Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1583279.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Blaine_Anderson/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Blaine_Anderson, Kurt_Hummel
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-08 Words: 6338
****** When I Wake You (I'll be the first thing you see) ******
by luckie_dee
Summary
     Prompt!anon prompted: Kurt wakes up to Blaine unknowingly jerking him
     off with a  tentacle  *_______* So, this is early!Klaine tentacle
     porn. Plus some backstory.
Notes
     Warnings: Well, tentacle porn. Dub-con due to somnophilia (not
     previously discussed but not unwelcome). Also the following things
     happen to some extent with fingers, tentacles, or dicks: handjobs,
     blowjobs, and fingering/anal sex. A few swear words, and two
     homophobic slurs. Blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to Finn.
     A/N: Loosely follows canon timeline/events through s2. Title from
     “Strange and Beautiful” by Aqualung. As always, all the thanks to the
     beautiful and talented Lindsey for the beta! <3
See the end of the work for more notes
When Kurt drifts back toward consciousness the morning after the first night
he’d spent sharing a bed with Blaine, he’s sprawled on his back, a little too
warm in the August heat that’s mounting early, and very, very hard.
It’s because of the dream, which is still vivid in his mind and, apparently, in
other parts of his body too. He’d been back in that field of flowers with
Blaine — always Blaine now, who’d replaced Taylor Lautner in the fantasy long
ago, long before they’d started dating almost five months earlier. And maybe,
because they’re together now, it’s silly to still be having the dream,
especially now that they’re tentatively and thrillingly pushing past the
borders of making out, into previously uncharted territory where they rut
together with their clothes on and creep their hands underneath, or press
together naked under the cover of darkness or blankets. But the dream still
happens, just like this morning, the blue sky bursting overhead while Blaine
kisses and touches him, stroking softly at first, but then with growing
confidence, slowly building Kurt up until — Kurt had woken up.
Kurt knows that what passes for pornographic in his fantasies would barely
warrant an age restriction on YouTube, but evidently, it had gotten him so
worked up that he’d actually started stroking himself in his sleep. He’s
flushed already from the sticky summer heat and the dream and the warmth of
Blaine beside him, but his face burns even hotter when he registers the touch,
light and slick along the length of his erection. He should probably stop, he
thinks, even though it feels really good, because it’s embarrassing enough that
he had a sex dream about his boyfriend when they were in the same bed — he
doesn’t need Blaine to wake up to this. He goes to pull his hand away —
Which is when he realizes that he has one on his chest and the other flung
above his head on the pillow.
Snapping to full consciousness with his heart pounding in his chest and both
hands accounted for, Kurt twists his head toward Blaine, because if it’s not
him, it has to be Blaine. But Blaine is sleeping blissfully, facing Kurt, his
face soft and his arms wrapped around his pillow. And that means…
“Blaine, oh my god!” Kurt gasps, struggling to push back the covers.
*
Kurt wasn’t even a year old when it had happened, so he doesn’t have any
memories of when they first arrived. The Visitors. The Others. The aliens.
They didn’t look much different from anyone else — designed, perhaps, to blend
in. There were pictures on the news, of course, and a few carefully-controlled
government images that were released after that, and the Visitors just look
like people. Kurt had seen them all since, in history books and magazines and
on TV, and the only thing that makes them look alien is the knowledge that they
are aliens.
Apparently, though, they didn’t blend in well enough, because by Kurt’s fifth
birthday, the news had already carried the report that the last of the Visitors
had died, and that for some reason tied up in their biology, they hadn’t been
able to sustain long-term life on Earth.
That wasn’t the end of it, though. By the time Kurt was ten, the conspiracy
theories were running rampant. They were still alive, they were living among
us, they’d become government spies in exchange for amnesty. All the kids
whispered about them on the playground and at sleepovers. Some of them
snickered at Kurt and accused him of being one. It made him cry — he wasn’t,
but he was different enough that it hardly mattered.
The taunts continued into the halls of McKinley High School. Fag. Alien. Alien
fag. Kurt didn’t cry anymore. Not in front of them, anyway.
And then, when Kurt was seventeen, he met Blaine.
Blaine was everything that Kurt had ever wanted in a friend. Blaine was
actually everything that Kurt had ever wanted in a boyfriend, but he was either
completely oblivious to everything or willfully ignoring it, and Kurt was too
afraid of ruining everything to push the issue.
