Fic: Streak (Kurt/Blaine, R)

Title: Streak
Author: GlassParade (aka glitterdammerung)
Pairing: Kurt and Blaine
Rating: R
Word Count: 3100
Summary: Cheerio Blaine, at Santana’s suggestion, recruits badboy Skank Kurt Hummel to help him put pink streaks in his hair. Things get a little out of hand. Or in hand, as it were. Requested by Cass.
Author’s Note: Well, everyone has to write Cheerio!Blaine and Skank!Kurt at least once, right?

Being in boxer-briefs and nothing but boxer-briefs in Kurt Hummel’s bathroom was an exposing, humbling experience. Blaine supposed he’d technically asked for it, but he didn’t quite understand the need for it.

“I don’t understand why I have to be mostly naked,” he complained, but not without keeping a surreptitious eye on Kurt’s bare chest as Kurt moved around him. “I feel so…”

“Naked?” Kurt snorted out a little laugh, very carefully focused on where he was painting careful bleach streaks into Blaine’s curls. “Relax, Anderson. I just didn’t want to get bleach and dye spots on your Cheerios uniform. Remember, I know how much those things cost.”

Blaine eyeballed Kurt more closely, grateful for the close attention Kurt was paying to his head that allowed him to do it. Kurt had been a Cheerio, too, two years ago. Clearly he’d found it worth keeping up with the physique that had been drilled into him…Blaine wondered if he kept up with Coach Sylvester’s flexibility training, too, and blushed at the thought. “Okay, but your entire outfit was like, $10 at the thrift store, right? So how come you’re shirtless?”

“My ensembles are carefully constructed and deconstructed to look like they cost $10, Blaine, but telling you their full price would be both incredibly gauche and would make your preppy sensibilities scream,” came the airy reply. “And besides, I didn’t want bleach on my CBGB’s shirt. Do you even know what a miracle it was to find a CBGB’s shirt in this Midwestern backwater?” Squinting one eye shut, he reached forward to dab more cream bleach on the curl dangling over Blaine’s forehead before wrapping it in foil. “I can’t believe anyone gave it up.”

Blaine actually did know what a miracle that was, but he wasn’t about to tell Kurt that. They weren’t here to bond, they were strictly here so that Blaine could get pink streaks painted into his hair by McKinley High’s foremost authority on rebellious hair coloring. No one owned the halls of their school like Kurt Hummel did, striding through as he did in battered motorcycle boots and shredded jeans, ancient t-shirts and hair streaked in a shade of brilliant magenta that was the best fuck you in the world to every homophobic dickbag that had ever so much as thought of shoving him into a locker.

Blaine both admired and feared him…and okay, wanted him a little bit, but the fear sort of overrode that. It had taken every ounce of courage he’d ever possessed to go under the stadium bleachers and seek out the Skanks, and then more he still didn’t know where it came from to ask to speak to Kurt alone, even as he cursed Santana for suggesting he seek Kurt out for hair coloring help when Coach Sylvester had handed down what Blaine was privately calling The Lady Gaga Streak Edict.

It had been worth it, though, for this, for being able to quietly ogle Kurt Hummel without a shirt on. A fleeting thought of it might have been nice to see him shirtless with the leather jacket on zipped through Blaine’s brain and made him blush harder – but it also made his dick stir in his red boxer briefs. Slowly, as casually as he could manage, Blaine dropped his hands over it and hoped Kurt wouldn’t notice. He didn’t need the worldly Kurt Hummel making fun of him for popping a boner and exposing his little crush.

They were just here for the hair color. Right. Blaine squeezed his eyes tight shut and waited for Kurt to finish with the bleaching and foiling of his hair. It didn’t take long – he only wanted a few streaks. “I tried to get areas of your hair that would look okay streaked if you did your usual gel-helmet thing,” Kurt commented, dropping down in front of Blaine to perch on the edge of the bathtub. Blaine tore his eyes away from the bulge in the front of Kurt’s skin-tight ripped and expertly faded jeans. “Which I am going officially on the record as saying I don’t approve of, because you have really good hair, Anderson. And I promise, I don’t tell everyone that.”

