
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14120922.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Blaine_Anderson/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Blaine_Anderson, Kurt_Hummel
  Additional Tags:
      My_babies_are_over_the_age_of_consent_they're_just_still_under_18_hence
      the_underage_tag, French, Blaine_has_a_French_kink, but_also_a_Kurt_kink,
      Dirty_Talk, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Kissing, Boys_Kissing, Lots_of
      kissing, I_love_my_boys, Klaine, Dalton_Academy, Alternate_Universe_-
      Dalton_Academy, its_kind_of_an_AU_youll_see
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-28 Words: 5031
****** French ******
by CordeliaRose
Summary
     “Je veux embrasser toi,” Blaine says, and Kurt thinks his heart does
     actually stop for a second before it starts beating double time.
     Because, yes, the pronunciation was terrible, and the accent was
     flat, and if Blaine said anything that atrociously butchered in his
     oral exam he’d probably be kicked out, but…his boyfriend just said he
     wanted to kiss him. In French. It hits him harder than he thinks it
     should, and he scrabbles for a response that’s even vaguely
     intelligent.
Notes
     Hi everyone! Just a few notes before we get started:
     • This is set at Dalton, but if Kurt stayed there for longer or if
     Blaine and Kurt’s relationship developed quicker (I really love
     Dalton fics for some reason, and I’m quite willing to meddle with the
     timeline to get them).
     • The French is all from my own knowledge (I’ve been taking classes
     since I was about four, but I am by no means an expert) and my trusty
     dictionary. Still, though, may be mistakes. Be warned.
     • Rather than putting translations for the French at the bottom of
     the fic, I put them after the actual French so you wouldn’t have to
     scroll back and forth constantly. I feel like that breaks the flow of
     the story more than just having the English next to it, so.
     • The very lovely, kind, wondrous (and many other adjectives)
     KlainePotter621 over at FF.N beta’ed this for me – shout-out to her!
     • This is perhaps the filthiest thing I’ve ever written. It may not
     even be that filthy, but I am a blushing virginal 18-year-old. Also a
     lesbian, so all knowledge of how men work during sex comes from other
     fanfictions I’ve read and a disturbing amount of porn I hope nobody
     irl ever finds out about.
See the end of the work for more notes
Kurt’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, a thick textbook about the Tudors open
on his lap and his rough workbook perched precariously on one knee. Blaine, as
per usual during their homework sessions, is sprawled on the floor with his
books everywhere; laptop open in front of him and phone screen lighting up
every few minutes with notifications. Every so often he makes a little angry
noise as he struggles with something or the other. The noises are becoming more
frequent, a sure sign he’s moved onto his French work, but he waves off Kurt’s
help politely.
 
They’ve been sitting in silence for a while now, the only noise coming from
other students as they clatter around the halls outside and their pens
scratching on paper. Then –
 
“Je veux embrasser toi,” Blaine says, and Kurt thinks his heart does actually
stop for a second before it starts beating double time. Because, yes, the
pronunciation was terrible, and the accent was flat, and if Blaine said
anything that atrociously butchered in his oral exam he’d probably be kicked
out, but…his boyfriend just said he wanted to kiss him. In French. It hits him
harder than he thinks it should, and he scrabbles for a response that’s even
vaguely intelligent.
 
“Je veux embrasser toi aussi,” he replies, voice pitched just a little higher
and breathier than usual. “Mais tu dois finir tes devoirs.” I want to kiss you
too. But you have to finish your homework.
 
Blaine doesn’t quite get all of that, judging by his face, but he catches and
understands enough to figure out the gist of what Kurt’s saying at least,
because he grins at him lopsidedly and then returns to his work.
 
Kurt continues his own homework, though he has to confess to being slightly
distracted by the thoughts of Blaine kissing him. Every so often he looks up
and sees Blaine flipping through a French dictionary, or scribbling furiously,
or squinting at his laptop screen, and his heart feels a little bit bigger each
time. He’s halfway through a sentence comparing Mary I to Elizabeth I when
Blaine speaks up again.
 
“Je peux passer heures à te regarder,” Blaine says, haltingly, reading off his
notebook, and flashes Kurt a grin that’s half-nervous, half-pleased. I could
spend hours staring at you.
 