Kurt didn’t like much about transferring to Dalton, but he did like that Blaine
was there. Within two weeks of Kurt’s enrollment, they’d settled into a routine
of spending all the time together that it was possible to spend: they ate lunch
at the same table and sat beside each other at rehearsal and studied together
in the commons or in Blaine’s room (Blaine boarded; Kurt didn’t). And that was
exactly where Kurt left his phone one night, a fact that he realized only after
he was halfway down the hall. He turned back and gave a half-knock on the door,
not waiting for an answer before he pushed it open with a cheerful, “Sorry, I
forgot my —”
He stopped dead in his tracks, gasping so hard that his own words were choked
off in his throat.
Because Kurt had imagined this scenario before: sometimes Blaine was just
shirtless, like he was at that exact moment, wearing just his uniform pants and
a startled expression. Sometimes he was wearing a towel. Very rarely, when Kurt
was feeling particularly daring, he was naked.
But never in Kurt’s wildest imaginings did he have tentacles.
They were gone almost before Kurt registered what he saw, tucking back up into
Blaine’s sides somehow as he fumbled for his uniform shirt. “Oh my god, Kurt, I
— you’re not supposed to — I’m not supposed to — oh my god,” he stuttered out,
rambling, panicked, until his torso was covered again and he was left standing
in the center of the room, small and scared and looking at Kurt with wide eyes.
“What are you going to do?”
“Do?” Kurt asked dumbly, his voice strained through the shock. “I — Blaine, are
you…?” He was wavering on his feet, he realized. Blaine reached instinctively
for his arm, like he was afraid that Kurt would fall over without something to
steady him. Kurt listed away from his hand, though, moving on his own to sit
shakily on the edge of Blaine’s mattress. “Am I hallucinating?” he wondered
aloud, more to himself than Blaine. “I’m lying at the bottom of the stairs
bleeding to death, aren’t I.”
Blaine perched on the bed too, keeping a cautious distance between them. “No,”
he said, his voice quiet and resigned. “At least I don’t think so.”
“So if I saw you with —” Kurt gestured weakly to Blaine’s side, unable to say
the actual word because it sounded so crazy “— would that be a hallucination?”
Slowly, Blaine shook his head, still watching Kurt with an expression akin to
terror.
“But that means…” Kurt’s voice trailed away. What it meant was so big that he
couldn’t even wrap his mind around it. Forget wrapping his mind around it; he
couldn’t even get a toe hold. “I thought that was all just — scary stories on
the playground,” he finally mumbled, when Blaine just continued to wait him
out. “Monsters hiding in plain sight.”
He could almost feel Blaine shrinking beside him. “Do you think I’m scary?” he
asked, his voice smaller than ever. “A monster?”
Kurt blinked and finally raised his eyes back to Blaine’s face. His gaze was
firm, and stronger than he felt. “I have no idea what you are. I think you
should tell me.”
Blaine swallowed visibly, and then said, “I’m what you think I am. I’m a
Visitor.”
The fallout took the rest of the night. Kurt called his father to tell him that
he’d be sleeping at Rachel’s, and then he called Rachel to tell her to tell
Finn that Kurt was sleeping at her house. Rachel had squealed, of course, when
she found out where he was instead, but when Kurt looked at Blaine, still
huddled on the end of the bed and looking like the world was ending, his “it’s
not like that” was completely honest. This was so much more important than that
ever was.
Kurt learned more over the next ten hours than he ever had in his entire life.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theories weren’t really theories after all
(”There are hundreds of us here, Kurt, but we’re not spying for the government
or planning a hostile takeover, I swear! We just… needed a place to go.”). He
learned that the Visitors’ presence is the biggest political secret in the
world (”I don’t even know if I understand it all, but we have to keep it quiet
for now. They say they’ll let us be ourselves. Some day.”). He learned that
Blaine’s parents came to Earth together, and that Blaine was born after they
arrived (”They put her through so many tests. I feel terrible about it, even
though I know it’s not really my fault. They put me through so many tests, but
I don’t remember that at all.”).
Most importantly, he learned that Blaine was absolutely terrified that he’d
fucked up everything for everyone.
“There was only one thing I had to do,” he said, curling morosely back in on
himself, “and that was not let anyone find out. But now you know. And I don’t
expect you not to tell anyone,” he added quickly, his eyes flying back up to
meet Kurt’s. “That would be too much to ask. I understand. I do.”
