Fic: "Until My Dying Breath", Chapter Seven: Part Two -- Kurt/Blaine Vampire AU.

[emilianadarling]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Epilogue

Click here to return to part one.

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Blaine’s jeans aren’t skin-tight like the white pants Kurt himself is wearing, and it doesn’t take much for Kurt to slide them off his hips. To pull them down his legs and right off, dropping them onto the floor in a slither of heavy fabric. And then there’s only underwear left, and then that’s gone too, and suddenly Blaine is completely naked; every inch of skin bare and unhidden as he lies sprawled on Kurt’s bed.
Kneeling over him and still completely clothed, Kurt stares at him as though his appetite has been renewed. He licks his lips, eyes fixed between Blaine’s legs. All at once, Blaine finds himself feeling tremendously and profoundly self-conscious. He’s watched this scene play out in his dreams dozens of times, in dozens of ways, but this - this is the first time it’s ever happened outside his own mind. He’s felt exposed and vulnerable in front of Kurt before, it’s true. But this is still the first time Kurt has ever actually seen him like this.
“Kurt...” he mumbles, trying to push himself up onto his elbows. A hand pushes at his chest, gently guiding back down into a lying position onto the bed.
“Stay down,” Kurt commands, but there’s no real fire in the words. The smirk hasn’t left his face, fluid and heated as his eyes dance with excitement. He strokes his fingers along Blaine’s chest for a few long seconds, almost comforting, before pulling away. Kurt licks his lips. “Let me do this, beautiful. I want to touch you. Wanted to touch you for so long...” Quickly, Kurt stretches up over Blaine’s body for a moment, straining to reach his arm out and then rummaging through the bedside table, and something hot and liquid sparks in Blaine’s stomach. When he lowers himself back, he adjusts Blaine’s legs, spreading them apart so that he can kneel between them.
“Let me do this,” Kurt breathes over his skin, before leaning in to press a dry kiss against the crease of his thigh. Blaine shivers, unable to take his eyes off the beautiful, otherworldly boy currently kneeling between his legs. His cock twitches, getting harder at the close proximity and the touch of Kurt’s lips against the sensitive skin. He’s lost blood, though, and a far-away part of his brain hazily wonders if that’s going to be an issue. Blaine nods shakily anyways, and Kurt grins in palpable satisfaction.
When Kurt opens his mouth, however, the brief glint of teeth - normal, and human, but the ones that had been biting into him only minutes ago - sends a sharp bolt of anxiety up his spine. He whines sharply, trying to twist his hips away. For a moment, Kurt looks caught off guard before he seems to realize what happened. He grips Blaine almost-gently by the hips, tugging him back into place with ease.
“Relax,” he murmurs, and wraps a cool, deft hand around Blaine’s half-erect cock. The touch makes Blaine suck in a breath and arch up into it, letting out a helpless little noise as he raises his hips off the mattress. Kurt twists his hand over him, leaning in close and pressing more little kisses along his stomach, his hipbones, as he breathes in deeply through his nose. “It’s okay. You’ll enjoy this, I promise.”
And like a Pavlovian response, Blaine can feel the tension evaporate from his body at the words.
Kurt always keeps his promises, he thinks, hips stuttering and choking off a groan as Kurt’s thumb rubs lazily over the head. Stroking him to full hardness without any rush; working him up slowly as he keeps his eyes fixed on Blaine’s face to catch every one of his reactions. Drinking from Blaine (the sheet beneath him is getting crusty and everything smells metallic, clogging up his nose and making the room feel thick) has obviously taken the edge off, dulled the desperate need that had him so frantic only a short while ago. But there’s still something of the ruthless intensity in his gaze as he tightens his grip and sets a quicker pace.
Head lolling back onto the pillows, Blaine feels his face heat up at the shameless, throaty moan that escapes from his lips. The sounds are embarrassing, but it feels so good; warming up and intense sending bright shocks of pleasure through his body with every stroke, every twist deliberate little turn of Kurt’s wrist. Making him rock his hips up into it, looking for more of the sweet-wrong-perfect pressure that’s making heat pool slowly in the base of his stomach.
But Kurt just lets out an appreciative little noise in response to his groan, pressing a kiss to the skin right above Blaine’s cock and breathing warm air over the base. His hands are clever and sure, and that confidence... god, it’s what drew Blaine to him in the first place, all those weeks ago. The way he can take control in a world that has always been so overwhelming to Blaine; so impassive and unchangeable and alone.
