Not Alone | Blaine Anderson

#2

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Blaine chuckled, that boyish grin of his ever-present in his late thirties. Maybe some things would never change. 

We had been sat on the couch, not doing much besides being on our own devices and enjoying a blissfully quiet house. The children had been gone for less than ten minutes and we hadn't said a word, both taking a minute to unwind. I suppose we expected someone would have forgotten something and Burt and Carole would be knocking on the door any moment, we were almost giving things a moment to settle into place.

And they had settled. And I was staring directly at my husband. I pulled my legs up, reaching them over to softly stroke Blaine's lap with my foot, enjoying the friendly contact. "It hasn't been just us in like..."

"Ten years," Blaine answered for me, "not with a whole week of just us."

It sounded too good to be true. We weren't awful parents, and we loved our children dearly, how could we not? Oscar toddled about with Blaine's thick dark curls and that same boyish grin he was giving me at the moment. His eyes however were green and doe-like in the sense mine were, and he was one of those picture-perfect children. If we weren't so opposed to keeping the lives of our children out of the public eye, Oscar could have easily been a child model.

Lola was the only child who hadn't developed Blaine's dark hair, and instead as a baby had blonde ringlets. Despite that, she was almost the split image of her father facially, his big puppy dog eyes and pout, she had almost everyone wrapped around her finger. 

Alfie was the eldest, and although began looking like a mini-Blaine, his features had matured to be more like my own, and his dark brown hair would softly highlight blonde streaks in the summer, which in L.A. was all year round. 

All three of them were gone for the week, Burt and Carole renting out an old lodge near the spot he would take me and Kurt as children. They had even flown to LA to collect the children, both of them eager to give us a weeks break - which you never truly had when you worked in entertainment and had children. Neither of us knew exactly what to do with ourselves, until an idea came into my mind.

I was nudging Blaine's thigh with my foot, eager for him to come over to my side of the sofa and quite possibly devour me with kisses. I was almost certain teenager Blaine would have already been over here on his own accord, though Blaine's high sex drive, for worse or for better, calmed down as he became an adult, and his oblivious self probably didn't even realise my intentions.

"I wonder what we will do," I bit my lip, desperate for him to take the initiative from my hints.

He did not. "Maybe we could go out to that new Seafood restaurant we keep meaning to try, or we could finally organise the books in the study by colour like we keep saying we will," yes, still oblivious as ever, "ooh! Or we could even go to the apartment in New York, I think it may be booked out as an air bnb for a week but we could just pay for an even nicer place for the guests to go and stay instead, I'm sure they won't mind."

***smut***

Bluntness was always the key with Blaine, "or you could begin by fucking me like there's no tomorrow on every surface of this house."

His eyes widened initially, in his own state of shock as his mind slowly began to comprehend and reevaluate the whole conversation we had just had to these new consequences. Then he turned and faced me with a devilish look, "Oh yeah, I could do that as well."

He made his way slowly over to me, and his hands came and slowly traced every part of my body, almost like he was touching me for the first time. It was slow and soft enough that you could hear our skin slide together, the soft friction. When he was younger, Blaine was very adamant about his manscaping to the point where he would wax his arms, but nowadays there was a rugged, manliness too him, something that over the years he had grown into. He hadn't gelled his hair since his last movie where it needed to be slicked back, and his beautiful curls were free and as beautiful as ever. He had a soft stubble, which occasionally verged on a beard, and if there was one thing that was for certain it was that Blaine aged like fine wine.