replaced with a thoughtful, almost concerned expression.
"…Okay, that was a little defensive," Blaine said.
"Does it really bother you?" Kurt asked. "Because I could… I don't know, stop wearing heels…"
"I like your heels," Blaine said, shaking his head. "It doesn't bother me, I… like that you're taller than me," he admitted. He shrugged and said, "I just don't like being shorter than you."
A furrow appeared between Kurt's eyebrows. "Blaine, that doesn't make any sense," he finally said.
Blaine shrugged again. "Yeah, well… it sounds silly when I say it out loud." He glanced down at his hands on the steering wheel and worried at the plastic with his thumb. "Do you mind me getting smaller than you?"
Kurt let out a little laugh. "Blaine, you're not getting smaller."
"You know what I mean."
Kurt tilted his forehead back against the seat and smiled at him. "Not at all," he said. "Actually…" his smile turned a little shy and he leaned in closer, "I really like it."
"Really?" Blaine asked, leaning in as well.
"Mmm. I never thought about it before, but there're benefits."
Kurt's voice lowered and softened while he was talking. "Like what?" Blaine asked eagerly, matching Kurt's volume and sliding a little closer.
Kurt sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, then whispered, "Like I wouldn't have to stand on tiptoe if I wanted you to fuck me up against a wall."
Blaine breathed out, "Kurt."
"Just something to think about," Kurt said airily, face a little too pink for nonchalance, as he straightened up in his seat.
"I definitely will be," Blaine said, sliding a hand partway up Kurt's leg.
Kurt bit back a smile, "Okay, we need to stop now."
"Finn and Rachel went back to her place," Blaine reminded him.
"Yeah, but Sam is still here. And you have to get home, anyway," Kurt added reluctantly.
Blaine sighed and withdrew his hand. Kurt unlatched his seatbelt. He bent over the center console to give Blaine a soft, lingering kiss goodbye. "I'm not going to outgrow you," Kurt murmured, breath warm on Blaine's cheek. He held Blaine's gaze. "Okay?"
"Okay," Blaine whispered back.
Kurt grinned at him, pushed the door open, and slipped out of the car. Blaine waited until Kurt had gotten inside the house before he drove home. He found his bedroom in the same state that he'd left it: when he'd been going through his closet for a period-appropriate outfit, he'd started pulling out all of his shirts with big patterns (they tended to swallow a person up) and all of his lighter-colored pants (they made legs look shorter). They were sitting on his bed, folded and waiting to be gotten rid of. Blaine hummed to himself as he put them all away again.