Yeah, so I think I'll do this one in a few chapters, because it's so frickin long. I don't know where all of this is coming from, I think I'm just flexing my writing muscles until classes start up in January.

The whole story won't be quite this...involved, but I thought I'd give you all the gift of smut this holiday season. Have a dirty little opening chapter on me :)

"Oh…ah, dammit, oh my god…"

"Kurt, shhhh," whispers Blaine, a smug little smiling curling over his lips as he rocks his leg forward again and breathes hot and sweet over Kurt's neck. Kurt does not like to shushed, and if he could, he'd explain to Blaine that there are times when you simply cannot shhhh, for example when your boyfriend is half-naked on top of you and his thigh is rolling hard and perfect up against your crotch and his hands are rough underneath your no-longer-perfectly-ironed shirt and he refuses to stop doing that thing with his tongue at a particularly tender spot on your collarbone.

Kurt would make this excellent point to Blaine right this second, if his eyes weren't rolled back in his head and his hands weren't twisted tight in the sheets of Blaine's bed and he was rendered capable of speech. Thursday afternoon, a calculus test looming large tomorrow, three pages of reading for French, Blaine's parents locked in their studies two floors down, one final day of educational torture before the weekend arrives and they can do whatever the hell they want—but Kurt can't make himself wait for Friday or the weekend. Neither can Blaine. Which is why their homework is scattered across the floor and they're tangled up in a complicated and devilishly enjoyable embrace on Blaine's bed with its goosefeather pillows and 500-thread-count-too-frigging-classy-empire-blue-Egyptian-cotton sheets.

Still smiling, proud of himself for taking Kurt apart so easily, Blaine grinds his leg hard into Kurt's groin again, creating the most unbelievable friction. A shuddering wave of pleasure surges through Kurt from the pressure between his legs and he gasps out loud, rutting against Blaine in an irregular stuttering rhythm, hands scratching helplessly at the smooth skin of Blaine's naked back. There's no respite, no moment of clarity in the miasma of Blaine's touches across his body: if the hot aching desire between his hips subsides for even a second, it only leaves room for the unbearably amazing sensation of Blaine's tongue tracing the top ridge of his ear, Blaine's hands kneading his ribs, Blaine's eyelids fluttering right at the corner of Kurt's vision. Kurt can't find a way to come down, can't escape from the rushing heat of it all, Blaine won't let him have a single second of peace and something is building hot and pulsating in the very base of Kurt's stomach and he kind of knows he has to warn Blaine before too long but he kind of also doesn't even have the willpower to do that right now. Kurt arches his back and hisses high and sharp when Blaine crushes his leg upwards once more, and too too too many things feel too good and too hot and there's going to be a situation in a minute—

Bzzzzzzzz. LET'S GO AAAAAAAAAAALL—THE WAY TONIGHT—NO REGRETS—JUST LOVE—

"Fuck," Blaine grunts into Kurt's earlobe, and a spike of icy-cold reality cuts through Kurt's haze as Blaine's phone continues to blast a tinny Katy Perry ringtone and vibrate on his bedside table. Blaine tries to distract Kurt, swirling his tongue in a tingling-warm path over Kurt's jugular, but Kurt is grateful for the interruption, taking this opportunity to push Blaine off him a little and pat his hair vaguely into shape and take a few deep breaths, because dear lord, that was way beyond the legal speed limit, what was just happening there.

"Answer your phone," Kurt pants, trying to sound casual but really just sounding desperately aroused, which he is kind of is, but it would be nice to not let Blaine know that so blatantly. Indeed, Blaine's proud little smirk comes back with a vengeance as he reluctantly leans over Kurt, grabs his phone, and sits back on his knees to answer. Kurt pushes himself up on his elbows, allowing Blaine to kneel over his hips as long as he doesn't move his frigging leg for just a second at least.

"Hello, it's Blaine, what's up?" Blaine asks in his receptionist voice, and after a second a dazzling smile breaks over his face. "Wes! Hey, buddy, how've you been!"

