#Sorry I'm a bit wine drunk and needed to share my knowledge

[adamraumwood]

DISCLAIMER: I am not a personal trainer or doctor, this is not professional medical advice. I am a saucy internet vampire and nothing more. Take this with however many grains of salt it takes to keep the dark spirits out of your home, and by continuing to read this post you permit me entrance through your threshold at a later date. With that said, let me begin.

-----

For a long time, I struggled to open jars.

Pickles, jam, peanut butter, and more.

I could do plenty of other things, but this one simple task eluded me. But no more. For now, I have learned my ultimate skill; jarmaxxing.

"What is jarmaxxing?" you may be wondering (with vague concern), but not for long. For I will enlighten you soon.

I learned the trick. The special exercise. The magical thing that will let you specifically maximize your ability to open stubborn jars. You want this, give it a few weeks passively while you watch television or are in a queue in a video game. Maybe even while waiting for a pot to boil on the stove. Just trust me, I would never lead you mortals astray on this one. Some lich taught me this shit a while back, just listen. Anyways.

You're going to want to grab a set of simple 5-8 lb weights. You may need less or more in some cases, I just have a pair of 5 and 8 lb weights both on hand and alternate based on what I feel like doing that day. You can work your way up over time if you wish. I've stuck with mine for a while and they've worked perfectly well just with some passive use every time I pass by and happen to notice them.

You're going to pick one up in each hand, and hold them out directly in front of you like you're holding a motorcycle from a seat that's too far away. Keep your arms stretched as far as you can without locking your elbows. The technical term for this is a "standing straight arm dumbbell wrist extension." I just call it jarmaxxing.

Anyways, you'll hold those weights out directly in front of you and pretend you're revving a motorcycle with those weights in hand. It shouldn't be too strenuous, just a very mild exercise with a bit of mild weight behind it. Just keep doing it while you watch TV or something until your arms start to burn a bit (but nothing should actually hurt) and then you can set them down. Once your arms rest a bit and you feel good to do another set, do so. Repeat as much as you feel like, I don't know. I usually end up doing 2 sets per half-hour to hour of sitting with them near me.

Not much will happen at first, just keep doing it when you're bored and they're nearby. As long as you're doing it by these instructions around 4-5 times a week or more you'll slowly feel changes.

I'm two months in and already I can open so many of the infernal jars that once mocked me. This is wonderful, I feel very powerful.

Anyways, thank you for your time. I hope this works for you as well. Maybe it will. Maybe it doesn't work and your arms break or something. If they do I will come visit and cook you into a delicious stew as an apology. I can open the jars now.

Best wishes, my loves! ✨️👑💜

[hoedamn-eron]

doctor steven grant, phd - part 7 (finale)

You're miserable, and it's your own doing. You have to fix this.

Warnings: Age gap, but it is appropriate/legal. Steven may be a little OOC. Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Mentions of being in a bar, and drinking alcohol and being drunk. Pure fluff. Some swearing. Steven and Reader share a steamy kiss. Word count: 2,972 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Final part to this series! Thank you for sticking with this and with me, even when I doubted every chapter and it came out later than planned! I know now for my next series not to post until I'm happy with it!

Sorry this is late, again. I had a guest stay over this weekend so I didn't find the time to post!

Part 6 ● Series Masterlist

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since you stormed out of Steven’s flat, and you were sad. Scratch that, you were miserable. Dreary. Gloomy. You were feeling all of the negative emotions and it was eating at you from the inside.

You missed him. Steven. He’d given you the space you’d asked for; you hadn’t heard from him since he sent the apology text. He hadn’t contacted you, and you hadn’t contacted him, but good God, you wanted to. You wanted to know where you stood, if he still wanted to be with you or if he’d finally made a decision on asking you to become official.

Mostly, you felt like an idiot for the way you left things. After taking a few days to calm down and rethink the situation, you had acted irrationally (although you still think Jake was a major arsehole). You should have let Steven talk to you, like an adult.

“You’re miserable, he’s miserable,” your friend had said one day after work, where you both had needed a drink and had gone to the pub near her flat. You’d finally told her everything about meeting Jake and what he said, and how your dinner date with Steven went at his flat. “Just talk to him.”

