On The Devil's Path

11

Privacy of the sort that would allow them to be together freely was rare. They didn't realize just how rare it was until they were desperately seeking it.

So they danced around each other. They lingered over every meal, every errand, and every brief moment of relative quiet. They sat side by side, their legs pressed together, their skin burning. They played the piano, their fingers brushing over the keys, their feet close on the hardwood floor. They stole glances at each other across rooms and hallways, trying not to be obvious about each and every theft.

Kurt dressed for Blaine; pants and jeans and button-ups that hugged every curve and edge of his body. He took care with his hair and his smile and the swing of his hips. He wanted Blaine to be sure of his interest.

Closed doors sometimes went unnoticed for short periods of time, and when they were guaranteed that safety Blaine would come up behind him near a window or a desk or a bed and trace the lines of his back and shoulders before sliding his arms around his waist, pulling him close and kissing his neck until Kurt couldn't hold back the whimpers, couldn't stop himself from putting his hands atop Blaine's and holding on, as if that clasp were the only thing keeping them grounded in reality.

Blaine would say things that had Kurt's heart racing in seconds, sentiments Kurt hadn't been offered in years.

"You look so handsome today."

"You smell good."

"Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

Always whispered, always truthful, and always hitting Kurt exactly where he lived, in that wanting needing craving place that had been dormant for so long.

One afternoon Kurt gave in more completely than usual to the temptation of a locked door. Blaine was sitting in Remy's armchair near the armoire in the corner of their bedroom, wearing a button-up with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows. The corded, smooth skin of his bare forearms made Kurt weak with longing. Kurt sat down over his lap and kissed him, intending to do only that and then get up. But Blaine parted his lips and combed his fingers through the hair at the back of his head and the combined sensation zig-zagged down his sides and he whined and pressed their bodies together and lost himself. They kissed for ten minutes, stopping only to breathe. As risky as this was, kissing was nothing compared to the thoughts flooding Kurt's head.

He wanted to sink down onto his knees and bury his face in Blaine's lap. He wanted to fill his mouth with Blaine's cock and let the surging, hard, hot thrust of it force his mouth to grow accustomed to it, wanted to become an object for Blaine's pleasure, knowing he would feel that pleasure translate into the purest sort of freedom. He imagined Blaine coming in his mouth, the taste of it, the texture of it, Blaine's shaft throbbing with every pulse. He imagined Blaine pulling his hair, pressing his head down, unable to continue being polite when his orgasm took him over. Sweet, dapper Blaine revealing his ability to be rough through the greedy snap of his hips and how he would edge the head of his cock into Kurt's throat to feel the elastic hug of it milk him dry.

Kurt jerked off twice a day to deal with these fantasies and the denial that surrounded them as effectively as the bars of a cage. It was the only time he felt even remotely in control, when his fist was flying around his cock and his mind was filled with filthy thoughts about a man who was not his husband. It connected him completely to himself, and gave him a release he'd forgotten he could achieve.