Kurt bites his lip but can’t stop the smile escaping. “Um, you need a des
before heures,” he says quietly. “But, um – merci, Blaine. Tu es un petit ami
incroyable.” You are an amazing boyfriend.
 
“Yeah?” Blaine grins, clearly understanding that sentence, and jumps up off the
floor. He still has his notebook clutched in his hand like a lifeline, and the
way he advances towards Kurt and joins him on the bed is nothing short of
predatory, eyes never leaving Kurt’s. He clears his throat, glances at his
paper, and then reads, “Tu as un fantastique cul.” You have a fantastic ass.
 
“Blaine!” Kurt squawks, and fumbles for something to say. “Actually, in French,
adjectives come after the noun, so it should be: ‘Tu as un cul fantastique’.”
 
“Noted for future use.” Blaine has the audacity to wink at him, and oh boy. If
his face wasn’t the colour of the dress Lady Gaga wore to the 2009 MTV VMAs, it
sure was now.
 
“Blaine,” he says, and tries to sound firm, but between his blushing and the
quaver in his voice, and the fact that actually he can’t quite stop smiling a
little bit, Blaine has him wrapped around his little finger. A fact he full
well knows as he continues.
 
“Ton cul goûte délicieux. Mais je pense que ta bite est meilleur.” Your ass
tastes delicious. But I think your cock is better.
 
An embarrassing strangled sound leaves him without his permission, but Blaine
charges on. “C’est tellement beau aussi, comme toi.” It’s so beautiful too,
just like you.
 
“Blaine, stop,” Kurt tries to insist, but while he is kind of mortified he’s
also loving it slightly, so there’s no actual heat behind his words.
 
Blaine shakes his head happily. “Je bande,” he whispers huskily. “Et toi
aussi.” I have a hard-on, and so do you. “Quand je me branle je pense à toi.”
When I jerk off I think of you.
 
“Not sure why,” Kurt mutters, his vision completely filled with his gorgeous
boyfriend leaning towards him, mere inches between them. And he can’t think why
on Earth Blaine would want to be with him when he could have anyone.
 
Blaine’s expression morphs from playful and flirty to pained. “Kurt, mon chère,
tu es beau,” he says so sincerely. Kurt, my dear, you are so beautiful.
 
“Wow, you didn’t even need your cheat sheet for that one,” he quips so he
doesn’t have to keep the topic of his own insecurities going. Blaine definitely
knows what he’s doing but also knows now is not the time for a heavy
discussion, and lets himself be carried away.
 
“Can’t all be fluent,” he says instead, and moves forward to crowd into Kurt’s
space, forcing him to lean back on his elbows as Blaine gently settles his
weight on top of him. Leg slotting in between his, arms on either side of his
torso, a hand coming up to cup his jaw while the other tangles with Kurt’s own.
 
“Just one of my many talents,” Kurt manages, focusing on how close Blaine is,
chest-to-chest, separated by thin shirts.
 
“You got that right,” Blaine murmurs huskily, and for a second he moves as if
to kiss Kurt, but then ducks away at the last minute and looks at the damn
notebook that he’s laid on the bed besides Kurt’s head. “Hang on a second, let
me just adapt this – how do you say ‘one of them’?”
 
“Ah – l’un d’eux.”
 
“Okay, l’un d’eux – fuck Kurt, you sound so sexy when you speak French,” this
time Blaine does kiss him, a barely there peck on his lips that is not
satisfying and has Kurt chasing him a little, “okay, ah, l’un d’eux – your
talents, I mean - est la façon dont tu bouges, c’est si sensuel.” He stumbles
over the words as usual, but Kurt’s breath still catches in his throat because
one of your talents is the way you move, it’s so sensual.
 
“Blaine,” he chokes, but he’s ignored in favour of more ragged French.
 
“Tu n'essayes pas d'être sexy et tu es, tout le temps.” You don’t even try to
be sexy, but you are, all the time. Blaine accompanies his words with a nip to
his jawline, at the spot he knows Kurt goes slightly crazy about.
 
“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt gasps, and grabs the back of Blaine’s head with his spare
hand (he’s been in the shower already, so his curls are ungelled and soft in
his hands.) He’s about to pull him in for a kiss, end the teasing, when he
realises that actually two can play at this game, especially if one of the two
is fluent in the language of the game. He could easily spout off a paragraph
about how hot he finds Blaine, but his boyfriend probably wouldn’t understand
so it would be pointless. He goes for something a little more simple instead,
hoping Blaine found this phrase when he was doing his research. “Faire des
papouilles avec toi est tellement érotique.” Making out with you is so erotic.
He accompanies his words with a slow roll of his hips, just in case Blaine
doesn’t get it.
 