"Is that Wes?" Kurt asks, not because he's confused about the identity of the person on the phone but because he wants to try speaking without sounding like he's in a porno. His voice does sound much clearer, which is good, but unfortunately Blaine notices it too, and he can't have that—as Wes talks at him through the phone he leans forward and starts to push Kurt back down onto the mattress, shifting his weight onto one side so that he can roll his other knee forward in that same infuriating and massively erotic way. Kurt tries to scoot his pelvis back and away but nope, too slow, Blaine's leg drags hard up against his erection and it is so goddamn wonderful that Kurt sees stars, his head falling backwards and a ragged moan croaking slow and raspy from his throat.

"What? No, sorry, just the washing machine buzzing. But yeah…yeah, oh wow, that's seriously cool, dude," Blaine continues, his voice all cheery and hey-buddy-boy chipper while he continues to rock his leg in between Kurt's thighs and slides a hand underneath the skintight waistband of Kurt's jeans to dig short, smoothly cut nails into the skin of his hip. Kurt is shaking all over and clutching at the pillow behind his head and really, really getting pissed off at Blaine for being on such a power trip, and if he weren't enjoying himself so fucking much he'd give Blaine a piece of his mind. He moans even louder, not caring about Wes or the very slight and terrifying possibility of Blaine's parents hearing, just needing some way to relieve the searing throbbing mind-blowing pressure around his hips before it destroys him completely—trying to regain a degree of control over himself when it's becoming increasingly obvious that Blaine can do whatever the hell he wants right now because everything he does is turning Kurt into a shuddering, writhing wreck with a mind wiped blank by the hunger of his stupid stupid stupid libido.

"Yeah, it's an old machine, makes a lot of noise. Oh really? The Whiffenpoofs? Well, Wes, I mean, let's not even joke, you've got it in the bag," Blaine chuckles heartily, and moves his leg away a little bit so he can cup Kurt with his hand through the front of his jeans, and oh fuck, Kurt arches sharply back and gives a choked gasp like he's drowning and squeezes his eyes shut against the tight burning pleasure of white-hot sparks underneath his skin.

"Me? No, I'm good, yeah, McKinley is awesome…it is, Wes, c'mon, give me a break…yeah, Kurt's amazing, he's doing well, we're really happy together." The words are hardly out of his mouth before Blaine leans over and zeroes in like a guided missile on that super-sensitive-oh-my-god spot near the curve of Kurt's neck, and he bites, digs in with his teeth and swirls his tongue down hard and Kurt's hips buck upwards violently, his chest heaving with the overwhelming touch, the feeling of it all, and the curling spasming heat in in his lower stomach is aching dull and insistent now, it's not going away, this ride has to reach its end one way or another.

"Hmmm?" Blaine hums into Kurt's neck, and suddenly he pulls away, a confused look on his face. Kurt is panting like he's running a marathon, parts of his body twitching and jumping as much from the sudden withdrawal as from the onslaught before it. Blaine takes a moment to actually focus on what Wes is saying, merely rocking back and forth a little on Kurt's hips as he listens to the boy on the phone. The slow, gentle rhythm of Blaine's movement doesn't blow Kurt's mind like the last few minutes have, but it's certainly not letting him relax even for a moment, keeping him riding that excruciating and wonderful edge, stringing him out until he's so turned on he can barely draw breath.

"I don't know…I mean, that sounds totally awesome, with all the guys and everything, but are you sure—of course I'll ask, Wes, and they'll probably say yes, but I'm just wondering if you realize what you're—no, I didn't mean—Wes—" Blaine shuts up and listens with an exasperated air, absently trailing the tip of one finger over Kurt's stomach and making the soft skin tingle deliciously. Kurt lays there, head swimming, electricity racing up and down his body, looking at Blaine's bare chest and his rumpled, half-gelled hair and his stupid adorable face and wanting this agonizing buildup of pleasure to go on forever but at the same time wanting his boyfriend to just get him off already so he can yell at him for doing so.

"Oooookay…yeah…no, I do think it's a good idea, I just think it will be…well, pretty interesting. Hopefully in a good way," Blaine says doubtfully. Wes says something and a smile suddenly blooms on Blaine's face, his eyes moving down to rake over Kurt's naked upper body. Kurt flushes and his heart skips a beat or two as Blaine moves forward and traps the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can stroke heavy, burning pressure over Kurt's ribs with both hands. The casual rhythm between Kurt's legs suddenly gets much more insistent, and Kurt can't help himself, his abdominal muscles crunch up and his hands twist white-knuckled in the sheets as he whimpers and whines at the strength of the feeling, rocking back into Blaine's thigh and losing himself in the fireworks exploding before his eyes.