Like this, Blaine can almost pretend that nothing bad has ever happened between them. As though he never found out what Kurt was; that the frenetic, blood-soaked nightmare of the past weeks never happened at all. The people in his life that he’s protecting, that he failed to protect... they don’t exist here. They can’t. Being so utterly prone, with the world still swimmingy weakly whenever he moves sharply, makes him feel stripped bare and open. It feels so good to be taken care of, and looked after, and wanted.
There is the soft click of a bottle being uncapped, and Blaine’s eyes open. Something hot and needy clenches at his insides when he sees the small bottle of lube in Kurt’s hand; sees the sly, eager look on his pretty features.
“Legs up,” Kurt orders softly, placing his hand on one of Blaine’s shins and guiding it so that the knee bends. He raises his thin eyebrows at the other leg, and Blaine manages to move it up to mimic the other one. It wobbles slightly, but only for a second. Kurt sends him a small smile as a reward, and Blaine can feel apprehension twisting in his gut as he turns the bottle upside down and dribbles a generous amount onto his fingers.
It’s been a long time, since he’s done this. Done this in any way, with anyone, but... there’s a vulnerability to being with Kurt, and in this particular way. With his back flat on the bed, head against the pillow, and his legs bent and spread apart, he feels more than a little on display. Exposed, and with almost every inch of Kurt’s pale skin covered up like a secret. His head is still slightly dizzy, and even though Blaine he knows intellectually that there is no way for him to fight back against Kurt even if he wanted to, the sluggish weakness in his limbs makes him feel apprehensive. What if he’s harsh, or vicious, or doesn’t care if he makes it hurt? What if he wants to make Blaine hurt?
But a moment later Kurt leans down, still fully clothed where Blaine is naked and pressing a hand flat on against thigh, and takes Blaine’s cock into his mouth.
The sight of it - Kurt, always so cool and collected, wrapping his lips enthusiastically around Blaine’s cock as though there is nowhere else in the world he would rather be - is enough to make Blaine let out a choked groan and bite down hard on his bottom lip, trying not to thrust up into it. The way it feels, though, is even better than how it looks. Even though Kurt’s body runs colder than an ordinary person’s, his mouth is still warm and wet around him. Swallowing him down, working around him as though he’s done it a million times before. (A hot jolt of discomfort jolts through him at the idea of Kurt doing this to someone else, doing this to some other boy that he would fuck and drink from and leave a pretty, cold corpse. Part horror, part jealousy, and Blaine doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.) His mouth is sure and confident, taking Blaine deep and teasing him in turns, and his tongue. Swirling around the head in a languorous, easy way that makes waves of hot pleasure flare and roll through his body.
When cool, slick fingers slide down and graze his balls, stroke over the smoothness of his perineum and press against his entrance, Blaine is so lit up with the pleasure of Kurt’s mouth that he isn’t expecting it.
He sucks in a gasp, tensing up slightly as Kurt trails his fingers over the puckered skin. Teasing, not pressing in, not yet, just... there. A promise of things to come as he sucks at the tip of Blaine’s cock and strokes deftly over the lower shaft. It vaguely occurs to him that he had half-expected Kurt to push in without any lead-up at all, but Kurt seems to be enjoying the build-up. Keeps making high, contented little noises around Blaine’s cock, the vibrations shaking right through him and making him twist his hands weakly in the sheets.
After a few minutes of the slippery, gentle drags of Kurt’s finger against his rim, Blaine finally manages to relax into it. Starts to crave it; the tight fullness, the memory of how good it had felt in so many of the dreams flitting at the edge of his memory like a figment. It’s almost impossible to remember that this is reality, here and now; that all of this isn’t happening in Blaine’s head. It becomes even harder to remember when Blaine inadvertently pushes back into the blunt pressure of Kurt’s finger, the feel of the tip slipping in so familiar from dozens of restless nights, and he feels Kurt grin wickedly around his cock in response. Kurt looks up to lock their gaze for a brief moment, the blue of his eyes shining devious and pleased, before he leans forward to take Blaine all the way into his throat and simultaneously begins to push a single slick finger inside, past the ring of muscle and into Blaine’s willing body.