He does, and groans, and then grumbles, “I would hope so,” as he adjusts
himself on top of Kurt so their cocks are lined up next to each other, all the
better for optimal grinding. He growls when Kurt moves his hips again, and
pulls him in for a kiss that’s mainly his teeth pulling at Kurt’s lips.
 
It’s only a slight mood-kill when he pulls away to look at the paper again, and
more than compensated for when he murmurs, low and gravelly, “Parfois quand je
te vois tout ce que je veux faire c’est t’embrasser. Et parfois…tout ce que je
peux penser d’est te baiser.” Sometimes when I see you all I want to do is kiss
you. And sometimes…all I can think about is fucking you.
 
Kurt’s breath hitches in a very embarrassing way, but it makes his body jump
slightly and they both hiss when they come into contact again. When Kurt
glances up he can see how Blaine’s eyes have darkened in lust, so he feels
slightly more confident and says, “Puis pourquoi tu ne?” Then why don’t you?“Si
je suis si beau,” he adds playfully. If I am so beautiful.
 
“More than that,” Blaine says, mostly to himself. “So much more.” He drops a
kiss to Kurt’s bright red cheek and smiles softly, hand still cupping his jaw
and thumb stroking over his cheekbone just once to reassure him, and then
brings his mouth down to Kurt’s ear (also flushed) to say, “Tu te rappelles la
semaine dernière quand tu t’es baise avec un gode et tu as joui sur toi-même
pendant j’ai regardé? C’était tellement chaud, je pensais que j’allais mourir.”
Remember last week when you fucked yourself with a dildo and came on yourself
while I watched? That was so hot I thought I was going to die.
 
Once Kurt figures out what Blaine is saying he can’t even bring himself to keep
an ear out for mistakes, and is amazed that he even manages to speak, even if
it is only to say weakly, “Je suis très excité.” I am very aroused.
 
“Yeah, I can tell,” Blaine snickers, rutting against him. Kurt whimpers, and
Blaine drops the cocky, seductive act and bites his lip shyly. It’s a rare
display of vulnerability, and one that Kurt loves. “Kiss me,” he says against
Kurt’s mouth, and waits for Kurt to make the first move before responding
enthusiastically. They lie there for several minutes just exploring each
other’s mouths, as if it’s uncharted territory and not something they’ve been
doing for several months now, and it’s only when Blaine shifts his position
because his arm’s falling asleep that their covered erections make contact
again and they both groan into each other’s throats.
 
They part wetly, Blaine immediately moving to kiss down Kurt’s neck, tugging
his shirt open so he can mouth at his collarbones; a definite weak spot for the
both of them. “Kurt, Kurt,” Blaine says between kisses and licks. “Can I –
wait, wait – peux-je te tailler une pipe? Je fais les bonnes pipes.” Can I give
you a blowjob? I give good blowjobs.
 
Kurt huffs out a laugh. “You definitely do,” he agrees, “mais je préfèrerais si
tu me niquerais.”
 
Blaine presses one last kiss to the hollow of his throat and then sits back.
“Just checking,” he says, voice rough and hair crazier than usual, “you did
just say that you wanted me to fuck you, right? Hate to kill the moment, but,
you know, consent.”
 
Kurt beams at him. “I did. Also, you’re so hot right now Blaine, I don’t think
you could kill the moment.” His boyfriend immediately opens his mouth. “Don’t
take that as a challenge, love.”
 
“Wasn’t going to,” he lies. “I was just going to say that usually it takes you
longer than this to give up on homework sessions.”
 
“Oh, shoot, this was a homework session,” Kurt hisses. Blaine looks like he
wants to punch himself for reminding him. He lets him stew for a couple more
seconds, but the truth is that he is way too turned on to even consider making
them go back to work right now. “This was a homework session,” he repeats
slowly. “I need to make sure you’ve learnt something.” He leans in close to
Blaine’s ear, seizes the lobe with his teeth for a second and tugs, then
whispers, “Translate this: je veux que tu me baises jusqu’à nous jouissons si
fort que nous ne pouvons pas parler.”
 
