Enzymes - Ch. 2: Club Hexx
For part one of this story go here: Chapter 1: Desiderate.
_____
Blaine is working late. It’s 10:30pm and the touch keyboard built into the solid finish of his desk is warm from use. A glass of coke sits on a black coaster in front of the touchscreen and his eyes are glued there, mentally tabulating and adjusting gross incomes for fortunes far more vast than his own. His mind works like a computer, flipping and clicking along while his fingers translate his thoughts into actions that fuel his lifestyle.
It has been 123 days since he visited Clara’s office. Blaine has almost forgotten. Almost.
At work he never thinks of it. In fact, he is usually the organic machine that is working right now, grey matter flashing messages to his fingers, synapses firing on all cylinders. He is startled, then, when a knock comes at his door.
“Hey there handsome,” comes a feminine purr, and he knows who it is, there’s only one woman in the whole office and Julia and he had become fast friends, pulling all nighters together and actually seeing each other outside of work. “It’s Friday night.”
Blaine continues typing, eyes never leaving the screen as he answers, “Jules. Your powers of observation are stunning, honestly. How are we even friends with brain power like that? You must think I’m an idiot...” He glances up, finally, with a smile wide on his face and laughter in his eyes, wanting to be sure she knows he is laughing with her and not at her.
She saunters in, (barely) dressed in a silver mini skirt, black blouse and fuck-me heels. Blaine is momentarily speechless. He never sees Jules this way. Ever. He knows she frequents clubs on her off time and has even asked him to come once or twice but he’s always shied away, feigning illness or work. The club scene has never been his thing. As she makes her way toward him he notices that she’s carrying a garment bag as well. What is she...
He whistles low, cocking an eyebrow.
“Jules. You look amazing. Stunning. I mean, honestly...wow.” And he means it. Her bobbed black hair, smokey black eyes with their rhinestoned edges, and glitter-dusted skin make her shine - literally.
“Flatterer. I’m here to take you hostage. I got a tip that it’s flamingly gay night at Club Hexx and I’m making you come. Well...that’s up to you,” she finished with a giggle.
Blaine knew he must be blushing - something he never did; something that made him feel out of control. He wasn’t a blushing virgin for Christ's sakes. He just hadn’t heard someone call him gay in a long time. A VERY long time.
“What makes you think I’ll submit?” he asked teasingly, aware of the implication.
“I bought you an outfit and I’m going to sit here and pout until you put all that shit away and give in,” she replied, hunkering down on the leather seat across from him and unzipping the garment bag.
Blaine opened his mouth to give some snarky retort but quickly slammed it shut, taking in her idea of attire for him this evening.
1 pair of black doc martin boots, mid-calve height.
1 pair of dark denim jeans, black diagonal zippers on the back pockets, multiple grommets and black rhinestones on the front pockets.
1 jet-black shirt, v-neck, mesh stripe diagonally cutting the front and back. He pictured it in his mind and...
“Jules! One of my nipples is going to show if I wear that!” he cried, feeling overwhelmed.
“Exactly,” she cooed, moving forward to capture her prey...
***
They arrived at Club Hexx and Blaine sighed, eyeing the line that stretched around the building.
“Well, Jules, we might be shit out of luck,” he began, but she just pulled him forward, heading straight for the bouncer; her face set with determination.
They reached the balding man, Julia beaming and Blaine taking in their obvious height difference. He towered over them both by at least a foot. Fight or flight was kicking in just looking at this guy.
“Jules, maybe we should...” he began, but she was already talking.
“Hey there. I’m here with my friend Mr. Blaine Anderson,” she smiled, eyes shining, “I understand his name should be on that list you have there. Thanks.”
Blaine stared at her in wonder. What the hell was she doing? His name wasn’t even-
The man glanced at his list and nodded, unlatching and opening the shining red ropes in front of them.
Blaine barely contains his shock as Julia pulls him through the ropes and into the foyer of the club, paying his entry fee and pulling his coat from his shoulders, checking their things. The bass is pounding and Blaine can feel rather than see the crowd; the heat of the dance floor threading out through the entrance way. Jules pushs him through, giving him his first glance at the actual club proper. It is as dark as he expected until the flashing lights illuminate the crowd on the dance floor, hundreds of bodies undulating to the beat. The bar skirts the club and actually splits at the stage, making it two “bars”; each with a shiny black top and a multitude of men and women sitting on stools to match. These areas are back-lit with neon blue lighting, giving them a celestial glow. Blue and white lights flash as Blaine’s eyes adjust and he can feel his hips betraying him as he begins to sway in time to the music.
