Fic: Lend a Helping Hand [1/1]
Media: Fic
Title: Lend a Helping Hand
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Phonesex?
Word Count: 1980
Summary: It’s two in the morning and Blaine’s phone is ringing.
AN: So. This happened. I'm a total Kurt, guys. Like, I practically wrote this peering through splayed fingers. But, um, here it is. *drops fic and runs to hide*
It’s two in the morning and Blaine’s phone is ringing. He doesn’t know it’s two in the morning though. To Blaine, it’s about eight at night and he’s at Dalton. His sheets and pillows are cuddled around him in such a way that, to Blaine, it’s Kurt. Kurt is pressed alongside him, pressing his forehead against the nape of Blaine’s neck and talking about his dog. Which is a little ridiculous because Kurt doesn’t have a dog and Blaine knows that but it’s also not ridiculous at all; it seems completely normal.
And then the increasing volume setting of Blaine’s ringtone kicks in and he gives a little jolt, waking up. He sits up, confused and glancing around a little. He doesn’t know where he is; this is not Dalton and this is not his home. Then his vision adjusts to the static dark and he focuses in on the horrendous painting of kids ice-skating in some picturesque village pond on the opposite wall and he remembers. Beach house. Southampton. Right. Flopping back down, Blaine buries his face into the pillow and is set to fall back asleep when his phone rings again. Oh, that’s what woke him up. Blaine swings his hand down over the side of the mattress and fishes around inside the puddle of jeans on the floor left there from where he shucked them off after the nearly twelve hour drive.
When his fingers hit polyurethane, he pulls it up and peers up over the curves of his pillow to see Kurt’s picture floating on the screen, surprised eyes looking at him over a Lima Bean coffee cup. Accepting the call, he puts the phone to his ear and asks “Kurt?” into it. He’s still half-asleep but he’s not upset over being woken up. There’s concern at the back of his head because Kurt is calling him at two in the morning but he’s also on vacation for two weeks and they were together nonstop and were texting for all those twelve hours. So some still-asleep part of him latches onto the fact that maybe Kurt just woke up and missed him.
“Hey Blaine,” comes Kurt’s reply. Not sleepy in the least and out on a breath, like when Kurt is excited about something. “Sorry, for waking you up.”
“S’fine,” Blaine murmurs and stretches, sitting up a little. “S’everything all right?” He pitches his voice low like a hum. He’s fairly isolated in his room from the rest of the house, sharing a wall with the bathroom between his and his sister’s room, but he still doesn’t want to wake anyone up or disturb the hush of night.
There’s a sound like Kurt nods before a light laugh, realizing that Blaine can’t see him. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just… Miss you.”
Blaine sighs, struggles with the weight over his lungs. “I wish you were here,” he admits in a quiet voice. A blush stains over Blaine’s cheeks, he hadn’t meant to say that really, and a mirror coloring touches Kurt’s a good six-hundred miles away.
“I wish I were too,” Kurt answers after a few seconds, voice just as soft and it sounded like he’s grinning. A shy grin is making its way over Blaine’s own lips at that very moment and he buries his face into the pillow. Acting like a schoolgirl with a crush and this is his boyfriend he’s talking to.
“How is it there so far?” Kurt tacks on, after a mutually affectionate silence.
Blaine sighs out through his nose and shrugs. “Didn’t do anything. Got here, ate dinner, stumbled upstairs, fell asleep.” Weariness works its way through Blaine’s muscles, deep into his bones. A yawn pulls his lungs and he angles the phone away, so Kurt wouldn’t catch it. It isn’t far enough though, apparently, as Kurt’s sympathetic sound came over the line.
“You’re sleepy,” he hums out, sounding endlessly apologetic.
“No,” Blaine answers before realizing that Kurt will know that as an outright lie. “Just a little. S’fine, though…. Talk to me.”Kurt gives a half-laugh and Blaine closes his eyes, tries to picture his boyfriend. Probably on his side, Blaine thinks, with the comforter pulled over his head like a tent, trapping his murmurs and hot breath up so even though they’re hundreds of miles apart, their conversation can still stay as intimate as possible.
“But that’s why I called you, silly,” Kurt replies, breaking Blaine’s thoughts. “I had a dream and woke up and wanted to hear your voice.”
Once more, Blaine is turning his face into his pillow, muffling the morphing of his wide grin into giggles. “What was the dream about?” he asks, blushing over his whole cheeks because god, he loves this boy.
But Kurt’s response is just a strangled sort of clearing his throat and then a few other nervous noises. Worried, Blaine asks again, “Kurt? What were you dreaming about?” He knows, after everything, that Kurt has nightmares, terrible nightmares. It’s been awhile though and he only gets them rarely now. But if he had a nightmare so bad that he needed to call Blaine and hear his voice and Blaine is in the freaking Hamptons right now and…
There’s a raspy chuckle and then Kurt is saying, “Well, I woke up completely hard, so what do you think?”
It’s all Blaine can do not to moan as loud as he could. Biting his tongue, he slams his head back, suddenly accosted with a hundred images. Fuck. Because he certainly wasn’t expecting that. “Oh yeah?” he asks shakily, willing his voice to steady out. He doesn’t even mean in it a sexy, intriguing way. Just curious. Like he couldn’t believe that his boyfriend was on the phone right now, telling him how hard he was from a dream and Blaine was nearly seven-hundred miles away. Fates were cruel.