“Blaine —”
“— going to be so mad at me. I mean, this is only going to affect everyone on
the entire planet, and all because I couldn’t remember to lock my door. I
wonder if we’ll all have to leave? I suppose that would be better than being
executed. And I won’t be able to hang out with you anymore, oh god —”
“Blaine!”
“What?” he asked reproachfully.
“I’m not… going to tell anyone,” Kurt said, the words surprising even himself.
Blaine paused, examining Kurt’s face closely. “You’re not?”
“Why would I? Especially if you’re not planning to hurt us?” Kurt countered
with more conviction. “I’m going to make a splash in this world, Blaine, and
it’s not going to be because I started an interstellar war. Besides, it would
be really hard to watch Four Weddings together if you’re in a different solar
system.”
The look that Blaine gave him then — warm, disbelieving, almost reverent — made
Kurt’s stomach flip, and suddenly this felt a little more like that than he
would have cared to admit. Which was silly, because as though he didn't have
enough reasons to forget about his stupid crush already, Blaine wasn't even
human. But try telling that to the tap-dancing butterflies in his stomach,
which only fluttered harder when Blaine asked quietly, “You don’t want to —
stop spending time with me?”
“Of course not!” Kurt exclaimed, maybe too loudly. He cleared his throat and
lowered his voice to a more normal level. “You’re my best friend. A few extra
appendages don’t change that.”
Blaine’s face softened further, and he tentatively reached out one hand to
touch Kurt’s. “Thank you. That means — more than you could possibly know. I
always thought that if anyone knew…”
He didn’t continue, but Kurt didn’t press. Instead, he smiled at Blaine, small
and genuine. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”
As Blaine squeezed his hand one last time and drew his own away, they lapsed
into a brief silence. Kurt mourned the loss, but mostly, now that he’d
mentioned them again, his curiosity was niggling. “Would you —” he finally
dared to ask, cautiously “— let me see them again?”
“Really?” Blaine’s tone was doubtful. “You’re probably just going to think
they’re gross.”
“I’m not going to think they’re gross,” Kurt protested with a roll of his eyes,
but when he continued, it was gentler. “I’m just… curious. You don’t have to.”
“No, it’s — it’s fine,” Blaine said hesitantly. He was already reaching up to
the button closest to his throat, working it through the buttonhole, and Kurt
suddenly felt like he’d been dropped in the middle of the Sahara — heat
engulfed his body as his mouth went completely parched. He was just nervous
about the whole tentacle-seeing thing, he tried to tell himself, his gaze
fluttering between Blaine’s lashes covering his downcast eyes and his hands
working down the placket of his shirt. That was all.
Kurt could barely breathe by the time it was open, and he hoped that his face
wasn’t as flushed as it felt. Blaine waited for a split second, his hands
clutching nervously at the fabric as he glanced over at Kurt one last time for
reassurance. Kurt hoped that the look he gave Blaine in return was reassuring,
rather than hopelessly turned on. Whatever he communicated, it must have been
the right thing, because Blaine slid the shirt off — holy shit — and his
tentacles out. Holy. Shit.
It was enough to dull Kurt’s arousal — not because they were gross, but because
he was looking at his best friend, and his best friend had tentacles. There
were eight of them, four on each side in a neat line descending down the sides
of Blaine’s torso, starting several inches under each arm. They were the same
color as his skin, and they were thicker than his fingers but thinner than his
arms. They were longer than his arms, too, but Blaine was holding them
protectively, curved in close to his body. “Well, this is them,” he said
needlessly. “This is me.”
“Wow,” Kurt whispered. He wasn’t sure if wow was the right word, but nothing
more useful was coming to mind. He stared a bit longer, then asked, “Can they —
do things?”
The tentacles hunched a little closer to Blaine’s sides. “Like what? Tricks?
Magic?”
“No!” Kurt said quickly. “No. I don’t know. Can you — pick stuff up with them?”
“Oh,” Blaine replied. “Yeah, I —” Three of the tentacles from the far side of
his body moved, reaching around behind him to collect his uniform shirt, fold
it neatly, and set it on the end of the bed. “I can.”
Kurt blinked. “So they’re…”
“Prehensile, yeah.”
“Huh.” Kurt considered what he’d seen so far. “So you keep them, um… tucked
away? Most of the time, I mean. Does it hurt?”