“Thanks.” Taken aback by the compliment, Blaine wanted to duck his head to hide the bashful grin he felt tipping up his mouth. Kurt winked and gave him a lopsided grin back, running a hand through his pink and chestnut hair.

Jeez, no one had any right to be so insolently attractive in shredded clothing and with piercings laddering up ears that almost seemed to end in a graceful, elfin point. Blaine crossed one leg over the other to hide his continued and rising interest.

They waited in silence, only Blaine’s tension and their breathing filling the little bathroom until the timer Kurt had set chimed. Blaine watched as Kurt stood up in silence, stepping over without a word to check one of the foiled curls. “It looks good,” Kurt finally said, unwrapping the curl and tossing the foil aside. In short order, he had all of the foils out of Blaine’s hair. “Okay. Can you get on your knees by the bathtub for me?”

Blaine did, shifting around to get as comfortable as he could manage kneeling on the folded towel Kurt had placed there. Overhead, Kurt was releasing the handheld showerhead from its bracket, holding it away as he turned on the water and dribbled his fingers in the spray until it warmed up. “Lean over the bathtub side now,” he instructed quietly.

Closing his eyes, Blaine tipped over and leaned his acrid-smelling head over, taking a deep breath and trying not to wince at the lungful of sharp, bleachy air. Warm water sluiced through his curls, guided by a strong hand fingering through them and separating them. “You do have really nice hair,” came the comment, as Kurt worked, his fingers massaging Blaine’s scalp as he rinsed out the bleach. “If you ever want styling tips…”

“Yeah, maybe.” Blaine found it hard to think, given that he wanted to melt under Kurt’s magical fingers on his scalp. He almost whimpered when Kurt set the shower head aside, the scraping of plastic on tile letting Blaine know he was probably picking up a bottle of shampoo – the sound of liquid squirting out of the cap next confirmed it. Blaine relaxed further as the creamy, sweet smelling soap was worked into his hair by long, graceful fingers. He all but became a puddle by the tub as Kurt silently worked through rinsing, conditioning, and rinsing again before he squeezed some of the water out and guided Blaine upright.

Blaine watched Kurt’s face, watched as Kurt didn’t look at him as he knelt and gently towel dried Blaine’s hair. “What now?”

“We have to let your hair dry before we can put the color on it,” Kurt replied absently, picking up and inspecting one of the damp curls. “I figured we could go back into my room and watch a movie while we waited.”

“Oh.” Watch a movie? With Kurt? Blaine became acutely aware again that he was in nothing but his underwear. “Should I get dressed…?”

“No, not when we still have stuff to do with your hair.” Standing, Kurt went to the door and grabbed a blue robe off of the hook. “Here. It’ll be easier to get in and out of.”

Blaine accepted the robe and wrapped himself in it, cinching the belt tight. “Um, did I thank you for doing this already? Because I really do appreciate it, you helping me with my hair. It was really nice of you -”

“Save it.” Kurt’s hand waved dismissively, but Blaine thought he saw the merest quirk of a smile as he turned away to begin cleaning up the bleaching supplies they’d used. “You thanked me when you got here. And when I agreed to help. And again after school yesterday. I feel really thanked, I promise.” He dipped the paint brush in a dish of soapy solution and pulled it back out, shaking it a little, and Blaine was fairly positive there was a smile present now. “Why don’t you go pick out a movie? They’re in the cabinet under my TV. I’ll be in there in a minute.”

Nerves had Blaine fiddling with the ends of the terry cloth belt as he ducked his head in a nod and squeezed past Kurt to get out of the tiny bathroom, trying and failing to not brush against Kurt’s butt. He bit his lip as his dick began to show signs of life again, apparently deeply appreciative of the firmness of the curve under the worn denim. No, he thought firmly in its general direction, crouching down to rummage through the TV cabinet. Not doing this. Not with him. He wouldn’t want me.