You groaned and buried your head into your hands. “I can’t now, I’m too embarrassed.”

“His lectures aren’t nearly as enthusiastic as they were,” your friend said before taking a sip of her wine. “He just…seems to have lost his spark.”

If that didn’t make you feel anymore guilty, then you don’t know what.

You sigh as you push your own wine away from you, suddenly not feeling like drinking it. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Listen,” your friend said sternly, leaning forward. “I’m saying this out of love, and because you are so stupidly in love with this man, it’s pitiful.” She cleared her throat before sitting up straighter, giving you a hard look. “You’re acting ridiculous. I have to admit that I haven’t been his biggest fan since he stood you up that one time, but it was obvious he wanted to be with you afterwards. The guy is awkward and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were his first serious relationship, which was probably why he was so nervous about asking you to be his person.”

You open your mouth to protest but hold your tongue as your friend holds up her finger at you.

“I think you’re projecting. This is also your first serious relationship and you’re panicking, thinking you’re not good enough, but you are. You deserve to be happy, so fuck whatever his brother said.”

“I am not projecting – “

“You’re projecting,” your friend replied. “And I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid, but you’ve allowed his brother to get into your head and now you’re not letting yourself be happy.”

You bit your lip as you looked down at your hands. You knew you had panicked, especially after bumping into Jake. You had felt like everything was going your way and it was just too convenient. Of course you were your own worst enemy.

You sigh in frustration before grabbing your wine glass, deciding to finish it off in one large gulp. “I’m such an idiot,” you say as you a bit too forcefully put the glass back on the bar.

“A little bit,” your friend said, taking another sip of her wine.

“How do I approach him after this?”

Your friend shrugs. “That’s for you to decide.”

You go back and forth into the late (early) hours of your terrible love life, what you’re going to do about Steven and how you were stupid enough to listen to his brother you doesn’t even know you. Your friend told you he had lectures all week but he was going to take a few days off and that should be your opportunity to fix things with the ‘nerdy man who would probably end the world for you’.

You snort at her – in your opinion – silly declaration. As the night goes on, both of you eventually stumble out of the bar, hailing a black cab to take you both back to your flat, where your friend was going to crash on your couch. Your friend hung heavily (and drunkenly) on your arm as she mumbles to you about the pizza she knows you have left over in your fridge from the night before.

You tell her she’s free to have it as you both clamber into the taxi. You stumble your way through your address to the driver before sitting back, giggling as your friend struggles with her seatbelt before reaching over and helping her, struggling yourself a little.

“Listen, listen,” your friend says, as you fasten your own seatbelt, the car setting off. You look at her, your eyes a little fuzzy. “You love Steven. That’s why you’re feeling so shit.”

Your eyes widened at her. “No I don’t love him, I barely know him.”

Your friend snorted. “Please,” she lay her head back against the seat. “You’re head over heels, want to get married, grow old together, in love.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at your friend. No, she’s wrong; you don’t love Steven. You like him a lot, sure; he was kind and funny, and he always gets your favourite snack when you meet up, and sometimes he lets you borrow his books because he knows you’d enjoy them. Or you would have mentioned a title the week before and he’d find a copy because of course he remembered because he was Steven.

He went out of his way to that small coffee shop by your work to get that coffee you liked, because he knew it would make you smile and giggle with joy because you genuinely loved the stuff. He was always there to comfort you when you’d had a terrible day at work, whether he sat quietly and let you rant at him or when he wraps you in his arms and lets you cry.

He makes your chest hurt and your brain goes fuzzy when he’s around. You always feel butterflies in your tummy when you think of him and you feel stupidly happy whenever he texts you ‘good morning’ and about his plans for the day, whether he’s at work or not.

You’re smiling now, thinking about it.

He feels like a warm summer day all the time. He is warmth, and comfort, and oh God you love him.

You groan. “Oh God, you’re right.”

“I know I am,” your friend replied, her words slurring as she grinned to herself.

“What do I do?” you sigh, leaning your head back against the seat.

Your friend shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s something I can’t answer for you.” She let out a giggle. “Maybe you need to do a grand gesture.”

The taxi has pulled up outside your flat before you can answer your friend. You both fumble for cash for the driver before you both stumble out of the taxi, your friend talking to you about the pizza again. She warmed it up as soon as she stepped into your flat.