"Yeah, I think Kurt would love it. He'd definitely have an amazing time," Blaine says, his voice so incredibly dirty that Kurt can't believe Wes doesn't notice—though even if he does, Kurt is past caring right now, his entire body shaking and buzzing with the rough, relentless caresses of Blaine's hands on his chest and the earthshattering business going on lower down, and when Blaine signs off with an "Okay, I'll ask tomorrow and let you know for Saturday, good to hear from you, bye dude," and throws his phone onto the bedside table, Kurt knows that this isn't going to last much longer.

It doesn't: Blaine grins and rolls his leg even harder and faster, and just when Kurt is thrusting up and broken cries are bursting out of his mouth and he's lost the last traces of self-control, Blaine crushes his thigh upwards a final, devastating time and leans in and kisses Kurt so deeply that it shoots straight down his throat and through his torso and into his groin, where the taste of Blaine's breath and the curling of his tongue trips the switch on that pulsing aching heat and it floods through Kurt, filling him up with white lightning and shattering his mind like a piece of glass, making him convulse and slam his head back into the pillows and shout-sob Blaine's name as the orgasm rides itself out, perfect and desperate and all-consuming.

When Kurt finally comes down, his sides aching and his head spinning, the first thing he sees and is able to actually process is Blaine's face, no longer smug or grinning but stunned, blank with awe as he gazes at Kurt. His eyes are wide and vulnerable, lips parted slightly, and as Kurt struggles to stop shaking with aftershocks, Blaine reaches out and trails a hand slowly over his stomach and chest and up to cup Kurt's face, his touch not sexy now but almost worshipful, stroking the slick sweat on Kurt's skin and soothing the tremors in his muscles. Kurt watches Blaine's eyes, and he recognizes what he sees there: it's that feeling that sometimes makes Kurt stop in tracks and try to catch his breath, that overwhelming understanding of the reality that this boy, this wonderful ridiculous boy with the hair and the clothes and the sparkling smile is his, to live and to love, to have and to hold, to share something perfect and special with. Blaine is looking at Kurt with so much innocent love and affection that if Kurt weren't still dizzy with the glow of his body's recent release, it would be hard to imagine any kind of kinky power-play sensuality mingling with that blank, sweet adoration.

Speaking of release…

"Um, Blaine? Tissues, please?" Kurt asks with one eyebrow raised, and Blaine shakes himself a little and clambers off of Kurt to grab the Kleenex box from the top of his dresser. Kurt cleans himself thoroughly, eyes down and focused on the task at hand, not knowing if Blaine is watching or not, though he gets a clue when right after he finishes up and deposits the used tissues in the wastebasket, a sudden tidal wave of warm Blaine-smelling snuggle-monster jumps on him and wraps arms around his chest and nuzzles into his neck.

"Hey," Blaine peeps from underneath Kurt's chin, and all the things Kurt was planning to say half-seriously about being a sex-diva and talking on the phone while they're in bed and not shushing Kurt if he plans to do such gloriously sound-eliciting things to him go right out the window. He presses his mouth against Blaine's forehead and sighs.

"Hey, jerk." Kurt can hear Blaine snicker at that, and even he has to crack a smile. A little shuffling on the other end of the bed and Blaine threads their legs together, closing the distance between their bodies so nothing is lost in the flow between them.

"Sorry," Blaine mumbles, and Kurt snorts at the apology. "For being a jerk."

"You weren't that much of a jerk."

"I didn't exactly ask your permission—"

"Did I stop you? Did I not like it, do you think?"

"…no."

"When you play tonsil hockey with Rachel Berry, that's big-time jerk. When you even consider refusing to read for Tony at West Side Story auditions because of my issues, that's mega-jerk. When you try to get your grope on in the backseat at the Scandals parking lot, you've reached super-jerk. This right here, this was like…one part jerk, nine parts sexy."

"Really?" Blaine says eagerly, wriggling up so he's on eye-level with Kurt, and Kurt melts a little bit inside because it's kind of ridiculous how Blaine can be this sultry, confident, in-control sexpot one second and then act like a floppy big-eyed puppy the next. He's so oblivious about himself sometimes that Kurt can't believe it—except he can, because that was why it took them fucking months to go from the Friend Zone to Makeout Vista.