Even before Kurt was done asking the question, they were retracting, pulling
back under Blaine’s skin, into gill-like slits that sealed shut once the
tentacles were gone. “Not really,” Blaine responded with a shrug. “It just
feels like when you sit in one spot for too long and you have to stretch your
legs. More irritating than anything.”
Kurt stared at Blaine’s trim torso. “How does that work?” He waved a hand at
Blaine’s body. “I mean, you can’t see them. You look —” hot, amazing, so very
half-naked “— normal.”
Blaine glanced down at himself. “Oh. I don’t know. It just does.” He eased the
tentacles back out, and then raised his eyes to Kurt’s again, clearly expecting
further questions.
“Can I touch them?” Kurt blurted out, and his face flamed.
The question clearly startled Blaine, but after a moment’s hesitation, one of
the tentacles on the side closest to Kurt slowly stretched toward him. Kurt
shot Blaine one last are-you-sure-this-is-okay glance, and then lifted a hand
to gently run his fingertips over it, gasping when he made contact. The skin
was smooth, just slightly damp, and a little cooler to the touch than Blaine’s
hands. The tentacle curled lightly around Kurt’s fingers and then unfurled as
he dragged them back along the length of it. “Oh,” he said, as Blaine huffed
out a short, shaky breath, and drew it quickly back.
“Do they bother you?” Blaine asked after an awkward moment of silence.
“No,” Kurt said. “Not at all.”
It was the absolute truth. Blaine’s answering smile was relieved and beautiful.
And a few weeks later, when his best friend was kissing him over a bejeweled
canary coffin, Kurt didn’t spare the tentacles a second’s thought.
*
Since then, the whole thing has become strangely… normal. Blaine’s tentacles
are usually hidden, but as a surprise, Kurt had altered two of his own shirts,
tailoring them to fit Blaine and fashioning resealable slits into the sides. He
had sewed snaps into one shirt and, despite his feelings on the subject,
affixed Velcro to the other. It was truly a case of function before fashion, he
had reassured himself grimly. Besides, it wasn’t his intention that Blaine
would ever wear them in public. In private, they proved quite useful,
particularly when they were cooking or baking together — Blaine was uniquely
helpful in grabbing utensils or ingredients, and uniquely obnoxious in stealing
bites of food and tastes of dough and frosting.
And when things were even more private, when they kissed and then made out and
then (heart-poundingly, daringly) did more, Blaine had kept his tentacles
politely tucked away.
But now, with all four of their hands above the covers and something stroking
lingeringly up and down the length of his cock, Kurt is pretty sure there’s
only one explanation. He finally manages to jerk the covers up and finds his
suspicions confirmed: one of Blaine’s tentacles is snaking out from under his
t-shirt and disappearing down the front of Kurt’s thin, silk pajama pants. Kurt
almost chokes at the sight — the obscene tent that the fabric is making and the
slow, steady motion underneath. “Blaine,” he hisses, the word punching out of
him as the tentacle grips him a little tighter. “Oh. Oh god.”
Beside him, Blaine is stirring, finally being pulled toward consciousness by
Kurt’s flailing and his voice. “Huh? Kurt?”
“Blaine, you’re — oh —” Kurt gives up and lets his head fall back onto his
pillow as the tip of the tentacle rubs under the ridge of the head, working the
words out around gulps of air “— touching me.” It feels really good. It feels
way too good, in a way that neither his hand nor Blaine’s has never felt, warm
and wet and tingling with sensation, and he doesn’t understand —
“Oh my god!” Blaine yelps, and just like that, the pressure around Kurt’s cock
is gone. Kurt gasps out a whine and cants his hips off the bed, just a bit,
before dropping them self-consciously back down, breathing hard. Through the
rushing in his ears, he becomes gradually aware that Blaine is still talking.
“…I am so sorry, Kurt. I mean, they have a mind of their own sometimes, but
that is completely unacceptable. God, I can’t believe —”
Kurt collects his breath enough to interrupt with a weak, “Blaine,” but Blaine
barely pauses in his rambling.
“Just give me a minute to find my shoes and I’ll go —”
It’s that, combined with the rustling of the sheets, that finally breaks Kurt
out of the daze that seems to be emanating directly from the throbbing heat
between his legs. He forces his eyes open and drops his head to the side,
flailing out an arm to catch Blaine’s wrist as he shifts toward the edge of the
bed. “Blaine.”
