Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/814125.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Blaine_Anderson/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Blaine_Anderson
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Break_Up, Somnophilia, Wet_Dream
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-23 Words: 475
****** All These Empty Nights ******
by thetimesinbetween
Summary
     The first night Blaine sleeps back at his parents’ after staying with
     Kurt for Christmas, he dreams that Kurt is fucking him. (Set mid-
     season four.)
Notes
     Originally posted on tumblr January 2013 here: http://
     thetimesinbetween.tumblr.com/post/40875734974/drabble-because-why-not
See the end of the work for more notes
The first night Blaine sleeps back at his parents’ after staying with Kurt for
Christmas, he dreams that Kurt is fucking him.
He’d gotten a little too warm and woken up before rolling onto his belly and
sinking back under, just a little, in the space between awake and dreaming
where his limbs were loose and heavy and his filter was gone and he could feel
everything.
He feels Kurt’s lips catching on the back of his neck, feels Kurt’s warm damp
breath there too. He feels Kurt’s lovely fingers grasping between his own,
Kurt’s lightly furred calves slotted with his, Kurt’s sharp hipbones pressing
into his ass. And he feels Kurt’s goddamn perfect hot smooth wonderful cock
pressing in deep—and pulling out just a little—and back in, rocking, rocking,
Blaine wants more but can’t move, can’t speak, wouldn’t move if he could, limbs
heavy and lax and open and Kurt feeding his cock deeper pressed against him,
god, is there anything better than this?
Blaine isn’t how long the daydream-dream lasts, but when his eyes blink open of
their own accord he can no longer feel Kurt’s fingers between his and he
realizes he’s drawn his knees up under himself, pushing his ass into the air,
begging.
He closes his eyes hard, but it doesn’t work like that, of course. Kurt isn’t
some creature to be summoned with a wish. Blaine feels his eyes burn, and when
he squeezes them shut tighter, not ready to face the day, the empty house, the
empty hours ahead, the pillow steadily dampens beneath his face. Finally he
wraps a hand around his still-hard cock and comes in two vicious strokes.
He rolls over, really crying now, and he’s not sure why but he’s way too hot
and not really properly awake and he misses Kurt, he misses him, he just saw
him but it’s not enough, of course it’s not enough with Kurt, not enough
conversation and not enough quiet time and not enough singing and, god, never
enough touching. There had been hardly any touching this time—just a hug at the
ice rink and a hug goodbye, both excruciatingly short, and the occasional
literal brush of the fingertips. Blaine can hardly stand it, he doesn’t know
why he feels the lack so much when Kurt apparently doesn’t, but his skin
prickles with it, his throat and shoulders tighten. He misses it. Touching.
Misses skin and kisses, misses sweat and come, misses the whole sweep of it
from holding hands to fucking bare, sliding against one another cheek-to-cheek
and feet tangled.
He lets himself cry (because he’s too exhausted to make himself stop and his
parents aren’t home to do it themselves) until he’s too hot to continue, and
then he takes a cold shower and tries to forget he has skin at all.
End Notes
     Please let me know what you think! I will ecstatically read reviews,
     comments, flailing, crying, concrit, essays--anything!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!