Model Kurt and photographer Blaine. They’ve never worked together before, but they know of each other, and eventually Blaine’s people contact Kurt’s people, arranging an intimate one on one shoot in Kurt’s home.
The shoot starts off perfectly fine; run of the mill. But every time Kurt goes into his bedroom to change his ensemble, he comes out in less layers than before. A scarf lost here and a sweater lost there, and Blaine spends longer and longer staring through his view finder, a blush creeping across the back of his neck whenever Kurt trains his gaze on the camera (not on you, Blaine, he isn’t looking at you, he’s just doing his job, that’s all, it’s all in your head) until he waltzes out in a white t-shirt and high waisted trousers, small round glasses sliding low on his nose and hair swept up impossibly high, feet bare.
Blaine swallows dryly, taking a deep breath as Kurt pads silently over the carpet towards him, stopping two feet away and peering wickedly over the top of his glasses, lips quirking upwards.
“Where do you want me now, Blaine?”
The new intern’s name is Kurt Hummel, and when Blaine catches a glimpse of him as he walks into the office Monday morning, he sees that the name suits him well.
The boy’s features are pale and striking, like a porcelain doll with the angular cheekbones of a male model. He’s dressed business casual with a cravat (Blaine’s never thought of the words casual and cravat in the same sentence before) and perfectly coiffed hair that sets him apart, and Blaine’s smiling when he tells Peter he’d like to take a look at Kurt’s portfolio now.
Kurt enters Blaine’s office with that endearing kind of confidence that’s masking jittery nervousness and Blaine gestures for him to come sit down.
“Kurt Hummel,” Kurt says in a high, clear voice, setting his portfolio and the coffee down (Peter must have told him to bring it in as a goodwill offering) and extending his hand. Blaine smiles warmly and keeps his grip firm even though Kurt’s hands are surprisingly as soft as they are strong.
“Blaine Anderson. And please, it’s just Blaine. I don’t need any reminders of how old I am,” Blaine says, hoping the joke will put Kurt at ease, but if anything it just seems to make him more flustered.
Misc. Notes: Soulmate AU
Word Count: 4.7k (this part)
Status: Multipart - WIP
Summary: It gives a whole new meaning to “tugging on your heartstrings.” Soulmates doesn’t mean love and love doesn’t mean soulmates; when you’re lucky, the two things are one and the same.
[ AO3 ]
Summary: As disagreements continue to rage in the Anderson household, Blaine is forced to spend his evenings behind a bar to pay his way through OSU. It’s not an ideal solution, but the money is good and he manages well enough. That may very well change, however, when the interested gaze of Kurt Hummel, self-proclaimed resident bad-boy, lands on him. And it seems that Kurt doesn’t have the word ‘no’ in his vocabulary.
Rating: up to NC-17
Previous Chapters: Here
A/N: You can also read it on S&C now!
anonymous prompted: Can you write Blaine’s first time topping and Kurt is not at all prepared for how big Blaine’s dick is
It’s been something they’ve been building up to gradually. Their first time on a chilly November night is nothing but hands and tentative mouths, eyes wide and fixated on the pulse of a different cock, semen coating a stomach not their own. They’re too nervous to do otherwise even though on Blaine’s nightstand there’s a new bottle of lube and an unopened box of condoms; for now, the box remains too daunting and only just enough lube is used to slick their palms. Later on they murmur promises to each other, we’ll do it later and we still have all the time in the world, because, really, they do, they’ll make time just for themselves no matter what.
Anonymous asked you: Can we have the day mentioned in the epilogue where the borrowed partner mistakenly hits on an uninterested Kurt? :P For science, or course.
Well as long as it’s for science. :)
And hey look who decided to show up…
Glimpses of the progression of Kurt and Blaine’s relationship each time Kurt is in Blaine’s room.
au in which Blaine is a con artist and Kurt is a gifted fencer/Blaine’s booty call and together they do all kinds of illegal and kinky things.
“I don’t even want to know how you got this,” Kurt murmurs, his tone a mix of irritation and admiration. Blaine smirks and brushes a stray curl out of his eyes, noticing with satisfaction how Kurt’s eyes follow his movement. Kurt sniffs and turns back to appraising the manuscript, his blue eyes bright.
“The marginalia is flawless,” Kurt whispers, his touch reverent even through his gloves. He’s used to the things Blaine brings him - the dark-haired man specializes in manuscripts, and Kurt knows to be careful with them. He doesn’t ask how Blaine gets them, and Blaine doesn’t ask what Kurt does with them. They have a mutual understanding.
Kurt’s eyes flit up to meet Blaine’s again, and the con artist’s eyes are dark with hunger.
That understanding is not limited to business transactions.
Minutes later, Kurt is pressed up against the wall of his apartment, gloves shed and fingers twisting in the back of Blaine’s shirt while Blaine’s mouth works on his neck. Kurt moans and throws his head back, his hands sliding down and under Blaine’s shirt until he is gripping smooth skin. Blaine grins against his neck.
Kurt laughs throatily and, in a flash, has reversed their positions. Blaine is now pinned against the wall, eyes wide and hair mussed. Kurt dips his head and bites harshly at his collarbone, and Blaine whines low in his throat.
“That was for nearly screwing up my Renaissance job with your goddamn theatrics,” Kurt hisses out, hands on Blaine’s hips and fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers. Blaine pants out an unintelligible curse, but Kurt is already working the trousers off his hips.
“I’m going to fuck you against this wall,” Kurt breathes into Blaine’s ear, hand reaching in between them to palm at Blaine’s erection. The normally suave man lets out a pleading sound, and Kurt takes pity on him. He slides his underwear down, smiling darkly at how Blaine’s hands move to Kurt’s belt. Kurt wiggles his hips and helps Blaine shed his lower garments, his own hands working to pull off Blaine’s shirt.
It’s only when Blaine is fully naked and writhing against the wall, when Kurt’s pants and briefs are puddled on the floor, that he leans forward again to whisper in Blaine’s ear.
“But you’re not allowed to scream.”
It’s not that Blaine comes by this way just to leer, that would be seriously uncouth. No, there’s a reason he heads west out of his door each afternoon and takes the eight block hike to the subway instead of turning east and only two blocks away from the bus stop. That reason is clearly the small coffee shop buried between the solid walls of brick buildings. The coffee isn’t as good as the much closer cafe, but the cup is thirty cents cheaper, and in this economy, every penny counts. Or something. It certainly doesn’t hurt that shop is located a few doors down and across the street from the fire station.
Kurt grins, leaning in slowly, and Blaine’s eyelids flutter shut on instinct. “Blaine?”
“Mm?” he looks up at Kurt again.
“Can I kiss you?”