“What?” Blaine asks. He can’t quite meet Kurt’s gaze, and he's pitifully
hunched in on himself.
“Don’t go,” Kurt says, feeling woefully inarticulate between the shock and how
desperately turned on he still is.
“I think it would be better if —”
“I don’t want you to go,” Kurt interjects. “Please stay here. With me.”
Blaine pauses, but then he shuffles back down, facing Kurt but still not really
looking him in the eye. “I’m really sorry, Kurt.”
“Thank you,” Kurt says. Blaine nods against his pillow, but he doesn’t look up
or otherwise respond. After a beat, Kurt adds, “I’m not mad at you,” because
he’s pretty sure he’s not making that clear.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Blaine mumbles.
“I’m not!”
Blaine fixes him, suddenly, with a look that’s almost angry. “I touched you
without your consent, Kurt. That’s not okay.”
Kurt chews thoughtfully on his lower lip. “I agree with you — in theory. And I
think that we should maybe talk more about — I don’t know — boundaries? In the
future. But Blaine…” He reaches out and gently touches one of Blaine’s tightly-
curled hands. “You’re my boyfriend, and I love you, and I love what we’ve been
doing together. And if you want to wake me up — like that — that is perfectly
fine with me,” he says, feeling color flood his face again. It has to be hotter
than the surface of the sun under the covers. What was he thinking, with a full
set of pajamas and a blanket in August? “Provided that there is absolutely no
chance that any of our parents or friends will walk in,” he adds quickly. “I
don’t care if your tentacles have a mind of their own when you sleep — if my
dad sees that, you’ll never wake up again. But it's okay with me.”
“Really?” Blaine asks. His tone is flat and doubtful. “Kurt, I —”
“Blaine,” Kurt interrupts. “I want you to touch me. This is me giving you my
consent,” he finishes boldly.
“Okay,” Blaine says, staring at him wide-eyed. He otherwise stays still.
Kurt purses his lips. “Blaine, listen to me. This is me giving you my consent.
To touch me.”
“Oh!” Blaine's eyes flare open even farther as a look of realization sweeps
across his features. “Right now?”
Instead of answering, Kurt leans across to capture Blaine's mouth in an
impatient kiss, then uses his lips and a hand on Blaine's shoulder to start
drawing him back across the bed. Blaine is tense at first, but he relents
quickly, chasing Kurt's mouth and scooting closer to his body. When he can tell
that Blaine is really starting to lose himself in it – swiping his tongue out
over Kurt's lips and making quiet, happy noises in his throat – Kurt pulls
away, smiles, and lets his head fall onto the pillow, stretching out on his
back. Blaine returns the smile, looking relieved and a little wicked, and
reaches out to rest his hand on Kurt’s abdomen, bushing a light, warm touch
through the fabric as he bunches it up, baring a strip of skin above Kurt’s
waistband.
It makes Kurt’s stomach flutter and arousal pool eagerly at the juncture of his
thighs, but he forces himself to say, “I meant…”
Blaine’s shoulders stiffen up again, and he draws his hand back quickly. “You
meant —”
“Touch me… like you were before,” Kurt clarifies, his heart thudding heavily in
his chest.
Blaine blinks, his eyelashes fluttering above his flushed cheeks. “Oh. With…”
Kurt nods. “It felt really good.”
“That, uh… makes sense,” Blaine says, ducking his head and chuckling ruefully.
“When I’m feeling, um, good, they produce, well, liquid, I guess? And it
tingles.”
Kurt’s erection, which had retreated significantly and only just started
stirring to life again, surges dizzyingly back to attention. “I am — so glad I
didn’t know that before,” he groans, shifting against the mattress.
“Why?” Blaine asks. He looks puzzled, and maybe like he can’t decide whether he
should be offended or not.
“If I had known that my boyfriend secretes tingling lubricant,” Kurt explains,
too floored by the idea to be very bothered by actually saying the words, “I
would have never stopped thinking about it.”
He's pretty sure that Blaine’s dumbstruck expression is mirroring his own. “You
would think about…”
Kurt squirms again and whines, “Blaine, please, just touch me already?”