By the time Kurt rejoined him, Blaine was neatly arranged at the edge of the bed, sitting cross-legged with his robe strategically draped to hide any interest displayed by his stubbornly independent-minded cock. “I picked out ‘Bring It On’,” he informed Kurt, hoping his voice didn’t sound too forced or manic. Despite his best efforts and conversational skills, his brain and his dick had teamed up to remind him that Kurt looked really good shirtless, and it didn’t help that Kurt was still shirtless when he emerged from the bathroom.

“Good one.” With a yawn and a stretch, Kurt loped over to the bed and flung himself down on the unoccupied side, long legs stretching out and seeming to go on for miles. “Santana gave it to all the new Cheerios my year. I still like to get it out sometimes, admire the scenery.” When Blaine turned to face Kurt, it was to see the other boy patting the pillow next to him. “The view’s better from back here, by the way.”

“Uh…” Oh God. “I’m good.”

“No, you’re in the way of the screen,” Kurt pointed out, continuing to pat the pillow. “Come on, get comfortable…get out of the way. You’re blocking my ideal ogling path, Anderson.”

“I, uh…”

“Get back here,” came the order, accompanied by a lazy, sexy smirk, “or I will drag you back here by the collar of that robe.”

Knowing his cheeks were as red as his boxer briefs, Blaine scooted back, hoping against hope that the robe was baggy and drapey enough to hide any little indiscretions in the vicinity of his crotch. When his back hit the pillow and the headboard of the bed, he turned to Kurt and smiled, probably a little too broad and nervous. “Okay. So. Here I am.”

“Here you are.” For some reason, Kurt seemed incredibly amused by Blaine’s nervousness. His mouth was twitched to the side in a smirk, one eyebrow raised as he raked his gaze up and down Blaine’s entire body, as if he could take everything Blaine was wearing off and throw it to the floor with the strength of his bedroom eyes. And from the way Blaine was having to fight to resist the impulse to strip naked, he was inclined to believe that Kurt possibly could. “And on my side of the bed, too.”

“Oh. I…uh, I can move?” Blaine’s brain was starting to short circuit from the way Kurt wouldn’t stop looking at him. As if Blaine was a particularly interesting and delicious dessert, ready to be licked and nibbled and – oh sweet God he really had to get a handle on his imagination and libido and everything that was suddenly making it very, very difficult for him to be in close proximity to Kurt right now.

“No, you’re fine right there. I just need to get the remote from the bedside table.” Rolling onto his side, Kurt propped himself up on his elbow, his smirk growing wider. Blaine only had time to wonder for a moment as to why before Kurt had pushed himself up and was leaning over – well more like onto – Blaine, his bare chest pressed to Blaine’s, arm frozen in the act of stretching to reach the remote.

Dimly, Blaine registered that his heart was beating faster than it ever had after Cheerios practice, and that if that was Kurt’s heartbeat he was feeling through the thick terrycloth robe, it was marching even time with Blaine’s. Kurt’s eyes were big and dark and his breathing was a heavy rasp and that was all Blaine got to register before Kurt’s mouth was on his, fingers tangling in the damp curls of Blaine’s hair as his tongue slipped past and alongside of Blaine’s, warm and mobile and experienced.

At Cheerio slumber parties, Blaine had gotten a little tipsy on wine coolers with the other cheerleaders and he and the girls had practiced kissing. It was fun, always full of giggles and tasting like strawberry-kiwi or wild berries.

It had never included wild, sharp inhalations or desperate little whimpers and it had certainly never included a hand slipping its grip on his hair and sliding down along his cheek and neck and chest, fingers fumbling at the bow knot in the belt of his robe. Blaine arched up against Kurt’s hand as it released the knot and let the robe fall open, exposing his flushed skin to be touched and caressed, learned and explored. A moan escaped his mouth, and he felt Kurt smile against his lips.

“I thought I noticed a little interest earlier,” Kurt whispered in satisfaction, nipping at Blaine’s lower lip, hand tracing along the waistband of Blaine’s shorts. “So do you really want to watch the movie?”

