Accidents are funny little things. They can be good or bad, “accidental” or accidental. The first time Kurt makes Blaine really moan (and subsequently the first time they nearly come together), it’s one of those accidents, and he’s not fully prepared for the low, lilting uhn sound that comes out of Blaine’s mouth.
It really is his fault, though, because he’s got Blaine sprawled out under him on his bed, shirt hiked up and pants pushed low. They have an unspoken agreement to be careful, to watch where arms and legs go and how weight is to be distributed by whomever’s on top. Kurt wants this closeness, this intimacy, but he doesn’t want to go too far. He doesn’t think he’s ready for that yet, and he’s sure Blaine isn’t, either.
But that doesn’t stop them from kissing until their lips are red and wet and tender, swollen from nipping teeth and hard pressure; until their hair is in disarray and their skin is flushed a gentle embarrassed-aroused pink. Kurt likes the stretch of Blaine’s smile when he pulls back and brushes strands of Kurt’s hair gently off his forehead. He likes the feel of Blaine’s stubble under his lips, the tugging firmness of his fingers through his hair.
Kurt noses his way down Blaine’s jaw, nudging into the hollow under it with damp lips and a flash of teasing tongue; he makes his way down Blaine’s neck with sucking kisses that raise gooseflesh and causes a fine tremor to run like electricity through the length of Blaine’s body. Blaine shifts restlessly, arching up before back down, the movements of his joints stiff and jerky like a mechanical being with rusted, oil-thirsty hinges, and he knows that Blaine is aching, there’s no way he can’t be. Little intermittent sighs and huffs of shaky, uneven breath ruffle Kurt’s hair, ghost over his skin when he moves back to kiss Blaine’s cheek, the top of his nose, before back down to his lips.
Blaine meets him hungrily, surging up with his hand flat on the back of Kurt’s head. He tilts, runs his tongue along Kurt’s lower lip before dipping it into his mouth, quick in-and-out before Kurt has a chance to latch on. He finds himself whining low in the back of his throat, shifting his weight to one arm so he can cup Blaine’s cheek, card his fingers the best he can through his hair. His hips twitch down and his cock aches in his jeans, but he doesn’t want to unbutton them, not with Blaine as unstrung and unpredictable as he is now in his desperation.
“Kurt.” It’s the first word spoken since Kurt had laid Blaine down; it’s the only other noise besides their gasping, sucking breaths and the wet sound of their lips sliding together lazily-then-hungrily-then-lazily-again. It holds a plea, that same one that’s told by the restless movements of Blaine’s body. “Babe.”
Kurt smiles a little secret smile to himself and ducks back down, mouth to the silky, sensitive skin of Blaine’s neck. It’s a pet name Blaine only ever uses when he wants to get his way, but that still doesn’t stop his stomach from swooping, his whole world alight in this single moment in warm, bubbly feelings of love.
He gives in to part of Blaine’s plea, kissing him sound and deep and absolutely filthy; when Blaine’s hand finds his ass, though, surprising him with a squeak, his hips drop that unspoken careful distance and suddenly the hard, hot bulge of his cock is pressed against Blaine’s, and—
“Oh my god,” Kurt gasps, his voice high and shaky, at the same time that Blaine moans, low and long and shameless with a strung-out noise that fluxes and goes up at the end. Kurt chokes on his next gasp, swallows hard and feels suddenly dizzy, his cock giving a painful, aching throb in his pants that leaves his fingers itching to release the button and zipper.
Kurt’s never heard this noise before, this wanton, primitive cry that stirs up something carnal in his chest. He’s heard Blaine gasp, cry out softly, whine and make tiny little groans and what he had thought were moans before, but now he knows that Blaine’s been holding back and that—this is the first time Kurt’s made his boyfriend moan.
With a jolt Kurt realizes they’re still pressed together and he’s rocking down while Blaine rocks up, his thighs straining in the cage created by Kurt’s. He pulls back, watches with wide, wide eyes and parted lips as Blaine arches his back, curling in on himself slightly before straightening out again. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, nose and upper lip scrunched up in pleasure. He’s moaning still, cut through with gasps and deep breaths, and his head tips back to dig into the pillows.
Kurt gets a grip on himself, on the gravity of the situation, when Blaine grabs is ass again, squeezes and pushes Kurt’s hips down. He rolls off of Blaine, panting, and flops onto his back. Blaine makes a confused sound, something indignant and hurt, and croaks out, “What? Where’d you go?”
“I think we should…talk about some things,” Kurt says after a pause, shifting onto his side. Arousal still thrums fast and overpowering through him, the urge to grind against Blaine until they come almost too overwhelming.
Immediately Blaine’s there, brows knitted together in worry, his eyes troubled and doe-like. His words are rushed and apologetic. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, Kurt. I don’t know what happened, you just…do things to me and I can’t help myself.”
Kurt leans forward to kiss him once, gently, as a silent reassurance. “It’s nothing serious. I just think we need to set some rules before we make out again, because while today was really, um, hot”—he blushes red and ducks his head; through the dark bristle fan of his eyelashes he can see Blaine doing the same—“it was way too close of a call. And I really, really don’t want my first time with you like that to be just because we couldn’t control ourselves.”
Blaine’s hand strokes down his side, broad and familiar and reassuring. Kurt’s shirt has rucked up and the touch of skin on skin makes him shiver. “So, what’s your proposal?”
“I think that maybe we should stick to North America before we get ambitious and decide that the South American rainforests look pretty fun to explore, too,” Kurt says, and bites his lip.
Blaine’s hand is on his shoulder when he leans in to kiss him, gently and gradually working Kurt’s lips open as they breathe together. “You aren’t mad, because, well, you know.” Kurt gestures awkwardly downwards with his free hand, and Blaine laughs against his lips.
“There’s a wonderful thing called masturbation that I’ve become accustomed to over the years,” he says brightly, and heat rushes through Kurt again, zigzagging along his body in sharp, curling tendrils that see to strike every nerve. The image of Blaine in this very bed touching himself is something Kurt doesn’t need to be thinking about right now.
Instead he says, against the curve of Blaine’s jaw, “You sound really pretty when you let go and actually moan for me.”
Blaine chokes and splutters and Kurt knows he’s won again.