Impatiently, he shoves the covers down far enough that Blaine can get a clear
view of just how much he wants to be touched. When he swivels his head back to
check Blaine's reaction, he finds Blaine staring at his erection with dark,
hungry eyes, his tentacles peeking out from under the hem of his thin t-shirt.
Kurt reaches out to pluck at the material. “And take this off?”
Blaine doesn’t waste any time in doing so, and then he settles down next to
Kurt on his side, propped up on one elbow. He dips forward, cupping Kurt’s face
with his free hand and sealing his lips over Kurt’s in a kiss that’s deep and
hot from the start. At the same time, Kurt feels something drag his pajama top
up a little more, and he shivers at the knowledge of exactly what it is and
exactly where it's going.
Kurt sucks a hard breath in through his nose as the tentacle slides to the
exposed skin of his belly next, trailing down and leaving a cool, prickling
trail over his stomach before working its way under the waistband of his pants
and (again, finally) making tantalizing contact with the head of his cock. Even
Blaine groans then, a low, surprised noise that rattles out as his fingers curl
into the back of Kurt’s neck and he presses himself closer along Kurt’s side.
The tentacle coils lightly around Kurt’s erection and works down. Kurt moans.
It’s even better now that he’s fully awake to appreciate it: Blaine is keeping
the pressure light, but it doesn’t take long before Kurt is coated from root to
tip in fluid, the sensation of it thrilling all along his length and making him
feel like he’s being touched everywhere. Each pass of Blaine’s tentacle only
pushes the feeling deeper and makes it more intense, and Kurt realizes with
startling clarity that this could all be over really, really soon. With a
garbled nggh into Blaine’s mouth, he pulls his hands away from where they’re
digging into Blaine’s back to start unbuttoning the front of his pajama top. He
abandons the effort almost immediately and starts frantically pushing his pants
down instead, which only leads to his hips pushing up into the tentacle wrapped
around him, and that doesn’t help at all. Kurt shudders and gives a whimper
that’s part pleasure, part frustration.
“Kurt?” Blaine asks, his voice concerned as he breaks the kiss and his tentacle
goes still on Kurt’s cock.
“I don’t want to get these dirty,” he mumbles. “They’ll be impossible to
clean.” He lifts his hips again and manages to slide the waistband down under
the curve of his ass. He gently peels the front — already damp in spots from
whatever it is that’s leaking out of Blaine’s skin — past his straining cock
and Blaine’s tentacle wrapped around it, a sight that makes Kurt gasp and
Blaine groan. They’ve been naked together before, but they’ve usually been
hidden from each other, and it’s certainly never been in the bright light of
morning, and — Kurt looks over at Blaine, at the sleep pants that he's still
wearing. “You too,” he says breathlessly, kicking his pants down his legs and
going back to work on the buttons of his shirt.
The withdrawing slide of Blaine’s tentacle makes Kurt hiss, but he just focuses
on getting his pajama top off before lying back down. It suddenly feels like
the dirtiest, most wanton thing in the world — to be naked and exposed on his
bed, the summer sun and a warm breeze streaming in through the open window
while he spreads his legs and waits for his boyfriend to touch his cock again,
to find it where it’s hard and already sticky and still tingling on Kurt’s
stomach.
Blaine is beautiful in the sunlight, trim and smooth, and he’s sporting an
impressive hard-on that he snugs up to Kurt’s hip with a low whine. “God, Kurt,
you’re so —” he cuts himself off, looking uncertain.
“What?” Kurt asks, reaching up to pet one hand through the side of Blaine’s
ruined gel job from the day before, and Blaine’s body churns slowly into his
side. They haven’t talked much during their brief forays into intimacy, but
suddenly, Kurt finds that he doesn’t want them to hold themselves back as much
as they have been. Not now, when everything feels so warm and loose and
comfortable. “Tell me.”
“Hot,” Blaine breathes, propping himself back up and leaning over Kurt’s chest
again, capturing his mouth wide open. Kurt surges up into it, into the wet heat
of Blaine’s tongue between his lips and Blaine’s tentacle wrapping more surely
around his cock, jerking firmer and faster while a ribbon of tingling liquid
seeps down onto his balls. Blaine rocks his hips into Kurt’s thigh, and Kurt
can feel his skin dampening there too, precome smearing with the motion.
