“Devon’s asleep,” Kurt murmurs. He and Blaine are sitting on the couch, Blaine’s head against Kurt’s chest. Kurt keeps stroking over Blaine’s short hair, letting the thick softness of it rub against the pads of his fingers. He still can’t believe that this is happening, that Blaine is actually here again, real and so warm and solid next to him. His body feels heavier with muscle, perhaps weighed down even more with things that Kurt will never see or experience.
Blaine hums, closes his eyes. His hand traces over Kurt’s, fingers going over the mountain ridges of knuckles. “He’s beautiful.” His voice holds a slight tinge of pain, a tightness that Kurt finds impossible to overlook. He knows what Blaine’s thinking, what he isn’t telling him.
Kurt bends down, ignores the ache in the back of his neck as he presses a kiss to the top of Blaine’s head to soothe away the pain. “Just like his papa.”
Blaine laughs, cranes his head back and looks up. Like always, Kurt’s breath catches at the sight of molten gold eyes, wide and expressive. He’s missed this so much. Blaine’s hand, broad and warm, strokes over Kurt’s arm, squeezes gently at his bicep. “He’s all ours, isn’t he?”
Kurt responds with a chuckle, nodding his head. “Of course. All ours.” He remembers coming home after the airport, remembers the look in Blaine’s eyes, that wonderment, astonishment, absolute happiness when Devon had recognized him, had jumped into his arms and reluctantly let himself be put into his car seat on the drive home. Devon had eventually fallen asleep in Blaine’s arms just an hour ago on the couch, and Blaine had been reluctant to let go of him just yet to put him to bed.
“I was…afraid he wouldn’t know who I was,” Blaine replies softly.
“You think I haven’t been showing him pictures of you since the day he was born?” Kurt scoffs, cuffs Blaine good-naturedly on the shoulder. “I’ve made sure that he would know who you were, whether you…whether you came home or not.”
“Don’t.” Blaine catches the hitch in Kurt’s breath, he must; he twists around, bringing a knee up under him as he takes Kurt’s face in his hands. Kurt looks through watery eyes, sees sun-darkened skin, a new scar on Blaine’s chin, thin and straight and faint, that wasn’t there before he left. Kurt brings a hand up, touches it. “I told you that I was coming home.”
“But I didn’t know that,” Kurt whispers, feeling the sting and well of tears.
Blaine pushes forward and kisses Kurt, deep and sound, reassuring and reminding. “I’m here,” he whispers, pulling back just enough so that their lips brush, faint and tickling. Kurt’s heart pounds, a quick bass drum against the hollow cage of his ribs. Blaine moves, then, straddles Kurt’s lap with an ease not forgotten by their separation. A hand in Kurt’s hair, the same one still on his face, Blaine leans in again, kisses Kurt slow and indulgent. His tongue is thick and warm where it traces along Kurt’s lips, then slides into his mouth. They both suck in a breath, gasping and hot and wet between them. Kurt’s hands grab at the back of Blaine’s shirt, the plain black one he was wearing under his uniform, and he feels the flex and shift of muscle, of bone. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The yet is implied, but neither addresses it. Kurt revels in the feeling of Blaine’s hips rocking down onto his ass, a rhythm long since etched into the memories of their muscles. Kurt gasps, slides a hand down to grab at Blaine’s thigh, and Blaine captures his lip between sharp teeth, biting and tugging gently before kissing him soundly once more. They’re panting and rocking, moving in ways Kurt’s only addressed in dreams over the duration of the past two years, and it’s so overwhelming, now, to be feeling it again.
“What do you want to do?” Blaine murmurs, breathless. He circles his hips, presses down and drags the hard line of his cock over Kurt’s.
“Make love to me,” Kurt whispers back. He slides his fingers through Blaine’s hair, grips slightly. He presses his mouth warm and damp to Blaine’s ear, feels the shudder work its way through Blaine’s body. “Give me your big cock, baby. Let me know that you’re real.”
Blaine moans, wrecked and broken, and drops his head to mouth at the soft, pale skin of Kurt’s neck. Then, without warning he’s sliding off Kurt’s lap and nudging his legs apart, standing between them before grabbing Kurt’s ass and hauling him up.
