Title: The Day I Charmed the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

Author: Tati Rivers (hey, that's me!)

Fandom: Glee

Rating: T (for now) for suggestive themes and slash pairings

Pairing: Klaine (Kurt/Blaine)

Disclaimer: I own the idea for this fanfic, but I absolutely, completely, and totally do not own Glee or its characters. I've informed everyone I know, however, that I want Darren Criss with a big bow on top for my birthday, so here's hoping! ;)

A/N: Okay, I was brainstorming for oneshot ideas, and recalled reading somewhere that Darren Criss is fluent in Italian, hence the pitter-patter of my heart whenever his name is so much as mentioned. Anyway, it struck me that Kurt is also quite learned in French, and thus this fic was born! After all, it only stands to logic that our dear boy is a fan of being verbally wooed in Italian. At least, that's what I'm picking up.

I might make this into a series of oneshots depending on the amount of interest it garners, as I have a few more ideas bounding about in my box of insanity—ahem, creativity—but we'll see how it goes. Feedback is very appreciated though, as always, I ask only that it be in the form of constructive criticism instead of a pointless, rude flame, if you please.

Enjoy!

The Day I Talked the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

"No, no, no, no, Blaine!" Kurt nearly growled in frustration as he waved animatedly at the small mountain of textbooks and paper strewn helter-skelter across Blaine's floor. "This is the most basic form of conjugation there is; how did you possibly get into Honors?"

Blaine cringed away from the impassioned glare of his new French tutor, and stared down at his lap with a look of humble shame in hopes that the rather mouthwatering pout of his lower lip would appease his wrath. But Kurt was too far gone in his lecture on conjugating verbs to pay attention to such an appealing expression, if the scowl etched upon his own features was any indication. "You've already fulfilled your foreign language requirements, so why don't you just screw it and drop this class?" Kurt lifted up his hands before letting them fall again, his palms making a harsh smacking sound as they landed on a French textbook that lay open before him. "Failing it can't possibly help you either way."

"I told you already," Blaine said slowly and with poorly disguised exhaustion, "my dad owns a trading company, so he wants me to be fluent in at least three languages before I start my internship." He shrugged. "The company is, after all, international. We do business with countries all over the world, so it kind of makes sense that I learn as many languages as possible to ease me in."

"Well, can't you take Latin or German instead—or even regular French? No offense, Blaine, but in languages, Honors is a bit out of your league." Kurt's arms were flailing about wildly in his attempt at expressing himself through frenzied gestures resembling those one would make while drowning in a lake, but he nevertheless didn't fail to present an elegantly collected picture as he sat with crossed legs on the shag carpet spread out upon Blaine's dorm room floor. His blazer lay folded neatly upon the cream-colored leather loveseat a few feet away, and his sleeves were meticulously rolled up, revealing the delicate ivory flesh of his slender forearms.

Blaine lifted up his nose at Kurt with slightly miffed expression. "Excuse me, but I'm not entirely a lost cause at languages. I am fluent in Italian, after all."

Every smidge of color drained from Kurt's already pale face before rushing back with renewed intensity until he looked like he had just been turned upside down. "Y-y-you what?" he said, only it came out as a sort of half-moaning hiss, like the noise cold water makes when you pour it on a hot oven top. His expression was like that of a deer caught in the headlights, and Blaine saw his Adam's apple bob up and down several times as he frowned in confusion at Krt's reaction to such a simple statement.

"I speak Italian?" It came out as more of a question, distracted as Blaine was by the audible panting noises that Kurt was letting forth, his full, pink lips parted as he gazed at Blaine in what could only be described as pure, unadulterated hunger. And though Blaine was not at all against Kurt gazing at him with that expression, under the circumstances it was rather a cause for concern. "You okay, Kurt?" he asked, frowning at the boy in confusion.

"Oh, I'm fine," Kurt practically moaned in a breathless, throaty sort of voice that had an immediate—and very physical—effect on Blaine's person. The younger boy's pearly white teeth snagged on his perfectly curved bottom lip, biting down on the delicate flesh, and Blaine could only stare in bewildered awe at the incredibly delightful look of coy lust that danced in Kurt's sea-colored eyes.

Then suddenly the look was gone, replaced by an expression of hesitant curiosity, and Kurt's eyes dropped to the rug where he stared with obvious confliction, twisting his hands before raising his head and inquiring of the coffee table to Blaine's right, "C-could you, um, say something to me in Italian—just to, um, prove you're not messing with me?" Blaine wondered how it was possibly for Kurt to have so much blood in his head without exploding.

He raised in eyebrow at Kurt's request but acquiesced after a moment of hesitation and said quietly in perfectly accented Italian, "Dove sei stato per tutta la mia vita?"

At that, Kurt sat with hands clenched so tightly he was sure his nails were drawing blood, but at the moment it didn't seem to matter because Blaine had spoken to him in Italian. In Italian. A tiny bit of drool gathered at the corner of his mouth, which was currently forming a star-struck "o" as he gazed at Blaine with reverent admiration.

And suddenly it dawned on Blaine, and his eyes widened as he recalled the posters of French people—most especially French men—that were hung upon Kurt's walls in his dorm room (they were fully clothed . . . for the most part), as well as a small conversation he'd had with Kurt about them. Kurt had explained with shining eyes about his fascination with foreign languages, and how he couldn't help but develop small crushes on the foreign exchange students because "having someone speak to me in a different language that I can't understand is kind of a turn-on for me". The realization hit Blaine like a freight train.

His Italian was turning Kurt on.

He grinned. This was going to be fun.