He has never done this; been to a club, dressed like this, felt so free. His body is reacting, pulsing with the rhythm, aching to move to the sounds that he has denied it. Music is his lifeblood; the one thing that makes him feel an almost animalistic pleasure and thus he had closed it away, willing himself to be “a responsible member of society” (his father’s words echoing again through his brain).
But right now, in this moment, Blaine can be free if he chooses to be. He takes a step toward the dance floor which is actually set up with three steps to ascend and notes the bars around it. Once up on the floor, the almost fence-like bars are about waist high. They are black painted metal, squared off, each about an inch thick all the way around. Each bar is set about four inches apart, with another squared off section of metal connecting them all on top like a sliver of a banister, a thin line winding around the dance floor and disappearing into the edge of the stage.
The effect is less like a prison (due to the height) and more like an invitation. “Come in, this is the place to dance; to be totally unencumbered.” Blaine feels as though it were written for him and snatches at it, throws back the shot Jules has brought him and climbs the steps to his sanctuary.
***
An hour and two shots later Blaine is definitely....free. His inhibitions gone, Jules nowhere to be found (She’ll be okay, he mused, SHE does this all the time...), he is a writhing, spinning ball of motion. He is lost in the music when he feels hands upon his waist, a body pressed close and he turns to see who has come into his personal space and unashamedly gasps, eyes widening.
“Hi,” the man yells, trying to be heard above the din, leaning forward slightly. He is taller than Blaine and thin, but his his skin-tight red shirt (made of some kind of lycra-like material and almost, almost sheer) tells a different tale of muscular leanness and strength. His black pants leave little to the imagination and Blaine finds his mind drawn to what this man would look like naked.
He snatches his wandering mind back to the man’s face and is held by his eyes, azure blue and alight with winter fire. His high cheekbones and distinctive nose make him almost elfin in appearance and Blaine’s blood burns through him as desire for this man licks it way over his skin. If he had to choose one man that would attract him by appearance it would be this one. Who, apparently, wanted to dance.
Fuck, yes.
“Hello yourself,” he yells back, taking a tenuous step forward, “Shall we?”
The man smirks, something unreadable flashing in his eyes, before sweeping forward and snaking a knee between Blaine’s legs, rocking his hips in time and lowering his lips to Blaine’s ear. “We shall,” he replies before grinding against Blaine, wrapping him up in strong arms.
Blaine hesitates only a moment before the allure of the club and the scent of this man pull him under.
***
40 minutes and 32 seconds later.
7 songs and 2 shots consumed.
They are behind a curtained-off area beside the stage labeled “talent”. RedShirt had dragged them here, winking to the waitress at the entrance, puling Blaine in behind him. The bars of the dance floor edge one side but they are completely concealed, the black swath of fabric hung on the other side of the bars that Blaine is currently shoved against, metal biting into his shoulder blades, bold teeth and hot tongue mapping his neck hungrily.
Blaine’s head is fogged with lust and alcohol, his dick aching in these too-tight jeans. A (very small) portion of his brain is screaming at him, reminding him that he doesn’t even know this man’s name and - fuck, there is his hand on Blaine’s cock. He needs to stop this, to slow this down...
He pushes his arms out, breaking their connection, and searches those cerulean eyes blown ebony dark, cheeks red high and lips open wet.
“Wait...wait...I just...” Blaine starts but doesn’t finish, can’t, as his left arm is grabbed and twisted behind him, his whole body turned and forced into the bars.
Blaine fights, sobering a bit and realizing that this man is much much stronger than he appears to be and his heartbeat spikes, adrenaline pumping. He keeps fighting the sinewy arms that hold him, the man putting a leg between Blaine’s, grinding his obvious erection into his ass. Blaine fights the shudder that courses through him...he shouldn’t want this...this...