Kurt lets out a surprised squeal, eyes going wide as his arms lock instinctively around Blaine’s neck and his legs wrap around the trim curve of his waist. Blaine hefts him up easily, huffing out a laugh at Kurt’s noises, and kisses him again, passionate and deep, as he walks to the bedroom.
“Shit, Blaine,” Kurt whimpers as Blaine nudges the half-closed door open with his shoulder. “You couldn’t do this before.”
Blaine talks them to the bed, and when his knees hit the edge Kurt unlocks his arms, lets himself fall onto the mattress with a soft sound and fluffing of sheets. Tonight, for the first time in two years, sleeping won’t be so lonely.
Blaine crawls onto the bed, mouth half-curved in a smile, and straddles Kurt’s hips again, dipping his head and kissing at the dimple in Kurt’s chin, the slight furrow between his brows. “Amazing what boot camp and constant exercise will do to you,” he murmurs, sliding a hand up under Kurt’s shirt.
Kurt sits up, slides it off easily. He tugs at the hem of Blaine’s, desperate to lose clothes as quickly as possible, and Blaine hesitates for only a second before complying. The shining silver of his dog tags clink and sway between them, and when his hand goes for the chain Kurt grabs his wrist, shakes his head and says, “Leave them on.”
Their kisses turn sloppy and uncoordinated; Kurt slides a hand between them, finds the heavy, hot shape of Blaine’s cock in his jeans and cups, squeezes. Blaine lets out a choked gasp, head falling and arms trembling. “Oh, god, Kurt.”
Kisses Kurt again, hard and assertive, breathes between slides of lips, “Let me suck you off. Please. Missed the feel of your cock between my lips.”
Kurt unzips Blaine’s pants, pushes down the waistband of his underwear until his cock bobs between them. He shakes his head, rubs his hand over the back of Blaine’s head. “Just fuck me, baby. I need to feel you.”
Pants are lost in an awkward, rushed shuffle. They giggle, kiss and touch each other with the same tentativeness that they’d had their first time. Kurt spreads his legs before Blaine can even ask, and Blaine groans when he uncaps the lube and warms it between his fingers.
“So hot,” he murmurs, running his palm over the smooth inside of Kurt’s thighs. They tremble at his touch like a young colt at the gate, and Kurt is acutely aware of only his harsh breaths, the way the air of the bedroom is cool over his exposed, overheated skin. “I can’t believe I went two years without seeing you like this for me.”
Slender legs spread wider, lift up, and Blaine pushes the first finger in, swiveling it gently. Kurt sees that his jaw is slack, eyes focused and fixed. Once, he remembers how this sight would have made him blush; now, it serves to excite him further, stoke that latent flame burning brightly hot in the pit of his stomach.
“God.” Blaine’s voice is strained, and his finger is a slow sensation. “You’re so tight. Did you ever—?”
“Not often,” Kurt says, letting the words trail off into a moan. “It wasn’t you. I wanted you.”
A hitch in breath, Blaine’s, and the click of the lube bottle again. The finger withdraws and then there are two, pressed tight and close together as Blaine slowly works them in, taking his time until his second knuckle disappears.
Kurt groans, shifting on the sheets, and digs his heels into the mattress. His neck arches back, chest rising slightly, and he’s only barely aware that he’s begging, saying, “Now, please, Blaine, please. I’m okay, I’m okay, I can take it, just please—”
The familiar-unfamiliar ripping foil of a condom, Blaine’s whispered groan between his teeth as the sound of slick skin-on-skin reaches Kurt’s ears. Blaine’s broad palms on his thighs, holding them open, and Kurt wraps them easily around Blaine’s waist, remembers the night before Blaine had left when they’d done this, and then Kurt had pressed Blaine into the mattress and spread his legs wide.
“Are you sure?” Blaine whispers, because he has to, Kurt knows. He needs that reassurance. Kurt does, too. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kurt grabs at Blaine’s back. He feels Blaine stiffen before relaxing, and under his fingers Kurt can feel the slight raise of scars he has yet to see. But right now he doesn’t care—Blaine is solid above him, breathing and so real, and that’s all that matters.
“I want to feel it,” Kurt replies, voice choked. He kisses Blaine sweetly, letting it linger between them. He feels a tear slide down the side of his face. “I spent two years wondering if I’d ever feel you again. Make me hurt. Please.”