It proves to be impossible for Blaine to lie back and take it, even feeling as weak and drained as he is. His whole body jerks and spasms wantonly, pushing back into the push of Kurt’s finger in a way that’s familiar and easy and has never, ever been like this. Every single nerve is sparking on edge, flaring up and keening for more, more, more of everything and he wants. Kurt is swallowing around him, throat muscles contracting and working his cock, taking him down so deep that Blaine can feel his cock hit the back of Kurt’s throat. His throat clenches around him for a second but he keeps going, working up a slow slide up and down in wonderful, incensing rhythm. Kurt is gentle as he slides his finger inside of him, more gentle than Blaine had ever thought he could be before this moment, working it in slowly in tiny increments. He can feel it squirming, searching for something, until -
Pleasure explodes behind Blaine’s eyelids like a nuclear explosion, and he keens out loud as Kurt begins to suck him in tandem with the narrowed-in, determined pressure of his finger as he slides over his prostate again, and again, and again.
It’s like being lit on fire with every rocking movement, overwhelming and too much and everything as Kurt pushes in and swallows him down, touching him everywhere he needs to be touched. Playing his body like an instrument, learning quickly and ruthlessly what kind of touches and movements get the best reaction and relentlessly abusing the knowledge. Blaine’s whole body is wracked with tremors. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head into the sheets, but the movement makes a stab of pain flare through his neck and he chokes out a whimper. Kurt redoubles his efforts to distract him, pulling him forcefully back to the moment by sliding his finger almost all the way out - before pulling off his cock, quickly dribbling more lube down between Blaine’s legs, and adding another finger.
It’s so much fuller like this, with two fingers sliding in and stretching him out; the burn and stretch of it making him feel looked after and wanted, worshipped like he means something important. He hisses, clenching around the thicker pressure inside as Kurt takes hold of his cock with his free hand and begins to work the spit-slick shaft with cruel, clever fingers.
“Wanted this for so long,” says Kurt breathlessly, two bright spots of colour in his cheeks from the breathlessness of deep-throating him. Still needs to breathe, even like he is. His voice is slightly rough, with want and from sucking him down, carefully styled hair all askew in his fervour, and Blaine moans as the fingers start to fuck into him harder. Taking, taking, taking what he wants and wrecking him in the process. “You’re so hot inside. Like a fucking furnace, Blaine,” he growls out, twisting his fingers in a way that makes Blaine writhe. The intensity of the way he’s looking at him, drinking in every gasp and reaction, is almost enough to make Blaine come on the spot. “Hot and human and your heart’s beating so fast, god. All for me. All mine.”
“Please -” Blaine gasps out, stifled and quavering as he tries to thrust his hips up into Kurt’s hand and rock back into his fingers all at once. The movement comes out stuttered and needy, wanting too much, but he can’t help it. “Kurt.” It’s there, so close, elusive and right there and he needs it, needs this. He’s scrabbling for something real to hold onto, but there isn’t anything. Can only fist his hands in the sheets as his body strains and searches for just that little bit more.
And without hesitation, Kurt gives it to him. Stops teasing and lets him have, hand tightening on his cock and pumping with hard intensity as he finds that place inside and rubs over it again, and again, unrelenting as he pulls and yanks Blaine closer to completion. Making starbursts go off behind Blaine’s eyelids and hot spikes of pleasure ravage through his body, no pause and all at once and it’s too much too much too much just enough perfect, and -
And he’s coming, hard, every touch coalescing into a hot, inescapable force that tears through his body and makes him let out a low, hoarse groan as he spasms and clenches around the thick, unrelenting press of Kurt’s fingers inside of him. He comes in thick bursts over Kurt’s hand as he strokes him through it, cock twitching as he shakes and gasps and arches up. He’s breathing so hard it hurts, body ringing like a bell as everything uncoils and bursts as half-memories of a dozen dreams sing in his ears and he finally, finally comes undone at Kurt’s hand.
Blaine is still shivering through the last of it, only starting to come down from such a massive high with his fingertips and toes still buzzing with the immense pleasure of it when Kurt jerks the hand holding his cock away. He doesn’t fully process what’s going on as Kurt’s hand, sticky with spit and come, grabs Blaine’s hip in a tight grip; too still distracted by the last coils of pleasure snaking through him to think clearly.
But the world shocks back into harsh, horrible clarity when he feels brutally sharp pain burst in his inner thigh.
It is like being woken suddenly out of a dream and dragged back down to crash land into hard, incomprehensible reality. He screams, strangled and hysterical, shoving back with his legs and clawing at the bedspread with violently shaking hands as he strains weakly, and flails, and tries with instincts that are bred deeply into his bones to get away from the pain. But it’s no good: something has him, pinning his hips down against the bed and holding him in place as easily as though he isn’t moving at all. Eyes blown wide and horrified, all Blaine can do is watch the sight at the end of the bed. Past his naked arms and torso and stomach slick with streaks of his own come is Kurt, kneeling between his legs, two fingers still insinuated up his ass as he holds Blaine’s hips easily in place with one hand and drinks down blood in greedy gulps from Blaine’s thigh.