"Yes, really," Kurt assures him, and Blaine happily snuggles closer to Kurt and they both lie there for a good few minutes, occasionally touching each other's bare arms or chests, smiling when they make eye contact, just enjoying this softest and sweetest of moments together.

"How's Wes?" Kurt asks after a little while, idly running the tips of his fingers over Blaine's clavicle. Blaine swallows and his Adam's apple bobs, standing out sharp under the skin of his neck.

"Oh, he's fine…auditioning for the Whiffenpoofs at Yale, that's a big deal for him. It's like his dream."

"I still can't believe they get away with a name like that," Kurt snorts, and Blaine nods in agreement.

"It's one of those things where it's okay to sound…well…"

"Gay as the Fourth of July?"

"Um, kind of. You know, it's okay to sound like that because it's old and respected and all the guys in it are just too manly to even conceivably be a little bit…"

"Flaming homosexual?"

"Thanks, Kurt, yes."

"You're welcome," Kurt replies, just to bug Blaine a bit more. He reaches up and scratches softly at Blaine's scalp, the black curls tangling in his fingers. "What was his idea that got you all excited?"

"Oh…that…" Blaine says with hesitation, his eyes suddenly anywhere but Kurt's. Kurt stops playing with Blaine's hair and stares hard at his boyfriend.

"Blaine?"

"It's…um…okay, you remember the Warbler parties from last year?" Blaine asks, and Kurt nods and rolls his eyes as he recalls long nights spent listening to drunken renditions of Gwen Stefani songs, dragging Jeff out of the linen closet that he'd gotten stuck in while on his quest for Narnia ("I swear to god, there's a fucking faun in here somewhere!"), watching Blaine kid around with everyone and make an effort to include Kurt in all the in-jokes, even the ones from before he came to Dalton, and enjoying himself a lot but also wondering just how these crazy boys with the toilet-paper-crowns and the smell of booze and pot hanging over them managed to put on the blazers and the dress pants and pass themselves off as so proper in the Dalton hallways.

"So yeah, Wes is coming home for his first weekend tomorrow night, and he was thinking of having a Warbler reunion at his house," Blaine continues. Kurt frowns, a little confused.

"That's great…right?" he asks slowly, because it's weird that Blaine is getting all awkward and tongue-tied over a Warbler party. Kurt wonders if Wes specifically asked Blaine not to bring him to the party, which would be pretty awful, but then a fuzzy memory floats through his brain of Blaine saying that Kurt would love it, have an amazing time, and even though he was more than a little distracted when he heard these words they sure didn't sound like he was being uninvited.

"Oh it is, it totally is. It's just…well, Wes wants to invite the New Directions to come too," Blaine mumbles, eyes fixed on a point somewhere above Kurt's ear. Kurt blinks once, twice, and then sits up so suddenly that he narrowly avoids bonking Blaine in the nose with his forehead.

"Are you serious?"

"Kurt, I know, I told him it was a bad idea—" Blaine begins anxiously as he scrambles into a sitting position as well, but Kurt cuts him off before he can go any further.

"I think that's an amazing idea!"

"Bwah?" Blaine gurgles, his brow furrowing in confusion. Kurt shakes his head and unconsciously adjusts his hair, social-planning vibes begins to course through his body.

"A New Directions-Warbler party…oh my god, that would be fantastic. Jeff and Sam, I've always wanted to see them next to each other because their hair would just be ridiculous, and I know that Thad would love Santana and Brittany because they could just be bitches together for hours, and Puck, oh my god, I might finally figure out a way to see how he looks in a blazer, we could pick out the perfect playlist medley of Warbler and New Directions competition hits and everyone would dance and it would be the best thing ever!"

"But…I mean, yeah, except…Kurt, do you think everyone at McKinley will want to go?" Blaine asks with a little desperation in his voice. Kurt rolls his eyes and waves a hand at Blaine. A weird ominous feeling steals over him for a second, a feeling like there's some unpleasant puzzle piece he left out of the awesome picture in his head, but he brushes that thought aside as pre-party excitement and places a reassuring hand on Blaine's shoulder.

"Of course they will, you know everyone's been dying to get a closer look at gay Hogwarts since last year…although," he pauses as a sudden and unpleasant thought hits him. Kurt sighs and massages the bridge of his nose. "Although we may have one little problem."