Blaine props his weight up on one hand, cups Kurt’s face and swallows back a shaking sob. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Kurt feels the blunt head of Blaine’s cock nudge at his hole, and when Blaine begins to push in he distances himself from the pinch and push, breathing out even and slow as he clutches harder to Blaine.
Their skin sticks where it’s damp with sweat, and Kurt can feel the slick slide of Blaine’s tears salty between them when they kiss. His lips taste of it, and Kurt knows that his must, too. He trembles, letting out a strained groan, and digs his nails into Blaine’s shoulders when he bottoms out.
The dog tags drag between them, chilled metal heated up, and Blaine pulls out, fucks back in. Kurt moans at the heavy drag, the desperately-missed fullness. “Harder,” he gasps, high-pitched.
Blaine’s back slick, those unseen lines dragging under Kurt’s fingertips. Blaine fucks back in, the bed creaking, his own breath a punched-out grunt. Their skin slaps together, resonating and dull, and their lips, when they meet, are uncoordinated.
“Yes,” Kurt pants, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, god, yes, baby. Harder, please, harder.”
Blaine’s lips on his neck, hot and branding; his hands, sliding under Kurt’s back to press, draw him up closer as Blaine falls to his elbows and obeys, fucking in as Kurt’s breath shorten to pants, as Kurt’s body shakes, trembles with the force.
When they come, it is, miraculously, together. Blaine cries against his neck, hips stuttering before stilling, and Kurt tightens around him, arches up and moans. He cries, too, as his body goes loose-limbed and numb, staticky in the chilly bedroom air.
Blaine carefully pulls out, the bed moving as he gets off. Kurt pulls back the covers, slides under them, and when Blaine, still unashamedly and gorgeously naked, appears with a washcloth, Kurt only smiles, pats the side of the bed next to him that’s been cold for over two years.
And when they sleep, it’s the best sleep Kurt has ever had.
Blaine is screaming.
Kurt sits up, narrowly avoiding a flung-out fist, and grabs Blaine’s arm. His eyes are wide and his head flutters like a hummingbird’s. The room is dark and outlined in silver-gray. Blaine’s eyes are open, wide, now, and they’re glazed with fear as he sits up, flinging Kurt’s hand from his arm.
The haze of sleep isn’t present at all, and Kurt watches Blaine, scared, unsure what to do. The sheet as fallen down to his waist, and it’s just now that Kurt notices a thin scar across Blaine’s shoulder.
“Blaine?” he asks, hesitates.
Blaine blinks, shaking his head, and looks over. The fear is gradually leaving, that panicked, fight-or-flight look dimming. “Kurt?”
“You’re home,” Kurt says in a tremulous voice. It scares him that there is no spark of recognition quite yet, like Blaine doesn’t know where he even is. “You’re safe.”
A cry from another room, and Kurt sighs. Devon’s awake now, which means that Kurt isn’t going to get much more sleep tonight. He flings back the covers, searches on the floor for his underwear. He slides them on, stands up, and Blaine’s voice is small when he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t…think I’d get nightmares.”
“Don’t apologize.” Kurt smiles, means the words he’s saying. “It happens.”
“Kurt.” Blaine grabs his wrist. He bites his lower lip. His hair is mussed in its shortness. “Can you bring Devon in here?”
“Of course.” Kurt smiles easily, bending to kiss Blaine’s forehead. “Your underwear is at the end of the bed. I’ll be right back.”
Kurt comes back through the door only minutes later, Devon, in his blue onesie, clinging excitedly to Kurt’s neck. “Sleepover!” he trills happily. He looks to the bed, sees Blaine sitting under the covers, and says, “Papa!”
He crawls onto the bed and snuggles up close to Blaine’s slide. Blaine strokes over his hair, smiling tiredly down at him, and Kurt shuts the door before climbing into bed next to them. He pulls the covers up to his waist.
He feels eyes on him, looks over to see Blaine looking at him. There is trouble brewing stormy behind them, and Kurt feels his heart twist painfully. He hates that he can’t do anything to help Blaine out, hates that he has almost no idea what’s going on and why.
So he does what he can: he reaches over Devon, takes Blaine’s hand between his and squeezes his gently. He smiles, and Blaine smiles back. Right now, it doesn’t matter. Right now, they’re a family together for the first time. Kurt looks at Blaine’s dog tags against his bare chest, the muscle that wasn’t there when Blaine left.
It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself, leaning over to press a kiss to Blaine’s forehead.