Blaine looks horrified for a second at the torrent of French, then determined,
and stays still for a solid two minutes turning the words over in his mind
while Kurt winds his curls through his fingers fondly. “I want you to fuck me
until we…” he says, with such an intense look of concentration Kurt wants to
both laugh and kiss him all over his stupid cute face. “Um… something about not
being able to talk?” He glances up hopefully, through his lashes because he
knows Kurt can never resist that.
 
“I want you to fuck me until we come so hard we can’t speak.” Kurt takes pity
and watches the brilliant grin stretch across Blaine’s face. He rarely swears,
or says anything remotely sexual, has only just gotten comfortable with using
the word ‘cock’ rather than ‘penis’ (at Blaine’s pleas, because apparently it
was a bit of a turn-off when they were making out and Kurt said ‘can I touch
your penis’), and whenever he does Blaine goes absolutely crazy for it.
 
This time is no exception; Blaine pounces on him again and covers his neck in
so many blooming hickeys that Kurt is sure he’ll need to wear a scarf until
he’s seventy. He only relents for a few seconds to finish unbuttoning Kurt’s
shirt, which is soon tossed onto the floor (and Kurt would complain, except
it’s the issued uniform shirt so he really doesn’t care when Blaine’s moved his
mouth down to his nipples and is alternately nipping and sucking at them like
his life depends on it). He spends a stupid amount of time laving his tongue
over his stomach, too, and petting clumsily at it, because Blaine has a weird
thing for his stomach, always lays his hands on it when they cuddle.
 
“Blaine, please,” Kurt finally grits out. “Please can we get to the main
event?”
 
“Bossy,” Blaine mumbles, kissing along his waistband, but finally acquiesces
and unbuttons the uniform slacks. “What do you want me to do?”
 
“Ah – Blaine – finger me, please.” Even now the words bring a solid blush high
along his cheekbones. “The lube, it’s in the second drawer down.”
 
Blaine pauses in tugging down Kurt’s pants and boxers, and tilts his head to
the side. “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that,” he says cheerfully. “In French,
please.”
 
“Blaine, are you kidding me.”
 
“Nope, quite serious.”
 
“You’re not speaking French!”
 
“I’m not the one who’s fluent. Or begging for my cock.”
 
“Well, I wouldn’t say begging…” Kurt mutters petulantly, and Blaine pulls a
face at him which makes him want to giggle immediately but then shuffles
backwards like he’s going to leave, and Kurt lunges forward and grabs one of
his wrists. “Blaine, Blaine – don’t, no, come back – um – le lubrifiant est
dans le deuxième tiroir.”
 
Blaine makes a noise between pleased and turned on, and rewards him by pulling
his slacks off, leaving the boxers where they were. “And?” he prompts.
 
Kurt groans, remembering the first part of his plea. Somehow, it seems dirtier
in French. “Doigter moi,” he finally stammers out, and Blaine coos and kisses
his bare calf.
 
“I didn’t hear a ‘please’,” he says pleasantly.
 
“Oh for heaven’s sake – doigter moi, s’il vous plaît,” Kurt bites, scowling at
Blaine, who has positioned himself between Kurt’s legs.
 
“So hot,” Blaine mumbles and tugs Kurt’s boxers off. And apparently, at some
point when Kurt was convincing himself to be vulgar in French, he’s taken his
own shirt and slacks off, and now is just wearing his boxers, an obvious
erection tenting the front. “So, so hot, Kurt.” At some point he’s grabbed the
lube too, the tube half-empty, and clicks it open to squeeze a generous amount
onto his fingers, rolling it around to warm it up.
 
“Blaine,” Kurt whines, when his boyfriend starts kissing upwards from his
ankle.
 
“You always bitch when it’s cold,” he’s reprimanded, and then Blaine’s tongue
darts out to lick at a fading hickey on his inner thigh from three days ago.
 
“Do not,” Kurt says breathily as Blaine’s mouth seals over a fresh patch of
skin and starts pulling and biting gently. Then he adds in good measure, “Ne
pas,” before Blaine even thinks about pausing his ministrations.
 
“Yeah, you do,” Blaine replies once he’s satisfied with his new artwork. “But I
kind of love it.” He repositions himself so he has one arm underneath Kurt’s
leg, hand curling round to hold his thigh gently but possessively, and the
other hand so close to his hole. Kurt automatically lifts the free leg and
rests it on Blaine’s back, over his shoulder, like they usually do because
Blaine really likes any show of his flexibility and Kurt isn’t opposed to it
either.
 