It hurts, aching drawing pain as the blood gets sucked out and into Kurt’s mouth, and his whole leg is flaring up with pain. Blaine whimpers, arms giving out beneath him as he falls back onto the bed and the world swims and spins with the movement and the pain and the blood loss and the overshadowed, shoved-aside orgasm. He can feel something hot and wet sliding down over his thigh, onto the sheets of the bed and soaking in as Kurt drinks, and drinks, and makes groaning, heady noises as he buries himself in Blaine’s thigh and just keeps on taking. The pain starts to ebb away, after a moment; dissipating along the edges of his mind, drifting and diminishing as the room gets less and less focused. Everything reduces down to the little gasps of his breaths on the air, his slowing heartbeat, the slurping wet sounds from between his legs as Kurt drinks him down deep.
He has no real concept of how long they stay like that; Kurt’s hand clenched and firm along his hip, fangs punctured into the delicate skin of Blaine’s inner thigh and the occasional twitch of his fingers still deep inside making Blaine gasp and hiss and try to move away from the oversensitive, overwhelming touch as pain pounds through him at the movement. The room is already dark and low-lit, but everything is growing less distinct and fuzzier as Blaine lies, prone on the bed with his eyes heavily lidded, watching the ceiling drift in and out of his vision.
Eventually, though, Kurt pulls away. A sharp stab of pain jabs through him when he tugs his mouth from the wound on Blaine’s thigh, and he flinches weakly. His eyes are closed and he’s drifting, now; floating and indistinct as the room around him. After a moment, he feels the fingers slide slowly out of him. It should feel like an uncomfortable drag, but it doesn’t: he can barely feel it.
There are noises, for a while. A creaking shift as pressure lifts up from the bed and it lurches beneath him; the quiet rustle of clothes off to one side. Blaine’s eyelashes flutter weakly, feeling drained and empty and so cold again as he lies in the haze of the room. He shivers, naked body a mess of cooling sweat and drying blood and come. After an uncertain amount of time, however, he feels a pair of arms slide underneath him: one under his knees, one under his shoulders. Both places sting and hurt when they’re moved, but Kurt doesn’t pay his tiny noise of pained distress any attention. He scoops Blaine up easily, as though he weighs nothing at all, and nestles his limp body against his chest.
The sweeping movement of being picked up makes Blaine’s head spin even harder. He presses his face into Kurt’s chest against the feeling of the world jolting uncomfortably around him and finds his cheek pressed into the cool skin of an exposed chest. Kurt’s not wearing a shirt anymore, he realizes. Isn’t wearing anything at all as he walks Blaine across the room and pushes a door open with his foot.
The world twists again as Blaine is deposited to sit on a cool plastic surface. He leans forward, puts his head between his knees in an attempt to regain his balance. His body is loose and everything is cold, so cold, too cold like this. As though all the warmth has been sucked out of him and will never, ever come back. He wraps his arms around himself, feeling the naked skin and not even caring how exposed he is like this. There are noises in the background: a quick clicking, the pull of crinkling fabric, the sound of a tap being turned on and water rushing out. Slowly, Blaine manages to drag his eyes open and get the world to almost-focus for long enough to realize that they’re in a bathroom: clean and stylish, with dark brown tile on the ground. The object that he’s sitting on is the cool lid of a closed toilet seat.
There’s steam rising in the air, now, and he feels the slide of a hand and a tug upwards as Kurt helps him carefully to his feet. Blaine sways, but stays mostly upright as he’s helped into the hot stream of the shower. Kurt is still clutching at his shoulder, making sure he doesn’t fall, and Blaine gasps when the water touches his skin. It’s warm, so warm, and he closes his eyes as the heat of it soaks him through. The pressure from the showerhead is high, and the water pounds loud in his ears as it beats across his torso and the bathtub around him. Body a pale stretch of legs and arms and skin, Kurt steps in after him, pulls the curtain across, and begins the process of washing Blaine clean.