Lips breathe hot into his ear and whisper, “Blaine...Blaine, stop fighting this. You’re not going anywhere until I fuck this gorgeous ass of yours. I’m going to fill you with my cock and make you beg to come and you’ll do it. You’ll do it because I say so. So I’m going to move your arms now and put your hands on the top of the bars and they are going to STAY there. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I take you, they will stay. Do you understand me? Because god, you smell like cinnamon.”
Blaine fought while the man spoke until...you smell like cinnamon.
Images of the office, Clara, the paperwork swim through his mind.
8. Please write a phrase that your match can say if and when you need reassurance that you are in no danger. This is meant to protect you and make you feel calm, not to ruin your experience... “You smell like cinnamon.”
3. ...Semi-Public
2. ...I would appreciate a man who is lean but strong - someone stronger than me but doesn’t look the part. I prefer brunets and have always admired very fair or pale skin. Blue eyes are a thing for me but not necessary.
1. ...I want to be taken, almost forced to have sex but want it so badly that it doesn’t matter. I want to gear up to it, have started to trust the man but not really know what’s going to happen. I want it to be somewhere public but safe with no worries of actually being caught. I would like to be prepared first, however, and I kind of like the idea of a filthy mouth...
All of this flashed through Blaine’s mind and he groaned, willing his hands to obey, to fuse themselves to the top rung of the bars, his mind racing with the realization that he can have this, can want this, and it is safe...so safe...
His possessor felt him give in, his muscles releasing and his arms pushing up. Blaine reaches above him and grasps the thin metal, breath coming quick as hands slide down his sides, fingers sliding over the mesh strip, across his nipple, making him gasp. The other man hears this and stops, fingertips flicking, teasing at Blaine, making him groan and push back, bucking his hips against the rigid fabric of the other man’s pants. Apparently he isn’t the only one aching for this and there are lips at his ear again, panting.
“That’s right, Blaine...you know you were such a little cock tease on the dance floor that you deserve this...and now I get to make your ass mine. Be still and it’ll be good to you - fight me and it’ll hurt. And I don’t think that you want that. I think you WANT my dick...in fact, I might make you beg.”
“Don’t I-” Blaine groans as fingers deftly unbutton his jeans and are roughly pulled down, exposing everything Blaine has to offer. “-don’t I get to know your name...at least...so I know who I’m begging to?”
The fingers on his hips stop massaging and Blaine twists his head around to look into those eyes that had trapped him so...they seem conflicted; a war raging inside them.
“God, you are so fucking beautiful, do you have any idea how much I want this right now?” Blaine asks, hoping to push this glorious man into truth.
“Turn back around, Blaine, I want to see this perfect ass and touch it as much as I possibly can before I take it.” he replies, shoving Blaine around as he reaches into his pocket for the lube that has been there the whole evening, waiting for this moment. Blaine waits, knowing what’s coming and silently begging for it with his body, hips shaking and teeth worrying at his lips.
“You’re lucky you’re so fucking hot. You’re lucky I even want you, want to spread you open-” At this Blaine feels his ass quickly spread, exposed, before two fingers trace, teasing, pushing softly to be let in, “-want to be inside you. Fuck, Blaine, but you are sex.”
Blaine whines and pushes back against the fingers that are torturing him, impaling himself on both without warning. The burn is immediate and he winces, having taken too much too soon, but he just breathes through it, rocking his hips and making himself relax.
“Shit, Blaine. You are so tight...it’s going be like being balls deep in a virgin, isn’t it? I know I’m not the first one, though, not with you griding on me like that. You were practically riding my cock on the dance floor already.”
Blaine just moans and grips the bar, completely at this unknown man’s mercy as he breaks him open, adding another finger and dragging slowly across his prostate, his wail lost in the pounding beat of the club.
Blaine’s need is agonizing, cock throbbing.
He begins to beg, his “pleases” and “now, fuck, now’s” caught and held by the fabric between them and the dance floor and the man behind him chuckles darkly, murmuring directly in his ear now.
“What was that? Was that begging I heard? I knew it was going to happen. Cock sluts like you don’t wait long before they are broken, do they?”
Blaine moaned at the words, hunger seeping from his pores.
“Fuck, I don’t care, just...just fuck me, please. Just...do it. Fill me up. Make me take that gorgeous cock...I want it. Fuck.” he replied, No shame he thought.