When Blaine doesn’t do anything, Kurt snaps, “Veux-tu que je mendie?” Do you
want me to beg? and Blaine says, “I have no idea what that means but it was in
French so good enough,” and then there’s a single finger breaching him slowly,
carefully, not enough but also just enough.
 
Kurt lets out a heavy sigh and wiggles as Blaine’s finger, deliciously callous-
ridden, enters him fully. Blaine, being the gentleman he is, always waits. Deep
down Kurt does appreciate it, because ever since he started having sex he’s
been kind of insatiable and would probably end up hurting himself if it wasn’t
for Blaine’s level-head even during the throes of passion. But he also hates
it, because Blaine always insists they wait a few minutes to let him adjust to
each finger, even the first, and right now it’s making Kurt writhe around like
he’s possessed by some sort of break-dancing demon. “Blaine,” he whines, when
the feeling starts edging on the side of teasing, and his boyfriend kisses the
inside of his thigh and obliges him with another finger.
 
This time Kurt does need to adjust, just for a few seconds, and Blaine holds
still until Kurt starts moving and then crooks his fingers and scissors them
and does all sorts of wonderful things until Kurt is moaning shamelessly.
“Another,” he demands breathlessly, and hears Blaine’s wonderful chuckle.
“Blaine, come on.” He’s a diva in everyday life, so naturally he is in the
bedroom too, a fact that he knows Blaine absolutely gets off on.
 
“Sorry, say it again?” Blaine asks innocently.
 
“Oh, Blaine, I can’t think when you’re doing that,” he says waspishly, and then
whines when Blaine raises his eyebrows and starts to slide his fingers out.
“No! Blaine, wait, um – un autre, s’il vous plaît.”
 
Blaine might love it when he’s bossy, but he also seems to love it when Kurt
has to resort to begging. Especially in French, it would appear.
 
“Good boy,” he says sweetly, “remembering to say please,” and Kurt has a
comment loaded with sarcasm ready to fly when Blaine finally slips three
fingers inside him and almost instantly, with an ease that comes with practice,
nudges them against his prostate. Instead of a clever reply, what comes out of
his mouth is an absolutely filthy moan as he bucks his hips to try and repeat
the action. The slight sting only adds to the pleasure.
 
Blaine fingers him for what feels like hours, until Kurt is certain that he’s
completely, fully stretched, and then he fingers him some more. On some strokes
he ignores his prostate entirely and on others he hits it straight on,
deliberately not setting a pattern to it so Kurt can’t predict it.
 
“Blaine, come on,” he whines, “I’m ready.”
 
“Yeah?” Blaine slides his fingers out of him, eliciting a pitiful moan from
Kurt that just makes him smile a little wider. He reaches over to the side
table, then hesitates. “Condom?” he asks, because they do it with and without
depending on how they’re feeling.
 
“Without,” Kurt orders, grabbing Blaine’s shoulders and tugging him back over
so he’s lying on top of him. Then, because he’s figured out this isn’t actually
Blaine being a dick but because he has a thing for it, says in French, “Sans,
je veux te sentir.” Without, I want to feel you.
 
“You’re sure?” Blaine asks, probably wary of past experiences where he’s wanted
to relax into post-coital snuggling and Kurt has insisted they take a shower
and change the sheets first.
 
“Mm-hm. Your bed, don’t care if it gets messy.” Kurt grins at him, half-
playful, half-abashed, because that is a large part of the reason he’s not so
fussed about the mess.
 
Blaine laughs delightedly in the way he does sometimes when Kurt does something
that he particularly likes. “You are such a brat.”
 
“Tu adores ça,” Kurt smiles, and pecks a kiss to his lips. “Tu m’adores.” You
love it. You love me.
 
Blaine’s breath stutters for a second – either from the French or the comment,
maybe both – and then he exhales shakily and mutters, “Yeah, yeah, okay,” and
grabs the now nearly empty bottle of lube and uses what’s left to slick himself
up thoroughly.  Kurt watches contently as Blaine’s hand moves over his cock
quickly, then glances up at his face to see that it’s slack with pleasure, and
then Kurt feels kind of bad for neglecting to pay any attention to Blaine
throughout all of this.
 