It’s difficult, at first, because everything is the hot pressure of water against his skin and the rising steam making everything even hazier than it already is. Slate grey and porcelain all around, with a light brown shower curtain that lets the light filter through but keeps the hot air inside. Blaine feels weak on his feet and dizzy, but the grip of the bathtub mat beneath his feet helps to keep him from slipping. Kurt does all the rest of the work. Slumped against his chest with his face pressed into Kurt’s neck, Blaine tries to ignore the stinging ache in his neck and thigh as Kurt slowly begins to wash him. Manoeuvring him easily when necessary; using his strength to keep Blaine standing as he takes shampoo from the rack dangling beneath the showerhead and begins to work it into Blaine’s curls one-handed.
Beneath them, the water turns pink against the bathtub floor as the evidence of what happened flows down the drain. Apparently, some of his own blood found its way into his hair: he leans heavily against Kurt’s shoulder, their slick bodies pressed together under the spray, as he works his fingers gently through Blaine’s curls and breaks up hardened clumps of crusted blood from the hair at the back of his neck. It sends more weak pink water to the ground.
Like this, beneath the steaming hot water that is finally managing to make Blaine feel warm again, even Kurt’s skin feels warm and human beneath his touch. Warmed by the water but still cooler than his own, and Blaine clings to Kurt’s shoulders with both hands as the other boy carefully holds him under the stream and rinses the shampoo out. Keeps holding on, standing on trembling legs as Kurt works conditioner through as well.
Blaine flinches when Kurt moves down to skitter fingers briefly over the wound on his neck, hissing and turning his head to the side but not otherwise trying to stop him. Kurt’s been trying to keep that area out of the direct spray, but he works around it carefully with tender fingers to wash away the worst of the caked blood. He lets out a high, humming sound as he drifts his fingers down to graze over Blaine’s slippery chest, the underside of his arms. Running his fingers along the slicked-down chest hair as though it’s something new and intriguing to him. A single finger brushes over one of Blaine’s nipples, sending shivers down his spine.
Before he can fully process what’s happening, Kurt is guiding him to lean his back against the tile wall; away from the fullness of the water’s pressure. It’s cold to the touch at first, and he sucks in a breath, but allows for it to support his weight as he settles there. He looks up - and it occurs to Blaine for the first time that, pressed up so close against Kurt’s chest, he hasn’t even really looked at the other boy’s naked body for the first time. But he can’t properly appreciate it now, either: his eyes skim over the swathes of too-pale skin, not able to properly register everything the way he should amid the haze of hot steam and the dizziness tugging at his mind, at his impaired vision. He takes in the sight of his lithe chest, the rosy, hardened cock between Kurt’s legs; his arms, surprisingly developed in a way his well-tailored clothes would never let on.
But none of it fully makes its way through to Blaine’s brain: instead, the only thing that he can properly take in are Kurt’s eyes.
Bright blue amid the steam and the wet flickers of spitting water getting in his eyes, Kurt’s eyes are utterly focused on him amid it all. Still burning and intent and locked on his own, coaxing Blaine to look into them. When he complies, Kurt smiles a soft, heated smile that tugs at the corner of his lips before leaning in to press a long, water-soaked kiss against his lips. Blaine responds - or tries to, but it’s difficult. All he can really manage is to let Kurt open his mouth and to take what he’s given, to let Kurt have what he wants. It’s all that he can do, anymore. Kurt’s mouth tastes like clean, hot water. His legs are still uncertain beneath him.
“It’s okay,” Kurt murmurs softly, sternly against his lips when he pulls away. His eyes are close enough now that Blaine can get a proper look for the first time in so long: bright, catching blue along the outsides and bursts of yellow-green swirled around the dark of the pupils. His lashes are thick with water, and beads of it are collecting along his lips as he looks Blaine up and down and strokes a thumb over his cheek. “Just let me...” He moves away, reaching for a bottle of expensive-looking shower gel and a dark blue loofah, and begins to work up a lather.
He tilts his head against the tile and leans back as Kurt washes his body down, everything drifting in and out as Kurt presses the soapy touch all over his body. Scrubbing away the blood, as well as any trace of anything else still clinging to his skin. Raising his arms up and working it into the thick hair beneath his arms, kneeling down in front of him to slide the loofah down over his legs and carefully washing the puncture wounds in his thigh that have mostly stopped bleeding by now. Reaching his clever fingers up and sliding them between Blaine’s cheeks. The touch makes him suck in short breaths and twitch, but he doesn’t try to pull away. Not now.
He lets Kurt swivel the showerhead around to rinse the shower gel and conditioner alike off of him, closing his eyes as Kurt’s fingers twine sweetly through his sopping curls in order to make sure all of it gets worked out. Lets him rinse away the soap, and everything with it; watches it all flow down into the drain. They’re both dripping wet and clean, and the skin around Blaine’s wounds from Kurt’s teeth is red and raw. The air is steam-filled and heady.