And it is hot, Blaine’s open mouth and his hard cock and his hand and his slick
tentacle all on Kurt’s body. It feels like more than any other handjob Blaine’s
ever given him before, and Kurt’s not sure if it’s because it’s morning or
because they’re naked or because Blaine’s not actually using his hand, but he
does know that he wants to chase the feeling, to run up the hill after it, to
take it as far as he can before it's over. So when he finds his fingers curled
around Blaine’s shoulder, Kurt drags them down to trace the places where
Blaine’s tentacles disappear into his skin, making Blaine tremble. Blaine's
still only touching Kurt with one of them, but the rest are out, either close
to Blaine's body or helping to keep him propped up over Kurt.
Kurt turns his head to the side, dragging lips away from the kiss and forcing
Blaine’s to slide damply back across his cheek. He runs his fingers over the
bases of Blaine’s tentacles again, and whispers, “More.”
Blaine shudders against him, harder this time, and he moans and drags eager
kisses along Kurt’s jaw and down his neck, puffing out harsh breaths against
Kurt’s throat. Kurt almost starts to wonder if he needs to ask again or be more
specific, but then he feels them — a light touch that prickles gently over and
around his sac, and another that runs up his chest to circle a nipple and rub
against it, drawing it up even tighter into a startled, tingling peak, all
while Blaine keeps up a relentless rhythm on his cock.
Pleasure zings along Kurt’s skin, back and forth from Blaine’s mouth to all the
other places Blaine’s touching him, which feels like everywhere, more than
everywhere, lips and hands and tentacles coiling over his body, saliva and
precome and whatever it is that’s dripping out of Blaine’s tentacles, over
Kurt’s dick, over his balls, even down over his hole, which makes him jump and
twist his hips restlessly. They haven’t had that conversation yet, and Blaine
doesn’t touch him there; Kurt doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or
disappointed.
He can feel Blaine’s lips and tongue going sloppy against his throat. Blaine
tries to kiss Kurt’s mouth again, but Kurt is too overwhelmed to return it, and
he lolls his head to the side after a moment, making thready noises and bracing
his feet against the mattress to work his hips up into the grasp of Blaine's
tentacle. “Blaine — I’m —”
“Do it,” Blaine groans raggedly into the space between Kurt’s neck and
shoulder. If Kurt had enough brainpower to ponder it, he’d be surprised that
Blaine seems almost further gone than he is — he’s rutting in uneven jerks
against Kurt’s hip, his cock hot and leaking, his body shaking. As it is, Kurt
lets the thought go, surrendering with a hoarse noise to the orgasm his body is
straining toward so desperately, coming hard over his chest and stomach,
striping across Blaine’s tentacles and eventually dripping down over the one
wrapped around him.
When he finally manages to blink his eyes back open and bring the ceiling into
focus, Kurt breathes out a quiet, shocked, “wow.” The whole experience had been
— more than he’d bargained for, certainly, and he’s going to have to wash his
bedding down to the mattress pad, but he can’t bring himself to regret it or
even feel embarrassed about it. In fact, he mostly feels a kind of smug pity
for everyone else in the world who doesn’t have an extraterrestrial partner to
give them a handjob that’s probably hotter than the actual sex that most people
have.
Blaine chuffs out a laugh against Kurt’s throat, but he’s still hard against
Kurt’s thigh, and his body is still tight and trembling. “Honey,” Kurt says,
petting one hand down Blaine’s damp back and lifting his head, “can I — oh my
god.”
He gapes down Blaine’s body, his mouth rounding over words that don’t come,
because Blaine is leaning heavily against his side in a way that brings his ass
up off the mattress – and three of his tentacles are touching it. There’s one
on each round cheek, pulling them gently apart, and one clearly… in between.
Kurt is spent and oversensitive, but he twitches on the bed all the same. “Oh
my god,” he finally repeats.
“I’m sorry,” Blaine whimpers, still hiding his face in Kurt’s neck. “Mind of
their own. And it feels so… I didn’t want to stop.”
Kurt can’t seem to tear his eyes away. The angle is such that he can’t actually
see what’s happening, but he knows, and it’s more than enough to make him feel
dizzy all over again. He flattens his hand against the smooth dip of Blaine’s
waist. “Don’t apologize. Keep going.”
“Kurt —”
It sounds like Blaine's going to protest, but Kurt silences him with one gentle
shove of his thigh against Blaine’s cock. “Go ahead.”