"Would you like to hear a bit more, ragazzo mio bello?" he drawled in his best seductive tone, daring to inch toward Kurt just a little as an obscenely flirtatious smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

The younger boy's eyes were starting to bulge, and he stared at Blaine with an expression of complete and utter worship. Blaine was moving even closer, all the while murmuring sweet nothings in Italian—at least Kurt thought they were sweet nothings; looking back, he realized they were probably more along the lines of downright filthy sexual innuendos. His pulse was racing so fast it felt like he was going to spontaneously combust from the pressure pounding in his chest simply from being so close—barely a foot away—to an Italian-speaking, blazer-wearing, drool-worthy Blaine Anderson. And either he had died and gone to heaven, or said Italian-speaking sex god was currently sweeping his intense hazel eyes boldly over Kurt's shaking body and licking his lips like Kurt was an ice cream cone he was about to devour as he moved toward the awestruck boy like a predator circling its prey. Strangely, the thought was far from disturbing.

"Mmm, sei una delizia." Blaine's fingertips brushed Kurt's knees, and a shudder traced down Kurt's spine. He could smell Blaine's intoxicating fragrance, like black coffee and cinnamon, plus a scent that was entirely his own, sweet and breezy, much better than Glade air fresheners, which Blaine swore by. "Ho intenzione di farti un sacco di cosacce, tesoro." Kurt could see the barely visible freckles smattered across Blaine's nose, and the way his eyelashes caressed his cheeks as his gaze swept down, practically undressing Kurt with his eyes. He felt heat wherever Blaine's stare went, and barely managed to contain the lust raging through his veins. Each word spoken in lilting, deep-voiced Italian went straight to his nether regions, until he could barely see straight, and he could taste blood from where he had bitten down on his lip. "Ho intenzione di leccarti dalla testa ai piedi"—Blaine's lips were mere inches away from Kurt's, his palms brushing against Kurt's upper thighs as he leaned in, his hands on either side of the younger boy—"e poi ricomincio da capo." His fresh, minty breath tickled Kurt's jaw as he continued with the barest hint of a low, unbearably sexy growl in his voice, "Non vedo l'ora di sentirti urlare il mio nome mentre ti faccio venire." Blaine drew away far enough to stare in Kurt's eyes, and a lock of dark hair escaped his mass of scrupulously gelled and combed curls and fell perfectly over his brow. Kurt was dying to push it away, even as he was rendered immobile by the deliciously rolling Italian that dripped like warm honey off Blaine's lips when he murmured softly, "Non hai idea di quel che mi fai." His nose skimmed Kurt's jaw as he inhaled the mouthwatering scent of Kurt's skin, and he added against the boy's neck, "Mi togli il fiato."

Kurt couldn't take it anymore.

"C'mere," he gasped, and wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck with a needy moan. "Speaking Italian like that under the age of twenty-one ought to be illegal," he mumbled just before their lips met.

"But not in private," Blaine amended swiftly against Kurt's mouth, pulling him closer as he moved over him, until they were "all horizontal", as Puck would say, on the rug, limbs entwined as they eagerly tasted each other for the first time. Kurt dragged his nails across Blaine's back, groaning loudly, as the older boy pressed adoring little kisses all over his face, murmuring, "Ti amo," over and over.

Kurt knew enough of Italian to know what Blaine had just said, and answered with a bubbly little giggle of happiness against Blaine's ear, "Took the words right out of my mouth."

"So, what did you say anyway?" Kurt asked, snuggling closer into Blaine's warm, bare chest and sighing as he felt the older boy bury his face in his hair. He felt more than saw Blaine's questioning expression, and hurried to explain, "I mean, that first thing you said in Italian."

"Oh." Blaine's face burrowed more deeply into the nape of Kurt's neck, and Kurt felt him smile against the delicate skin there. "That's classified."

"Come on!" Kurt whined, turning over to pout at Blaine with big, doe-like eyes. "Please." His fingertips drew light circles on Blaine's chest, and he pressed soft butterfly kisses across the boy's jaw.

Blaine closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Kurt's with a contented sigh. "You're far too persuasive for your own good," he groaned, giving Kurt a flirty kiss on the nose before he drew away to brush his lips against the hollow of Kurt's throat.

Kurt grinned and shrugged with an impish light in his eyes. "I'm a man of many talents, wouldn't you say?" He winked and waggled his eyebrows at Blaine.

Blaine stared at him for a moment before rolling on top of Kurt with an indulgent chuckle, causing the younger boy to gasp and squeal. "Are you ticklish?" he breathed against Kurt's collarbone, feeling his little wood nymph's heart skip a bit under his hand.

Kurt shook his head, pushing weakly at Blaine's shoulders and lying horribly as he answered far too quickly, "No, not one bit."

Blaine pulled back a bit to grin at the boy. "Let's find out, shall we?" And he proceeded to tickle Kurt senseless.

"Stop—stop—please—no—stop—ah!" Kurt's shrieks of laughter filled the room along with Blaine's surprisingly adorable cackling. "Blaine!"

Blaine paused in his attack with one last chuckle, pressing a kiss to Kurt's chest before he nestled into Kurt's side, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy and brushing his lips against Kurt's neck before whispering drowsily, "I said 'where have you been all my life?'"

A/N: As always, credit goes to Number1KurtHummelFan for beta'ing earlier, unfinished versions of this fanfic, but I have rewritten it since she last saw it, so all mistakes you see are completely my fault. Also, my apologies for most likely bombing the lovely Italian language. Please message me with your corrections; they are so very appreciated, and I would hate to do any injustice to such a beautiful language, so please don't hesitate.

And one last thing; if you want to know everything Blaine said in Italian and you're too lazy to C&P everything into Google Translator, go ahead and message me and I'll send you the translation (either in English or very, very bad French, since as I said before, I'm an American. ;)

Okay, well, gotta go, thanks for reading!