And when Kurt moves the shower head away and plucks a small, familiar bottle that he must have brought with them from the bedroom off the metal rack, squeezes a quantity onto his fingers, and kneels back between his legs, Blaine lets him do that, too.
The stream of water is turned away from them, but little splashes keep coming into contact with their skin nonetheless. Blaine shivers and tenses when Kurt slides two fingers back up into him, but this doesn’t come as a surprise. Not really. Not with Kurt’s cock hard and wanting between his legs, and the gentle fleeting touches he ghosted all over Blaine’s skin as he washed him clean. Not with everything else he’s taken so far, and with this one glaring thing so obviously absent.
Blaine knew, when he gave himself over, that this would be a part of it - and even with two open wounds and Kurt’s belly full of his blood, he knows that a part of him has always wanted it. The part that woke with stickiness between his legs after the dreams, and hovered fingers over the doorknob of his apartment while Kurt scratched at the door outside, and kissed Kurt back when he finally crossed over the threshold. That part of him, deep inside, is throwing up its hands in relieved surrender. Finally able to let himself have what he’s hated himself for wanting all this time.
The parts of him that are still nervous, still on edge, still clinging to the fear and hate and terrible grief of everything that has happened between them... all those parts can do is simply give in.
The fingers feel blunt at first as they push inside, hot water having washed away so much of the lubrication from before and time having given his body a chance to tighten again. But Kurt is careful, almost sweet with his ministrations; pressing soft kisses along Blaine’s stomach as he insinuates his fingers slowly back in, the slick of the lube making things easier as he starts to rock them inside. The sight of Kurt, pale and long on his knees in front of him and soaking wet, is enough to make hot sparks shiver up Blaine’s spine with every press of his fingers. It’s dulled pleasure, though; distant and faraway, at the back of his mind.
Instead, he focuses on the stretch of it when Kurt adds another finger; the slight burn, but mostly the way his body relaxes and takes it. Kurt lets out a breathy, high noise at that, and all at once Blaine becomes suddenly aware of his free hand moving in a familiar way; touching himself, stroking his own cock as he gets Blaine ready. Another little shiver, and Blaine tilts his head back against the tile and feels water drip from his hair down his sore neck.
And when Kurt pulls the fingers out with a clinging, slippery drag and begins to slick more of the lube over his own cock, all he can do is let out a shuddery breath and try to remain standing.
“I’ve got you,” Kurt whispers, the sound almost getting drowned out in the noise of the water pounding against the bathtub basin. He gets to his feet, placing his hands on Blaine’s ass and pressing a soft kiss against his shoulder. Their skin slides together, but Kurt’s grip is firm and protective around him. “I’ve got you, Blaine.”
And with the sound of Blaine’s name on his lips - not pretty, or beautiful, or any kind of thing - Kurt pushes him back against the tile wall and hoists him right off his unsteady feet.
It’s a position that would be almost impossible for the two of them to make work if Kurt was a regular human being. They’re too similar in size and stature, and holding up Blaine - who is essentially dead weight - all by himself for an extended time would have been too much. But the effortless power concealed in Kurt’s frame, it’s easy for him to slide him up against the wall and keep him there for however long he likes. Blaine quickly wraps his legs around Kurt’s middle, clinging to his shoulders. He feels like a newborn kitten, weak and head still swimming from the blood he’s lost - not lost, the blood Kurt’s taken - and everything is strange, and dulled, and flitting in and out of his perception.
Right now, suspended in midair and held tight by Kurt’s arms, Blaine feels more unreal than he ever has in any of the dreams.
And so when Kurt lets go with one of his hands, guiding his cock to Blaine’s entrance, all Blaine can do is cling to him - to this man who is not a man, to a murderer, to his destiny - and take it.
“There we are, sweetheart,” says Kurt, voice strained and eyes fixed right on him the whole time. “So good, you’re so good.”
The angle is still slightly tricky, with Kurt still holding him up and guiding him down with one hand under Blaine’s ass, but after a moment it doesn’t matter. Through the haze of everything, Blaine can feel the blunt, slick pressure as Kurt’s cock slowly, slowly begins to push in; not slippery latex but skin, solid and personal. Past the tight ring of muscle, the slow burn and stretch making him gasp. It feels like the throbbing of a pulse in a darkened room; the dulled sensation the only thing holding his attention in a sea of dizzy, vague touches. All of his muscles are relaxed and loose, all the tension drained from his body like so much blood, and it’s easy enough for Kurt’s cock to slide in. Grounding him in place, filling him up, touching him everywhere, and it’s impossible for Blaine to process it all right now. Instead, he clings to Kurt’s shoulders as the other boy guides him achingly slowly onto his own cock. Doing the work that Blaine can’t do for himself, doll-like and loose where he’s held up against the cold tile wall.