And Blaine feels fingers roughly pulled free and he is open, so open with need before they’re replaced and he finds himself flush with the bars, his right booted foot lifted and anchored on the stage, ass filled over and over by his match, shamelessly crying out with each thrust as he is taken and commanded by this stranger.
“Blaine...Blaine...so tight, christ...I can’t even take this...god I love your ass wrapped around me..fuck...you want my name? You want to make me come inside you? Then say my name, beg me to come inside you...”
Blaine holds on, ass railed and balls drawn tight. He’s so close...so fucking close...and he wants this, wants this man’s name to chant and hold like a mantra.
“Yes...fuck, yes. Tell me, make me beg...fuck..you’re so fucking good, so deep...fuuuck...” he moans.
He’s turned inside out, every thrust unraveling his thoughts, and then his match stills, making Blaine whimper and grind, seeking friction. Then he hears it, the one word he’s been pleading for.
“It’s Kurt. Say my name while you come for me...while I come in you.” Kurt gasps and resumes his former rhythm, steady and blinding, fingertips buried in the flesh at Blaine’s hips.
“Kurt...Kurt...KURT...” the name falls from Blaine’s lips, the dam broken, he’s pleading, “Kurt...come with me...fuck...make me come...I neeed to, god...”
“Blaine...I love this...jesus you’re so fucking good...fuck...I’ll never need anyone else if I can just have this...” and his pace quickens as he finds his release, stilling and keening, head tilted back, the lights flashing on his upturned face.
Blaine shudders and yells, finding his own end and reveling in it.
They stay this way for a moment before Blaine feels Kurt pull free and his body hover for a moment, and Blaine knows he’s still behind him before he feels a gentle kiss at the nape of his neck.
And then he is gone.
***
An hour later Blaine lies in his bed, showered and clean, sated and sleeping, a smile on his face.
Across town Kurt enters his studio apartment, hanging his coat and peeling off his clothes, reaching down to scratch Neenah between her grey ears. He should shower. He knows he needs to...but he can’t bring himself to go down the hall to the shared bathroom to do it. He doesn’t want to look in a mirror and see what he looks like right now. He just wants his bed...and his cat.
Neenah lies down beside her owner, purring, as he pushes his face into his pillow and cries, sobs echoing through the tiny room. She curls up and waits. She’s seen this before.
Chapter 3
_____
Blaine is working late. It’s 10:30pm and the touch keyboard built into the solid finish of his desk is warm from use. A glass of coke sits on a black coaster in front of the touchscreen and his eyes are glued there, mentally tabulating and adjusting gross incomes for fortunes far more vast than his own. His mind works like a computer, flipping and clicking along while his fingers translate his thoughts into actions that fuel his lifestyle.
It has been 123 days since he visited Clara’s office. Blaine has almost forgotten. Almost.
At work he never thinks of it. In fact, he is usually the organic machine that is working right now, grey matter flashing messages to his fingers, synapses firing on all cylinders. He is startled, then, when a knock comes at his door.
“Hey there handsome,” comes a feminine purr, and he knows who it is, there’s only one woman in the whole office and Julia and he had become fast friends, pulling all nighters together and actually seeing each other outside of work. “It’s Friday night.”
Blaine continues typing, eyes never leaving the screen as he answers, “Jules. Your powers of observation are stunning, honestly. How are we even friends with brain power like that? You must think I’m an idiot...” He glances up, finally, with a smile wide on his face and laughter in his eyes, wanting to be sure she knows he is laughing with her and not at her.
She saunters in, (barely) dressed in a silver mini skirt, black blouse and fuck-me heels. Blaine is momentarily speechless. He never sees Jules this way. Ever. He knows she frequents clubs on her off time and has even asked him to come once or twice but he’s always shied away, feigning illness or work. The club scene has never been his thing. As she makes her way toward him he notices that she’s carrying a garment bag as well. What is she...
He whistles low, cocking an eyebrow.
“Jules. You look amazing. Stunning. I mean, honestly...wow.” And he means it. Her bobbed black hair, smokey black eyes with their rhinestoned edges, and glitter-dusted skin make her shine - literally.
“Flatterer. I’m here to take you hostage. I got a tip that it’s flamingly gay night at Club Hexx and I’m making you come. Well...that’s up to you,” she finished with a giggle.
Blaine knew he must be blushing - something he never did; something that made him feel out of control. He wasn’t a blushing virgin for Christ's sakes. He just hadn’t heard someone call him gay in a long time. A VERY long time.