Blaine, being the mind-reader that he definitely is, uses his free hand to cup
Kurt’s face. “I’m good, I’m good,” he reassures, panting slightly. “You’re the
one who needs the preparation here.”
 
Kurt fumbles around for a good response to that, but then Blaine shifts higher
on the bed and nudges their noses together as he kisses him sweetly, and
positions the head of his cock barely touching Kurt’s hole, waiting for
permission.
 
Kurt can’t resist. “Baise-moi,” he says breathlessly. “Fuck me, Blaine. Come
on.”
 
Blunt pressure as Blaine presses in, carefully, slowly, kissing him while he
does and letting Kurt nip at his bottom lip because it helps distract him from
slight pain as he gets a few solid inches inside. Then he waits patiently until
Kurt pulls away to gulp in much-needed air and lets his head fall back against
the pillows, exposing his throat. Blaine takes it for the request that Kurt
means it to be and starts peppering the smooth expanse of skin with closed-
mouth kisses. When Kurt mumbles that he’s good, Blaine pushes in the rest of
the way, hands patting at his hips and thighs to help him relax against the
intrusion. No matter how many times they do this his body is never quite able
to fully let go until Blaine is fully seated and then he realises just how good
it feels, and all of his muscles go slack.
 
Blaine feels it, how everything goes loose and pliant except the tightness
around his cock, and smiles against the juncture where Kurt’s neck meets his
shoulder, where he’s dropped his head to pant damply against the skin. “So
good,” he murmurs, almost so quiet that Kurt doesn’t hear him. “So tight, Kurt,
so hot.”
 
“You can move,” Kurt says. The words are polite but the tone is very much
demanding. Blaine chuckles and kisses his collarbone as he pulls back, almost
entirely out, and then back in slowly, letting Kurt adjust, because however
much he tries to insist that Blaine goes faster, they both know he’d just end
up sore later.
 
Doesn’t stop him from complaining. “Too slow,” he groans against Blaine’s neck,
whimpering at the torturous drag of Blaine’s cock inside him. “Not enough,
Blaine, please.” His hands are still tangled in the thick curls on Blaine’s
scalp, wilder now that he’s slightly sweaty, and he tugs at them to make his
point.
 
Blaine hisses at the feeling, then huffs, “Do you want to walk tomorrow?”,
clearly talking about a few Fridays ago when Blaine fucked him so roughly that
he was limping all weekend, while his family kept fussing over him and asking
if he’d pulled a muscle.
 
Instead of arguing more, he relaxes into the sensation, crossing his ankles
over the small of Blaine’s back. “You’re amazing,” he breathes, and both of
them know it’s as close to an apology for his earlier attitude as Kurt will
give. “Magnifique.” Blaine whines and thrusts back in a little harder than
before, shoulders trembling a little.
 
“Kurt, are you – can I?” he asks, biting lightly at his shoulder.
 
“Please,” Kurt groans. “Faster, Blaine, c’mon. Plus vite, chéri. Plus fort.
Blaine, please.” Faster, darling. Harder.
 
A strangled sound tears itself from the back of Blaine’s throat, a cross
between a whine and a moan, and he finally starts putting a little more force
behind his movements. “Kurt,” he grunts, “Kurt.” Kurt scratches his nails
through Blaine’s scalp, down his neck and back, and at long last Blaine starts
fucking him with abandon, hard and rough.
 
The burn has faded, leaving just the searing heat and the feeling of Blaine,
solid inside him. Kurt meets his thrusts halfway by wriggling down on Blaine’s
cock, near-shrieking when Blaine angles his hips differently to hit his
prostate, squeezes his inner muscles (which never fails to draw a wonderful
litany of creative curses from his usually reserved, dapper boyfriend), and
digs his nails into any skin he can reach, ensuring Blaine’s going to have a
variety of crescent-shaped marks and long red lines covering him for the next
few days.
 
Their lips meet erratically, often with each other’s teeth and tongues as well,
sometimes only connecting for a second before they have to break apart to
breathe in air. Other times they stay together for what seems like hours.
Blaine doesn’t relent on his pace, just lowers himself onto his elbows after a
few minutes when he starts to get tired. The new position means Kurt’s cock is
trapped between them, rubbing against Blaine’s stomach every time he moves, the
dark hairs that Kurt loves to stroke his hands through adding a new layer of
friction to the sensation.
 