When Kurt bottoms out, his cock so tight and snug inside and making Blaine shudder and clench feebly around him and grip his shoulders as hard as he can, he lets out a choked sigh.
“Blaine,” he breathes out against the broken skin of Blaine’s neck, his voice high and strained, the steam still rising from the oncoming water as tiny splashes of it catch along their skin. He sounds overwhelmed, voice higher than usual, and Blaine feels a distant thrum of pride in the pit of his stomach at hearing his name on Kurt’s lips. “Wanted this so badly,” Kurt whispers, his voice barely audible, shivering and tensing against him as he clenches his hands.
And then, with determined control, Kurt begins to move.
Rocking, slow thrusts that make Blaine’s back slide against the slippery tile. Pulling and gripping at Blaine’s hips, dragging him up and down deliberately onto Kurt’s cock. The movement of it makes Blaine’s head swim for a long moment before the sensation drags him back; the aching sliding fullness of it, being fucked and taken and gripped and moved because he can’t do any more than hang on. The little bursts of oversensitive pleasure behind his eyelids every time Kurt’s cock grazes his prostate; the way Kurt’s grip on his hips gets tighter and tighter as he begins to gain speed. Begins to manhandle Blaine’s ass and hips in earnest as he pulls and grinds him down.
And oh, god, because the pressure of Kurt’s cock inside is making him quiver and shake, sending little fissures of aching pleasure up and down his spine, but there’s no way Blaine can come again. Can’t even get more than half-hard with all of the blood he’s lost; with having come so recently and the two points of throbbing pain tugging him back every time the heat begins to build. The world is a haze around them, clinging together in the slip-slide of hot water and steam, and Blaine is loose and liquid-limbed as Kurt fucks him deep and grinds him into the shower wall. Holding his body up easily as he grows less gentle, less composed. In control and confident as always but shaking now, shaking, and Blaine did that. Is the only person who has ever made Kurt feel this way, and that means something.
Mind swimming and drifting, flickering out at the edges, Blaine has no real idea how long it lasts. Everything narrows down into tiny pinpricks of sensation. Kurt’s short, trimmed nails digging into the flesh of his ass; how cold and hard the tile wall is against his back; the way his sore thigh aches and burns with every movement. The low-key flare of pleasure that spikes every time Kurt drags him onto his cock just there, making him choke out little noises and tighten his legs around Kurt’s waist. There is none of the usual sharpness of arousal or need pounding inside; instead, it’s as though he’s been submerged. Light-headed and wrung-out, he rides out the waves of continuous heat and pressure and dizziness as they wash through him. It’s all a low-key thrum as Kurt grips his hips hard enough to bruise, choking out intimate, praising words that echo unheard in his ears.
When Kurt finally slams his cock into his unresisting body one last time, choking off a low groan of pleasure as he stills, Blaine is caught off guard by the sudden inactivity of it. Vacantly, he lets out a tiny low noise of confusion and attempts to raise his head off Kurt’s shoulder before the sensation of hot wetness spilling inside makes him realize what happened, why Kurt stopped.
Everything is stillness, tangled limbs and pounding hearts and a hot haze of steam as the two of them stay like that; frozen in time and nothing, nothing outside of this. Still buried inside, Kurt breathes heavily against Blaine’s skin, clutching at him hard and nails digging into skin. Blaine’s arms are starting to feel sore and shaky from holding on, but he doesn’t try to get down. They stay like that for a long minute, Kurt's body shivering from the aftershocks, before Kurt leans in even closer to mouth against the wound on Blaine’s neck. His body belatedly tenses in apprehension of pain, but it doesn’t come; only the dull ache of Kurt’s mouth and tongue running over the twin cuts. Pressing the gentlest of kisses there, possessive and sweet and heady, and Blaine closes his eyes and instinctively moves his head to give him better access.