“What makes you think I’ll submit?” he asked teasingly, aware of the implication.
“I bought you an outfit and I’m going to sit here and pout until you put all that shit away and give in,” she replied, hunkering down on the leather seat across from him and unzipping the garment bag.
Blaine opened his mouth to give some snarky retort but quickly slammed it shut, taking in her idea of attire for him this evening.
1 pair of black doc martin boots, mid-calve height.
1 pair of dark denim jeans, black diagonal zippers on the back pockets, multiple grommets and black rhinestones on the front pockets.
1 jet-black shirt, v-neck, mesh stripe diagonally cutting the front and back. He pictured it in his mind and...
“Jules! One of my nipples is going to show if I wear that!” he cried, feeling overwhelmed.
“Exactly,” she cooed, moving forward to capture her prey...
***
They arrived at Club Hexx and Blaine sighed, eyeing the line that stretched around the building.
“Well, Jules, we might be shit out of luck,” he began, but she just pulled him forward, heading straight for the bouncer; her face set with determination.
They reached the balding man, Julia beaming and Blaine taking in their obvious height difference. He towered over them both by at least a foot. Fight or flight was kicking in just looking at this guy.
“Jules, maybe we should...” he began, but she was already talking.
“Hey there. I’m here with my friend Mr. Blaine Anderson,” she smiled, eyes shining, “I understand his name should be on that list you have there. Thanks.”
Blaine stared at her in wonder. What the hell was she doing? His name wasn’t even-
The man glanced at his list and nodded, unlatching and opening the shining red ropes in front of them.
Blaine barely contains his shock as Julia pulls him through the ropes and into the foyer of the club, paying his entry fee and pulling his coat from his shoulders, checking their things. The bass is pounding and Blaine can feel rather than see the crowd; the heat of the dance floor threading out through the entrance way. Jules pushs him through, giving him his first glance at the actual club proper. It is as dark as he expected until the flashing lights illuminate the crowd on the dance floor, hundreds of bodies undulating to the beat. The bar skirts the club and actually splits at the stage, making it two “bars”; each with a shiny black top and a multitude of men and women sitting on stools to match. These areas are back-lit with neon blue lighting, giving them a celestial glow. Blue and white lights flash as Blaine’s eyes adjust and he can feel his hips betraying him as he begins to sway in time to the music.
He has never done this; been to a club, dressed like this, felt so free. His body is reacting, pulsing with the rhythm, aching to move to the sounds that he has denied it. Music is his lifeblood; the one thing that makes him feel an almost animalistic pleasure and thus he had closed it away, willing himself to be “a responsible member of society” (his father’s words echoing again through his brain).
But right now, in this moment, Blaine can be free if he chooses to be. He takes a step toward the dance floor which is actually set up with three steps to ascend and notes the bars around it. Once up on the floor, the almost fence-like bars are about waist high. They are black painted metal, squared off, each about an inch thick all the way around. Each bar is set about four inches apart, with another squared off section of metal connecting them all on top like a sliver of a banister, a thin line winding around the dance floor and disappearing into the edge of the stage.
The effect is less like a prison (due to the height) and more like an invitation. “Come in, this is the place to dance; to be totally unencumbered.” Blaine feels as though it were written for him and snatches at it, throws back the shot Jules has brought him and climbs the steps to his sanctuary.
***
An hour and two shots later Blaine is definitely....free. His inhibitions gone, Jules nowhere to be found (She’ll be okay, he mused, SHE does this all the time...), he is a writhing, spinning ball of motion. He is lost in the music when he feels hands upon his waist, a body pressed close and he turns to see who has come into his personal space and unashamedly gasps, eyes widening.
“Hi,” the man yells, trying to be heard above the din, leaning forward slightly. He is taller than Blaine and thin, but his his skin-tight red shirt (made of some kind of lycra-like material and almost, almost sheer) tells a different tale of muscular leanness and strength. His black pants leave little to the imagination and Blaine finds his mind drawn to what this man would look like naked.
He snatches his wandering mind back to the man’s face and is held by his eyes, azure blue and alight with winter fire. His high cheekbones and distinctive nose make him almost elfin in appearance and Blaine’s blood burns through him as desire for this man licks it way over his skin. If he had to choose one man that would attract him by appearance it would be this one. Who, apparently, wanted to dance.