You wake up the next day with a mild hangover, and you mostly sleep most of the morning away. Thank God it was a Saturday, and you heard no sound nor any movement from the living room, indicating your friend had woken up and probably left to go to her own home (which she’d confirmed in a text to you when you had finally looked at your phone – she had a date with Claire).

You contemplate texting Steven but chicken out every time. By the time the day had come to an end, you had merely stared at your text thread, the soul crushing ‘I’m sorry’ text mocking you. You felt pathetic. How was one supposed to make the first move?

The rest of your weekend flew by, and your friend calls you on Sunday evening to talk to you about her date with Claire. She was going to meet up at the coffee shop by the university campus after her classes were done.

“You can finally meet Claire.”

And you did. She was lovely, blonde and bubbly, exactly your friends type. She made the effort to talk to you, not just solely focusing on your friend, talking to you about her job and how the two met.

You were honestly having a good time, until Steven walked through the door.

Your smile fell from your face as you watched him walk up to the counter, probably (definitely) ordering his usual tea. He was wearing his glasses, his phone in his hand, and he was wearing your favourite maroon jumper of his, the one that made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and it always look so good on him. His hair was messy, as per usual, and God, he looked as good as he always does. You tried to shy away, making yourself as small as possible, so he didn’t see you.

“Go and talk to him.”

You eyes snapped to your friend as she gave you a knowing look, Claire looking at you curiously. You shook your head. “No.”

“You’ve been avoiding him for weeks, and on Friday, you came to the conclusion that you loved him, so – “

“I am…doing it in my own time.”

“You’re so awkward,” said your friend. “Just go over and say you’re sorry or that you love him and want to marry him the first chance you get.”

“Stop it, he will hear you,” you hissed.

“What’s happening?” Claire asked, whispered between the two of you.

Your friend sighed in exasperation as she looked at Claire, her hand subconsciously landing on Claire’s thigh. “My friend here,” she said, giving you a nod. “Is in love with my history professor,” she nodded towards Steven. “And they’ve been going out since before Christmas and he hasn’t asked them to be official and they’ve ran off.”

“You’re missing half of the story!” you cry before you lean forward to explain to Claire. “I ran into his brother, who he doesn’t have a great relationship with, which is neither here nor there.” Claire gives you a slow nod. “And he told me that mine and Steven’s relationship wasn’t serious and that he was going to end it.”

“But you shouldn’t have taken his brother’s word for it.”

You open your mouth to retort but Claire interrupted you, “I think you should go and talk to him.”

You keep yourself from snapping that it was none of her business before you remembered you had invited her into the conversation. You sat back in your chair, glancing back at Steven as he stood waiting for his tea. “I can’t.”

Your friend rolled her eyes as Claire have you a sympathetic smile. “You’re not going to feel better or get any closure if you don’t.”

You stare at her for a minute before you look back at Steven, who was smiling at the barista as she handed him his tea. He turned towards the door, making his way out having not seen you. You watched him through the windows, seeing him walking back towards the university buildings, probably about to go to his last class of the day.

“Go and talk to him.”

You turn to Claire and your friend, weirdly feeling the urge to cry. “What if he wants nothing to do with me?”

“You’ll never know unless you go.”

You look back at him again, watching him walk further and further away.

What if he was ‘it’ for you? What if you were letting your own stupid feelings get in the way of proper happiness, when it was something you needed to establish with Steven, and you had thrown it all away because his brother was a prick and had apparently liked to see Steven squirm?

You were an idiot. A ridiculous, head over heels in love, idiot.

You bit your lip before giving a firm nod. “Okay.”

Your friend’s mouth fell open slightly before she gave you a large smile. “Okay!”

“Okay.” You stood from your seat, gathering your bag. “Okay. O-okay.”

“No, don’t chicken out now.” Your friend pointed at you. “He’s outside, right now, just as miserable as you are, and you’re not about to let this go before clearing the air.”

You take a deep breath before nodding, gritting your teeth as you quickly left the coffee shop, looking around and seeing Steven walking back towards the lecture halls. You took off quickly, your hand landing on his forearm just as he got to the door, causing him to jump and nearly spill his tea. He turned his head, his body stilling as he realised it was you.