Kurt only keeps them like that for a short while before he lets out a final, shuddery breath - and begins the process of disentangling them. Moving his head away from Blaine’s neck with a sigh and gripping his ass to pull his body slowly off of his cock. The dragging sensation of Kurt pulling out makes Blaine tense up, and how hollow he feels once he’s empty again makes him inhale and sag bonelessly in Kurt’s arms. The wet feeling of come - Kurt’s come, god - leaking slowly out of him feels unfamiliar and surreal.
Everything passes quickly, after that. Kurt lowers him slowly to the ground, doing most of the work in keeping Blaine standing upright on his tingling, useless legs. Holds him up as he redirects the now-lukewarm water to rinse the both of them off one last time before he turns the taps off, pulls back the shower curtain, and helps Blaine out.
It’s like letting out a massive breath of pent-up air as soon as they step outside the shower, and Blaine clings to Kurt for keep from falling down. The chill of the air hits him at once, and he’s already shaking as Kurt lowers him down to sit on the toilet seat. The room swims and the cold makes his teeth chatter as Kurt swaddles him in a massive towel, using another one to rub most of the wetness out of his hair. It makes him feel like a small child or an invalid, and he would protest if he didn’t feel as though he might collapse sideways at any moment.
When he’s as dry as can be expected, Blaine blinks at the t-shirt and ratty pyjama bottoms that Kurt seemingly pulls out of nowhere for him to wear. They look familiar. It takes Blaine until Kurt is halfway through painstakingly helping him put them on that he realizes that they’re familiar because they’re his.
Kurt must have taken them from my apartment, he thinks vaguely, but stops when Kurt scoops him up effortlessly into his arms and carries him outside.
They must look ridiculous like this; Kurt looks inexpressibly younger and more delicate than he actually is, and they’re so similar in size. Face pressed into Kurt’s chest, Blaine is carried out through the bedroom, romantic music still playing softly, and into a living room he can’t even take in properly. Kurt lays him down on what he realizes eventually is a large, comfortable couch already swathed in sheets and blankets and made to look more like a bed. Once he’s all tucked up inside with the blankets pulled up to his chin and the chill in the air finally sealed out, Kurt strokes a hand down the side of his face.
“Hey,” murmurs Kurt, in a tone of voice that clearly indicates it isn’t the first time he’s tried to get Blaine’s attention. Blaine blinks and looks up at him, leaning over the makeshift bed. Kurt’s skin is still warm from the water, and it’s the first time Blaine has ever seen him with less than impeccable hair and clothes. He’s dressed in a nice blue housecoat - when did that happen? - and his hair is an untidy, tousled mess. With his bangs unstyled and loose over his forehead, he looks a great deal younger than usual. There is a relaxed, soft expression on Kurt’s face; hushed, and intimate and sated as he brushes his fingertips tenderly over Blaine’s cheek. “You did so well, okay? So well. My Blaine...”
When Kurt leans forward and presses their lips together, it’s little more than a soft press of lips. Chaste, and brief, and Blaine feels so rewarded. Kurt pulls away after a second, eyes blue and heavily lidded, and smiles with quiet intensity. He licks his lips absently as he drags his eyes over Blaine, tucked up tight under mounds of blankets, clearly relishing the sight of him drained and weak and fucked-out on his couch. Blaine doesn’t mind, though. Doesn’t feel much of anything other than the lilting of the room and the softness of the cushions beneath him.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Kurt tells him, standing up and looking around the room. “I went out and got some things for you, and you shouldn’t...” He trails off as Blaine blinks vacantly up at him, a small affectionate smile quietly edging at Kurt's mouth. And even with his mind dim and worn, Blaine can feel the warm affection of his gaze. “Just... stay awake. Don’t sleep.”
Blaine nods absently, eyelids already heavy and his head slumping back against the cushions propped up against the arm of the couch when Kurt walks away with silent footsteps. He drifts, but obediently does not fall asleep while Kurt is gone. Blaine can hear him, puttering around in another room of the... house? Apartment? He can’t be sure. When Kurt comes back a few minutes later with a small tray laden with items, Blaine lurches himself mostly awake.
And nothing, not a single part of this, feels real. Not when Kurt carefully dabs antibiotic ointment over the side of his neck and the inside of his thigh, or slides Blaine’s own glasses carefully onto his face, or when he feeds Blaine juice and cookies slowly by hand, watching the movement of his neck as he swallows. It doesn’t feel real when Kurt crawls into the makeshift bed with him, pulling the covers over the both of them and twining their hands together as he strokes affectionate fingers over Blaine’s clothed chest, or when he presses sweet kisses to his temple.
It isn’t real. Blaine isn’t real.
None of this feels real at all.

Chapter Eight