Fuck, yes.
“Hello yourself,” he yells back, taking a tenuous step forward, “Shall we?”
The man smirks, something unreadable flashing in his eyes, before sweeping forward and snaking a knee between Blaine’s legs, rocking his hips in time and lowering his lips to Blaine’s ear. “We shall,” he replies before grinding against Blaine, wrapping him up in strong arms.
Blaine hesitates only a moment before the allure of the club and the scent of this man pull him under.
***
40 minutes and 32 seconds later.
7 songs and 2 shots consumed.
They are behind a curtained-off area beside the stage labeled “talent”. RedShirt had dragged them here, winking to the waitress at the entrance, puling Blaine in behind him. The bars of the dance floor edge one side but they are completely concealed, the black swath of fabric hung on the other side of the bars that Blaine is currently shoved against, metal biting into his shoulder blades, bold teeth and hot tongue mapping his neck hungrily.
Blaine’s head is fogged with lust and alcohol, his dick aching in these too-tight jeans. A (very small) portion of his brain is screaming at him, reminding him that he doesn’t even know this man’s name and - fuck, there is his hand on Blaine’s cock. He needs to stop this, to slow this down...
He pushes his arms out, breaking their connection, and searches those cerulean eyes blown ebony dark, cheeks red high and lips open wet.
“Wait...wait...I just...” Blaine starts but doesn’t finish, can’t, as his left arm is grabbed and twisted behind him, his whole body turned and forced into the bars.
Blaine fights, sobering a bit and realizing that this man is much much stronger than he appears to be and his heartbeat spikes, adrenaline pumping. He keeps fighting the sinewy arms that hold him, the man putting a leg between Blaine’s, grinding his obvious erection into his ass. Blaine fights the shudder that courses through him...he shouldn’t want this...this...
Lips breathe hot into his ear and whisper, “Blaine...Blaine, stop fighting this. You’re not going anywhere until I fuck this gorgeous ass of yours. I’m going to fill you with my cock and make you beg to come and you’ll do it. You’ll do it because I say so. So I’m going to move your arms now and put your hands on the top of the bars and they are going to STAY there. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I take you, they will stay. Do you understand me? Because god, you smell like cinnamon.”
Blaine fought while the man spoke until...you smell like cinnamon.
Images of the office, Clara, the paperwork swim through his mind.
8. Please write a phrase that your match can say if and when you need reassurance that you are in no danger. This is meant to protect you and make you feel calm, not to ruin your experience... “You smell like cinnamon.”
3. ...Semi-Public
2. ...I would appreciate a man who is lean but strong - someone stronger than me but doesn’t look the part. I prefer brunets and have always admired very fair or pale skin. Blue eyes are a thing for me but not necessary.
1. ...I want to be taken, almost forced to have sex but want it so badly that it doesn’t matter. I want to gear up to it, have started to trust the man but not really know what’s going to happen. I want it to be somewhere public but safe with no worries of actually being caught. I would like to be prepared first, however, and I kind of like the idea of a filthy mouth...
All of this flashed through Blaine’s mind and he groaned, willing his hands to obey, to fuse themselves to the top rung of the bars, his mind racing with the realization that he can have this, can want this, and it is safe...so safe...
His possessor felt him give in, his muscles releasing and his arms pushing up. Blaine reaches above him and grasps the thin metal, breath coming quick as hands slide down his sides, fingers sliding over the mesh strip, across his nipple, making him gasp. The other man hears this and stops, fingertips flicking, teasing at Blaine, making him groan and push back, bucking his hips against the rigid fabric of the other man’s pants. Apparently he isn’t the only one aching for this and there are lips at his ear again, panting.
“That’s right, Blaine...you know you were such a little cock tease on the dance floor that you deserve this...and now I get to make your ass mine. Be still and it’ll be good to you - fight me and it’ll hurt. And I don’t think that you want that. I think you WANT my dick...in fact, I might make you beg.”
“Don’t I-” Blaine groans as fingers deftly unbutton his jeans and are roughly pulled down, exposing everything Blaine has to offer. “-don’t I get to know your name...at least...so I know who I’m begging to?”