As Kurt’s fingertips dipped under the waistband, all Blaine could do was gasp and shake his head. “Good,” Kurt breathed before he brought his lips back down on Blaine’s again.

Playing at making out with the Cheerios had absolutely never been like this.

Kurt’s reputation around the school hinted at experience Blaine could only dream of – his hand around Blaine’s cock did more than hint. The broad palm and long fingers stroked with a slow confidence that had Blaine squirming at the tease, his hands coming up to grab at Kurt’s shoulders and pull him closer, mouth seeking more, hips shifting up and back in a vain effort to get more delicious friction in Kurt’s grip.

“God, I hoped you’d be like this,” Kurt mumbled against Blaine’s mouth, his own hips bucking forward to let Blaine feel the unmistakable bulge of his erection through his jeans. “You’re so slicked down and buttoned up at school. I’ve been watching you…” His hand pulled up, relaxed, stroked down. “I wanted to see what you’d look like coming apart. You’re so hot, Blaine.”

Hearing his first name – instead of the surname Kurt had always used - in Kurt’s voice for the first time was more incredibly arousing than he could have ever dreamed. And oh, Blaine had dreamed, so many nights as he jerked himself off to fantasies of being with Kurt. He’d been fascinated by the badboy ex-Cheerio, the only reason he’d followed Santana’s advice. He had no idea that Kurt had had any reciprocal interest.

He wondered if Santana had known. She always seemed to know things…

“I didn’t know…” But whatever it was Blaine didn’t know, he forgot to ask about as Kurt’s thumb stroked over the tip of his penis and slipped over the head, brushing at the sensitive spot right behind the ridge. “Kurt, God.”

“Not quite, but I appreciate the compliment,” purred Kurt, sliding his lips along Blaine’s jaw, sucking little kisses into the skin. “So pretty and needy…do you want to come? It feels like you want to come…” His hand worked faster at Blaine’s cock, making Blaine push his hips up and have to bite his lip to keep from letting out the embarrassingly loud groan he felt sitting hot in his chest. He was so hard in Kurt’s hand, his hands so tight on Kurt’s shoulders. Need coiled hot at the pit of his stomach, the base of his spine. “Come on, Blaine. Can you come for me? You need it, don’t you, want to come all over my hand, huh, babe?”

The low, sensual growl in Kurt’s voice was what tipped Blaine over, burying his face in the crook of Kurt’s neck as Kurt stroked him through the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced. It had never ever been anything like this when it was just himself, his fantasies and his hand. It was so much hotter when it was Kurt actually whispering low and dirty in his ear, coaxing Blaine to let out his groans as his come spurted warm over Kurt’s fingers. “So dirty, I want to hear you, babe…let it out, I want to hear you while I’m making you come.”

It felt like he could come forever, groans leaving his throat raw, his body trembling with the force of the pleasure streaking through it. But it ran out like an open drain at last, leaving Blaine limp and slumping against Kurt, trying to catch his breath and wrap his mind around what had just happened.

Kurt pulled his hand out of Blaine’s shorts, lifting his fingers to his lips and licking the come off. If Blaine could have managed to get it up again, the sight of that would have been sure to make him come a second time. “Mm. Jesus, Blaine, you’re…I almost came just watching you.”

Blaine started back, his eyes wide. “Oh, God, Kurt, you didn’t…I didn’t even think -”

“No, Blaine, don’t.” Leaning forward, Kurt touched his lips to Blaine’s with a surprising gentleness, letting Blaine taste himself for just a moment. “It’s okay.”

Glancing down at the bulge in Kurt’s jeans, Blaine felt his mouth water. “But I…”

“Oh, I’ll let you,” Kurt assured him, a wicked spark in his blue eyes. “We’ve got all afternoon, babe. Right after I finish putting the streaks in your hair, I’m gonna teach you how to give me a blowjob.”

The next time Santana said she had a really good idea, man, Blaine was so going to listen again. And he was totally buying her morning coffee for the next month.