You nearly stopped short at the sight of him. His eyes were the same, maybe a little more tired looking, but they were still that beautiful, warm brown that always made you melt. You wanted nothing more than to cup his face in your palms, feeling the stubble he probably had since he had to shave so often, wanting to kiss him until the end of days. It had been so long since you had last kissed him.

He breathed your name. “I…what are…i-it’s good to see you.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. No, that wasn’t what you were supposed to say but it was a good start. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have listened to Jake, I shouldn’t have made those assumptions about you, about us. I acted irrationally and I shouldn’t have stormed out like I did.”

He called your name but you stopped him. God he looked adorable, looking at you like that.

“Please let me say what I need to say before I lose my confidence,” you said, looking at his stupidly adorable, confused expression. “You…are an amazing man and I am so lucky to have you in my life, whether you want it to be as a friend or more. I acted…I was…I am really stupid to believe a complete stranger over you, and I shouldn’t have done that, I should have come to you straight away. I want to be with you, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together because I…I-I love you, and you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner, and you’re so kind and so, so thoughtful and I don’t deserve you and I understand, again, if you are happy to just be friends.”

You stare at him, your heart hammering hard in your chest. He was looking at you with a soft look on his face, almost relieved. You swallowed nervously. “Please say something, Steven.”

“You love me?”

Your mouth falls open slightly as your breathing became a little laboured. Had you taken it a step too far? You had just poured your soul to this wonderful man, but the ‘L word’ was just a little too much for him? You remember how he could overthink situations, and maybe you had just made him uncomfortable. He might not have been in the same place as you.

“Love?”

You’d taken too long to answer. You looked at him with wide eyes before you nod. “Yes. I love you.”

Steven breathed out a small laugh, looking down bashfully for a moment before looking back up at you. “I was…I was going to ask you that night, to be truly mine, and when you said about Jake…I thought I’d never see or speak to you again.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I shouldn’t – Jake got into my head.”

“I don’t blame you.”

You give a small snort of laughter. “You should. I was a plonker. Not giving you the chance to explain, just telling you to go away and leave me alone – “

“No, love, I understand,” Steven said. “I could have said something – should have said something – instead I was stood there like a bloody git letting you walk away. I love you too, and I’m sorry.” He shook his head, taking a step towards you. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done, that.”

“Pretty stupid of me to walk away.” You bring yourself closer.

“We were both stupid,” Steven said, so close you were both breathing the same air.

You lightly gasp as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours. You held back a groan; you’d missed this. His warmth, his hand on your waist, how breathless he made you. You’d kissed before, but not like this, this was electric. Your brain had gone all fuzzy, all you could hear, smell, and feel was Steven. You hands stroked up that jumper that you vowed to steal later, knowing that there will be a later this time, your hands landing on his firm chest, feeling him breathing against you.

His tongue was starting to glide along your lips with a deep moan from him, and before you could let it go further, prepared to drag him away from prying eyes in some abandoned classroom or office, a loud cheer caused you both to pull apart, Steven nearly spilling his tea. You both look to see Claire and your friend, your friend’s arms in the air in victory as she looked at you both with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Claire was trying to pull her away, giggling, and apologising to you both, telling you to ‘carry on’.

You both look away from the two, before practically giggling at each other. You should probably bring up Jake and his other brother, but that was for another time. This was about you two. You and your boyfriend.

Steven nudged his nose with yours. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You bit your lip, smiling. “I would love nothing more, Doctor Grant.”

Tagged - @kingtwhiddleston, @ahookedheroespureheart, @harrys-tittie, @avasif, @romanarose, @othersideoftheparadise, @mt2sssss, @milkymoon2483, @n0ripeaches, @theconsultingdoctor10, @brandyscorner, @moonliqhtszn, @classypeachlightsalad, @toracainz, @preciousbabypeter, @teacupcollector,��@hot-mess-express1, @starkdanverss, @mintgreen24

[scatter-the-stars]

We just moved in together! And, oh my god, I'm just realizing that you're inevitably going to see me in my gross sweatpants and we share a bathroom...