The fingers on his hips stop massaging and Blaine twists his head around to look into those eyes that had trapped him so...they seem conflicted; a war raging inside them.
“God, you are so fucking beautiful, do you have any idea how much I want this right now?” Blaine asks, hoping to push this glorious man into truth.
“Turn back around, Blaine, I want to see this perfect ass and touch it as much as I possibly can before I take it.” he replies, shoving Blaine around as he reaches into his pocket for the lube that has been there the whole evening, waiting for this moment. Blaine waits, knowing what’s coming and silently begging for it with his body, hips shaking and teeth worrying at his lips.
“You’re lucky you’re so fucking hot. You’re lucky I even want you, want to spread you open-” At this Blaine feels his ass quickly spread, exposed, before two fingers trace, teasing, pushing softly to be let in, “-want to be inside you. Fuck, Blaine, but you are sex.”
Blaine whines and pushes back against the fingers that are torturing him, impaling himself on both without warning. The burn is immediate and he winces, having taken too much too soon, but he just breathes through it, rocking his hips and making himself relax.
“Shit, Blaine. You are so tight...it’s going be like being balls deep in a virgin, isn’t it? I know I’m not the first one, though, not with you griding on me like that. You were practically riding my cock on the dance floor already.”
Blaine just moans and grips the bar, completely at this unknown man’s mercy as he breaks him open, adding another finger and dragging slowly across his prostate, his wail lost in the pounding beat of the club.
Blaine’s need is agonizing, cock throbbing.
He begins to beg, his “pleases” and “now, fuck, now’s” caught and held by the fabric between them and the dance floor and the man behind him chuckles darkly, murmuring directly in his ear now.
“What was that? Was that begging I heard? I knew it was going to happen. Cock sluts like you don’t wait long before they are broken, do they?”
Blaine moaned at the words, hunger seeping from his pores.
“Fuck, I don’t care, just...just fuck me, please. Just...do it. Fill me up. Make me take that gorgeous cock...I want it. Fuck.” he replied, No shame he thought.
And Blaine feels fingers roughly pulled free and he is open, so open with need before they’re replaced and he finds himself flush with the bars, his right booted foot lifted and anchored on the stage, ass filled over and over by his match, shamelessly crying out with each thrust as he is taken and commanded by this stranger.
“Blaine...Blaine...so tight, christ...I can’t even take this...god I love your ass wrapped around me..fuck...you want my name? You want to make me come inside you? Then say my name, beg me to come inside you...”
Blaine holds on, ass railed and balls drawn tight. He’s so close...so fucking close...and he wants this, wants this man’s name to chant and hold like a mantra.
“Yes...fuck, yes. Tell me, make me beg...fuck..you’re so fucking good, so deep...fuuuck...” he moans.
He’s turned inside out, every thrust unraveling his thoughts, and then his match stills, making Blaine whimper and grind, seeking friction. Then he hears it, the one word he’s been pleading for.
“It’s Kurt. Say my name while you come for me...while I come in you.” Kurt gasps and resumes his former rhythm, steady and blinding, fingertips buried in the flesh at Blaine’s hips.
“Kurt...Kurt...KURT...” the name falls from Blaine’s lips, the dam broken, he’s pleading, “Kurt...come with me...fuck...make me come...I neeed to, god...”
“Blaine...I love this...jesus you’re so fucking good...fuck...I’ll never need anyone else if I can just have this...” and his pace quickens as he finds his release, stilling and keening, head tilted back, the lights flashing on his upturned face.
Blaine shudders and yells, finding his own end and reveling in it.
They stay this way for a moment before Blaine feels Kurt pull free and his body hover for a moment, and Blaine knows he’s still behind him before he feels a gentle kiss at the nape of his neck.
And then he is gone.
***
An hour later Blaine lies in his bed, showered and clean, sated and sleeping, a smile on his face.
Across town Kurt enters his studio apartment, hanging his coat and peeling off his clothes, reaching down to scratch Neenah between her grey ears. He should shower. He knows he needs to...but he can’t bring himself to go down the hall to the shared bathroom to do it. He doesn’t want to look in a mirror and see what he looks like right now. He just wants his bed...and his cat.
Neenah lies down beside her owner, purring, as he pushes his face into his pillow and cries, sobs echoing through the tiny room. She curls up and waits. She’s seen this before.
Chapter 3