Just when Kurt’s getting so close he’s about to reach down and stroke himself
to completion, Blaine’s hips stutter and he whimpers, low and drawn-out, and
Kurt’s priorities change from simply orgasm to making Blaine orgasm because
he’s always so beautiful when he comes and he wants to see that. He tightens
his legs around his back, pulling them closer together, and pulls Blaine’s head
back so he can look him directly in the eyes when he says, with complete and
utter sincerity, “Tu es à moi et je suis à toi.” You are mine and I am yours.
 
Blaine moans, broken and beautiful, and stills as he comes. Kurt whimpers at
the feeling as Blaine’s cock pulses inside him and several hot, thick ropes of
his come fill him. “Blaine,” he murmurs, and then the other boy kisses him
deeply and passionately as his body shudders through the after-shocks.
 
“You are so amazing,” Blaine says earnestly, and starts kissing every part of
his face that he can as he pulls out. They both wince as the head of his cock
catches on Kurt’s rim, and Kurt whines because he’s still achingly hard. “I’ve
got you.” As soon as his now-soft cock leaves him Blaine replaces it with two
fingers. He’s no longer empty but not quite as full as he was. But that’s
ignored as soon as Blaine crooks his fingers and finds his prostate and rubs
against it once, twice, three times, and then presses his thumb firmly just
under the head of Kurt’s cock along with the final stroke. He bites down on
Blaine’s shoulder, muffling his cries, as he follows Blaine’s orgasm with his
own.
 
Blaine slides his fingers out with a slightly unpleasant squelching sound,
wipes them off on the bedsheets, chuckling at Kurt’s disgusted expression, and
then leans in to kiss his swollen lips gently, careful not to aggravate the
tender flesh anymore.
 
“You have a French kink,” Kurt mumbles when Blaine pulls away and settles them
both down, face to face, limbs so tangled it’s hard to tell where they both
begin and end individually. He eyes the clear bite-mark on Blaine’s shoulder,
which has already turned purple, and strokes up and down his arm as an apology.
 
“I have a Kurt kink,” Blaine replies, and snickers at the unimpressed look on
Kurt’s face. “Okay, maybe a bit of a French kink. Just – the things you were
saying, Kurt, and then in French? It was so hot, like insanely so, and it was
you saying them, I just couldn’t—”
 
Kurt interrupts his rambling with a firm kiss, then regrets it when he realises
just how sensitive his mouth is. “Ouch,” he hisses, pulling back, tongue
darting out to lick and soothe. Blaine’s eyes follow the movement for a second,
dazed, and then he grabs the blanket he used to wipe his fingers on and
carefully pats the mess away from Kurt’s stomach, hands lingering there a
little longer than necessary, and then in between his legs (which makes Kurt
blush ridiculously red, considering what they just did) before tossing it
aside.
 
“We need to shower later,” Blaine mutters, throwing himself back down and
curling around Kurt as the big spoon. His phone chimes and he makes a soft
grumbling noise and fumbles for it under the pillow, where he always keeps it
and Kurt tells him off for because he’s convinced it’s going to give him brain
cancer or something.
 
“Anything important?” Kurt asks, eyes already drifting shut.
 
“Just the Warblers group chat.” Blaine kisses the spot beneath his ear and taps
out a reply.
 
“Don’t make a stupid French-based pun or innuendo.”
 
“Ah. Too late,” Blaine says sheepishly, and shows Kurt his phone screen, where
he can see that Blaine’s replied to an innocent message (or perhaps not so
innocent) of ‘How’s the studying going, Klaine?’ with ‘Learning lots of French
;)’. “Not a lie.” He kisses the back of his neck for good measure and chucks
his phone carelessly onto the floor.
 
Kurt hums. “I guess I did say a lot of new words,” he muses.
 
“You’re the best teacher.”
 
A slow, satisfied grin spreads out over his face. “Mm. I am. Now shut up and
let me sleep. Teaching is exhausting.”
End Notes
     I'm off to hide in my shame cave, but I do have internet there so any
     comments and kudos will be greatly appreciated and will probably make
     me cry with joy, so, you know the drill ;)
     Seriously - thank you for reading my fic, it makes me very happy when
     people out there enjoy my writing. So, sincerely, thank you very much
     <3
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