“Yes.” A pause with something like a labored inhale. “I wasn’t going to call. Didn’t want to wake you. But I figured you might want to hear all about my dream.”
Blaine does moan then because Kurt’s voice is mischievous because he knows exactly what he’s doing to Blaine. “Fuck,” he gasps out.
“Well, not quite,” Kurt corrects matter-of-factly. “But it’s safe to say we were getting there.”
Eye clenched closed now, Blaine has no control over his free hand, skimming down his stomach and slipping under the waistband of his boxers. God, when did Kurt learn how to be such a good tease? “Who’s-” Blaine’s voice breaks with a slight gasp and licked his lips as he tries to regain some semblance of control. “Who’s ‘we’?”
Kurt chuckles, nervously if Blaine had to quantify it, and blows out a sigh before answering. “Who d’you think, Blaine?”
Blaine blushes and smiles, pleased. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to toy with Kurt, now that he has the opportunity. “Dunno. You and Finn?”
There’s something that should be a laugh coming from Kurt’s end but it’s all torn and ragged. “Whoa. Below the belt.”
Blaine grins devilishly and wishes Kurt could be there to see it. “Exactly,” he quips and with the little bitten-off moan of “Oh,” from Kurt, the phone call takes a decidedly different turn.
“Blaine,” Kurt whines out. Actually whines. Blaine just can’t handle this anymore and his hand closes around his cock, breathing jerky. “You,” slips Kurt’s broken voice. “You and me. Only ever you and me. Not like it’s the first time, either.”
There’s no trace of tease in Kurt’s voice any longer and that’s good because Blaine would not actually be able to take anymore coyness. He chews on his tongue and tries to concentrate on words. He used to have a vocabulary, a fairly well-developed one. Clearly all it took to undo that was his hands down his pants and Kurt gasping thickly in his ear. Finally he manages to get hold of what he’s trying to say and pants the words out. “Not alone there, Kurt. I’ve… I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had that dream with you.”
And this is all a little new. They’ve certainly done things together. They slowly moved past the point of plugged-ears, of touching fingertips, of hesitance and neither wanting to rush the other in any way. But they haven’t gone all the way (though Blaine didn’t think Kurt really was holding out for his thirtieth birthday, as he told Blaine his father suggested) and they’ve never done anything with this edge of near-voyeurism. Blaine has a feeling he would be embarrassed were he not so incredibly turned on, with Kurt’s voice making half-words into his ears, putting blazing images into his mind, pressed to the back of his clamped closed eyelids.
There’s movement on the other line, the blunt soft sound of fabric moving against fabric. “Glad to know…it’s reciprocated,” Kurt breathes out, as if that weren’t the understatement of the year.
“Fuck, I wish you were here,” tumbles past Blaine’s lips before he can stop it and he writhes a little.
Kurt makes some torturous sound that has Blaine’s breathing hitching violently. “Me too. You, here. Or…or me, there. Yeah.” His words were dropped out between gasps and inhale-exhales. “Anything. Either.”
“Keep talking,” Blaine practically begs. “Say anything.”
And Kurt does. He spills nonsense phrases, babbling pleas and blasphemies to Blaine. All the while, Blaine is pretending that the hand in his pants isn’t his own, that the boy speaking is the one touching him. And while Kurt keeps talking, Blaine has his own running commentary, under his breath. Kurt’s name over and over and then swear words and then just nonsense words and then Kurt’s name, Kurt’s name.
“Blaine. Shit.” And then a string of French that Blaine doesn’t understand - but fuck, if he doesn’t love when Kurt speaks French - and Blaine moves faster, arches higher. “Blaine. Say my name. Please.”
“Kurt,” Blaine groans out, wrecked and long and loud as he dares. “Oh shit, Kurt. Shit. Fuck. Kurt, babe…Kurt,” He moans again, lost, and feet tensing up, toes curling. Kurt is practically sobbing on the other line, his breath coming impossibly fast and heavy and his ability for real words completely gone.
And then they fall apart. And it has to be at the same time because Blaine never hears Kurt. Their gasps and cries are twins and Blaine is just glad that he had the presence of mind to at least turn his face into the pillow. It isn’t silent but at least it’s muffled so he doesn’t wake the household or anything.
There was a quiet moment over the airwaves as both Blaine and Kurt could only inhale-exhale
Blaine wipes his hand on his pajama pants and shifts, wincing. Well, there’s a mess that needs to be taken care of.
“Blaine?”
Later. Taken care of later.
“Yeah?” Eyes staring at the ceiling, Blaine lets his free hand fall across the bed and his eyes closed.
A broken exhale comes from Kurt and then a swallow. “I do really miss you.”
“I really miss you too,” Blaine whispers, his breathing finally evening out and now his words slurring together. If he was sleepy when he and Kurt first started talking, he’s absolutely spent now, boneless and limp in all the best ways possible.
Kurt’s smiling. Blaine can’t see obviously, but he just knows. Something about the two seconds’ silence tells him that Kurt is smiling right then, right before commenting, “Mm, someone’s sleepy.” His voice is loose and satisfied and, well, why shouldn’t it be? “Sleep, babe. I’ll stay on till you do.”
Blaine hums out an “Mkay,” and turns over, putting his phone beside him on his pillow and engaging speaker-phone. “Feel like I should offer you a cigarette or something,” he mumbles drowsily, before adding “Love you.”
And Blaine falls asleep to the sound of Kurt’s quiet, even laughter and his returned, “Love you, too.”