“What do you mean you sleep naked?”  Kurt stares at his best friend he thought he knew.  But apparently he doesn’t.  Because the things he’s been learning over the course of the past week has left him feeling like he knows nothing about the person in front of him.

Okay.  That may be a little over dramatic for him.  But he thought he knew Blaine.  Thought he was a book he had read from cover to cover.  Knew every page and word about his story.  Now he’s learning there are pages he skipped over and missed altogether.  Like the fact that he sings when he showers.  Or the fact that he isn’t big on clothes when it comes to being home based on the fact that they’ve only been living together for three days and he’s caught Blaine in nothing but boxer briefs and an old, loose shirt walking around.  The shirt wasn’t even part of the ensemble one day.  And now this about sleeping naked at night.

“I don’t wear clothes,” Blaine says as he opens the moving box marked kitchen.

The casualness of which he says that irritates Kurt in a way he can’t understand.  Maybe it’s the knowledge of now knowing that Blaine, who is only two doors down from him, sleeps sans clothes in his room makes him hot in a way he’s never felt before when it concerned his friend.  Or maybe because his own sleeping attire and lounge wear is a pair of old, ratty sweatpants that are past their prime.  Way past their prime.

Yes.  That’s it.  He’s just a bit ashamed of what Blaine will see him in.

Oh god.  Blaine is going to see him in those sweats.  Maybe he can avoid that interaction for as long as possible.  Because he lets no one see him in those things.

“H-How long has this been a thing?”  He questions, desperately trying not to picture his best friend sine he was four naked.

Blaine sets the stack of plates he pulls out from the box on the countertop.  “A few years.  Remember that summer after our second year of school in New York when it was hotter than Satan’s balls?”

He does.  It was like hell on Earth.  He would rather walk a mile along a LEGO covered road than experience another summer like that.  “Yeah.  What about it?”

“I realized it was easier to sleep naked than endure an extra layer of material that made me more miserable.  I liked it and never went back.  Okay.  Enough with the third degree.  Let’s get cracking on finishing with the last of these boxes.”

Kurt drops the topic and helps Blaine finish with the kitchen before moving to the living room.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s two weeks later when Blaine sees him in his old sweats for the first time.

Where he was usually good about slipping the sweats off each morning before leaving his room, this morning he was too tired or distracted to do so.  He went to the bathroom like he normally did and thought nothing of it when he opened the door to Blaine waiting for him to finish.  When he saw his eyes drop down and an amused smirk lift his lips before he looked back up, he was confused.

It wasn’t until he was back in his room and went to change and pushed his sweats down did he realize he had the things on.

He just groaned and got ready for work.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No sweats?”  Blaine asks later that night as they sit in the living room eating takeout.

Where Blaine sits in his usual getup of boxer briefs and loose fitting shirt, he still wears what he wore to work.

“No.”

“Those things are a one snag on a nail away from being destroyed.”

“They’re comfortable,” he defends.

“I saw that.”  Blaine takes a bite of his noodles.  “How long have they been comfortable?”

Kurt mumbles a reply.

“What was that?”

He huffs.  “Eight years.”

Blaine chuckles.  “I did not figure you to be the kind of person to keep a pair of sweats for eight years.”

“Well, I didn’t figure you to be the kind of person to sleep naked at night.”

“Touche.”

Kurt pushes around his beef and pork and tries once again not to imagine his lifelong friend naked and lying in bed.

He fails.

He sets aside his half-eaten container of food and excuses himself to his room.  In the comfort of his room and bed, he buries his face in a pillow and lets out the groan he held in at the mental image of Blaine naked.

Why now?  Why is he having these thoughts now?  For the past twenty years he’s managed to keep Blaine in the box marked friend.  But one little confession from his friend and he’s suddenly seeing Blaine as someone he never noticed before.

“Ugh!”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And the sweats make another appearance,” Blaine playfully jokes a few days later.

It’s Friday night and he’s just had a long, miserable day at work.  He came home and wanted to be comfortable.  The fact that Blaine would be seeing him in his “won’t wear these around anyone” sweats didn’t bother him at all.

What does bother him is Blaine in nothing but tight fitting black boxer briefs that show off an ass he never really took notice of before.  And he really needs to stop looking before things get awkward or out of hand.