Blaine releases one more shaky breath, but he starts to move again, a bit
hesitantly at first, but soon his hips are stuttering against Kurt’s body, and
then —
And then the tentacle at his ass starts to undulate, twisting a little as it
goes and drawing a broken noise from Blaine’s throat. Dazed and curious, Kurt
lets one hand trail down Blaine's back. He can’t quite bring himself to touch
Blaine there, but he slides his fingers into the slick spot left on Blaine’s
ass cheek by the tentacle still resting there. It makes his fingertips tingle,
and he digs them into Blaine’s thick flesh, pulling it farther back. Blaine
whines, and his tentacles, where they’re still resting on Kurt’s body (and
thankfully not wrapped around his cock) are coiled tight, dripping liquid onto
his skin. Kurt touches the one on his chest experimentally, and it wraps itself
securely around his fingers.
They’re sensitive, Kurt knows. Before he can give it too much thought, he lifts
his hand and licks uncertainly over the back of the tentacle. The taste of it —
sharp and tangy — filters into his mouth as Blaine takes a quick breath and
stiffens, and when Kurt sucks the tentacle between his lips, brushing his
tongue up under the tip, Blaine comes, shuddering against Kurt’s side as his
cock spills over Kurt’s ribs and down onto the mattress. “Oh my god, Kurt,” he
gasps. “Oh my god.”
Kurt hums and drops his hand back to his chest, taking the tentacle, which
stays curled around his fingers, with it. He removes his other hand from
Blaine’s ass to sweep it up and down his back, and only when Blaine shivers at
every pass does Kurt realize that he’s painting trails of Blaine’s own fluid on
his skin. Kurt’s whole mouth is stinging with it, a feeling not entirely
dissimilar from having just brushed his teeth. “That was,” he says dreamily,
giving the ceiling a lazy smile, “..nice.”
“Yeah,” Blaine agrees from where he’s collapsed, dead weight, against Kurt’s
side. “Nice.” There’s a beat, and then they’re both giggling, curling into each
other more comfortably despite how completely disgusting they are.
“Come up here and kiss me,” Kurt orders, tugging Blaine away from his neck.
When he finally gets a look at Blaine’s face again — flushed, tender, bordering
on bashful — he can’t help but grin, and Blaine does too, so that when they do
finally manage to lean in and kiss, it starts hard and with a clack of teeth.
They laugh again and pull back to look shy and amused into each other’s eyes
before sinking back together, into a kiss that's lush and long and a little
stunned.
“Kurt,” Blaine finally murmurs into it. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Kurt asks, leaning back against the pillow. “From where I’m
sitting, you did most of the work.”
Blaine smiles down at him. “For accepting all of me. For wanting to be with all
of me.”
Kurt feels a warm rush of happiness and affection flood his chest. He gazes
back for a few seconds before he quips, “Oh, believe me. The pleasure was all
mine.”
“No, trust me,” Blaine shoots back. “That is not true.” Then they’re giggling
again, rearranging themselves on the bed until they’re lying side by side, the
wind spilling in and cooling their damp skin.
“So,” Kurt says, trying to sound conversational and knowing that he’s failing
miserably, “does that mean that you want to — you know…”
Blaine blinks slowly at him. He smiles with one corner of his mouth, but a
small crease appears between his eyebrows. “Uh, I don’t actually.”
Oh god, Kurt is going to have to explain himself. He feels heat race up his
cheeks, but he forces himself to just say it. After what they’d done, he should
at least be able to get the words out. “Do you want to, um… be-on-the-
receiving-end-of-things?” he rushes out, wincing at his choice of words even as
they’re tumbling out of his mouth.
“Oh,” Blaine says. “Yeah.” His voice is matter-of-fact, but he blushes and then
averts his eyes for a second before swinging them back to meet Kurt’s. “I want
to try both. I want to do everything with you. If you want to, that is.” They
stare at each other for a moment before Blaine quickly tacks on, “Eventually!”
Kurt feels a fond smile creep over his face. “Eventually,” he agrees. “But
first, shower?”
Blaine grins. “I would love to.” His face goes a bit cheeky as he adds, “And if
you liked that, just wait until I wash your hair.”
Kurt cocks an eyebrow at him. “I’m starting to think there’s a lot of benefits
to this situation that I hadn’t really thought out.”
“Don’t worry,” Blaine says. “We’ll figure them all out. Eventually.” He winks.
End Notes
     Thank you for reading! :) Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr over
     here.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!