“Fuck off,” he replies in a playful tone of his own as he pours himself a glass of wine.

“Work a bitch?”

“Yep.”

“Want me to order Greek?”

“Yep.”  Kurt loves how well Blaine knows him.  Knows that he had a bad day at work because of the wine he pours himself.  Or how he knows Greek is his favorite and will automatically cheer him up.  That and Blaine’s ass in his boxer briefs.

No!

He will not think about that.  Will not think about his best friend’s amazing ass.

He downs the first glass of white wine in one drink.

“Slow down you little lush,” Blaine teases as he orders their food on his phone.

Kurt playfully shoots him the finger while pouring himself another glass of wine.

A few hours later, two and half bottles of wine drunk, food mostly finished, and a wonderful buzz going on his body, he can’t contain his snorts, or blush, as Blaine plays his fingers at the band of his sweats while they lie on the couch together.

The soft, barely there touch of Blaine’s fingers is fire and torture.  Sets his body aflame with need he never thought he would feel because of his best friend.  Has his mind going to places that include naked bodies and roaming hands and hot kisses on bared skin.

“These things need to go.”

“Mmm.  Love them too much to throw them out.  Besides,” he licks his lips, “they’re still very useful.”

“Kurt, they barely hang onto your hips.”  Blaine snorts and passes his fingers over his exposed hip where the sweats slipped down.

Fire erupts everywhere Blaine touches.  His body aches and throbs in a way he’s never felt before.

“Still good,” he mumbles while his eyes grow heavy.

“Tired?”

“Mmhmm.”

The last thing he feels before he falls asleep is lips tenderly pressing a kiss to his forehead and something faintly, too faintly to make out, whispered against his flushed skin.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, Blaine, I-Shit!”  Kurt quickly shuts Blaine’s bedroom door when he accidentally walks in on him jerking off.  The sight of Blaine’s hand wrapped around his long, thick cock is instantaneously seared onto his brain.  His own cock gives a hard twitch as his still buzzed brain scrambles to catch up to what he just did.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes through the door.  “I should have knocked.”

He races to his room to hide under a pillow after climbing into bed.

The image of Blaine stroking his cock was better than porn.  Better than any picture or video, or real life experience, he’s seen.  He wants to see it again.  Wants to go back to Blaine and ask if he can watch him finish.  Wants to touch Blaine himself; bring him pleasure.  Wants to know if Blaine thought of him while he touched himself.

He hides until he hears Blaine’s door open and close followed by the front door opening and closing.  It’s only then that he pulls his head out from his pillow and leaves his room.

In his old sweats, wondering if Blaine is upset or angry about what happened, he sits around their space all day waiting for him to return.  He writes out an apology in his head.  One that includes about a hundred sorry’s.

The front door closing a few hours after Blaine left has him jumping up when he walks into the room.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately blurts.

“It’s okay, Kurt.  It was an accident.”

“But, I-”

“It’s fine.  I’m past it already,” Blaine says.

“Okay.”  Kurt knows he won’t get past the moment as quick as Blaine.  That it’ll be with him for a while.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I got you something,”  Blaine announces a week later.

Kurt looks away from the show he watches to Blaine holding out a gift bag to him.

“It’s not my birthday,” he says.

“I know.  I saw this and thought you would like it.”

He takes the bag from Blaine and opens it.  Pulls out a pair of new sweatpants that are soft and seem comfortable.

“I don’t need new sweats, Blaine.”  He stuffs them back in the bag.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.  You wear them.”  He tosses the bag back to Blaine.

“Oh, you’re going to take those raggedy things off and put these on,” Blaine says.

“Not unless you get these off and those on me yourself, it’s not happening.”

“Is that a dare?”

Kurt grins.  “It’s whatever you want it to be.  I’m still not putting those things on when I have these perfectly good ones.”  He turns his attention back to the show.

A few seconds later a scream escapes him when Blaine shoves him to the couch and begins to attempt to pull his sweats off.  He laughs and squirms against him.  Playfully kicks and flails against him to make his attempt harder.

“Stay still,” Blaine softly growls.

Fingers of one hand curl into the worn band of his sweats.  Kurt contains his moan at the feel of Blaine’s fingers against his skin.

He manages to push his hand away and somehow get out from under him.  Off the couch and standing behind it, he watches as Blaine stands up, new sweats clutched in one hand, and eyes him like a obstacle course he plans to conquer.

“I will get those things off you.”

Kurt grins.  “I would like to see you try.”

A playful scream passes his lips when Blaine begins to chase after him.  He  manages to evade him for several minutes.  Ducks under his arms when he gets close.  But his luck runs out after about ten minutes when Blaine corners him in the kitchen.

The counter pressing to his back, and Blaine pressed to his front, heart racing and breathing heavy, he stares into Blaine’s eyes that hold a fire and hunger that ignites a flurry of need inside him.  Leaves him hoping and praying that Blaine is feeling the same thing as him in that moment.

With one of Blaine’s arms caging him in on his side, the other reaches between their bodies.  Fingers skim along the band of his sweats.  Fire roars under his skin at Blaine’s touch.  Hunger blazes for him to reach inside his sweats and wrap his fingers around his throbbing, neglected cock.

When Blaine’s fingers minutely slip past his sweats and skim along the soft skin just above his cock, he drops his head back and bites his lower lip to keep from moaning.  But he can’t stop his hips when they rock forward.

“Kurt, look at me,” Blaine demands in a heavy voice thick with want.

Kurt lifts his head and looks at the one person he never saw himself in this position with.  He fins lust-blown eyes filled with a hunger that sends a strong shiver along his spine.

“Y-Yeah?”

Blaine skims his hand along his skin again.  “Can I take these off?”

Please.

“Yes.”  He doesn’t care that he’s not wearing any underwear under his sweats.  Doesn’t care that Blaine is about to see his cock for the first time.  Doesn’t care what this means for their friendship.  He just wants Blaine to see how greatly he affects him.

Blaine drops the new sweats to the floor and grabs the band of the old ones in both hands and pulls them down.

The air around them seems to crackle with electricity as he stands there and lets Blaine look at him for the first time.

Nerves skitter across his skin over what Blaine may think of him.  Because he’s not as big as him.  Not as thick.  But he knows it’s still an impressive cock.  All of his exes said as much.

“Fuck, Kurt, you’re perfect,” Blaine groans in awe as he wraps a hand around him.

Kurt softly mewls and drops his head back again.  Thrusts his hips forward as Blaine begins to stroke him.

Lips press to his chin.  Kiss their way along his jaw and up to his ear.  “Tell me this is okay,”  Blaine murmurs in a desperate tone.

“O-Okay,” he murmurs in reply.

Without thought, and knowing he would only scare himself out of doing it, he lifts his head and captures Blaine’s mouth in a fiery and passionate kiss.  Mouths hungrily move together as tongues thrusts and massage.  Need swirls inside him.  He wraps an arm around  Blaine’s shoulders and deepens the kiss.  Moans as Blaine continues to stroke his cock.

“Want you, Kurt.”

The words stroke his cock just as amazingly as Blaine does.

“Want you, too.”

Consequences be damned.  They both want this.  They can deal with a potentially fallout over sleeping together later.  Right now he wants to satiate this need that Blaine has created inside him.

Blaine lifts him up and carries him to his bedroom.

What follows in the next few hours is pleasure unlike he’s ever known.  They kiss and fuck and learn every inch of the other’s body.  Reach for the each other over and over again.  Come together until both of their bodies are satiated and tired.

Close to six the next morning, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat and still riding the high of his latest release, he lies on his stomach hugging the pillow under his head and stares at his best friend he’s sure he’s fallen for.

“When?” he asks.

Blaine knows what he’s asking without him needing to elaborate.  “When we were sixteen.”

The answer makes his heart ache for the years Blaine secretly loved him.  For the years he had to watch him be with other guys.  For the years they lost.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Blaine turns his head and looks at him.  “You didn’t feel the same.”

That’s a truth Kurt can’t deny.  Because this, what he feels for Blaine, is all new.  Something that has only happened in the last couple of months.

“I feel the same now,” he says.

A brilliant smile spreads across Blaine’s face.  “Not yet.  But I hope you will.”

That’s also true.  Where Blaine has admitted to being in love with him, he’s not there yet.  It’s too soon for him.  But he has feeling he will fall in love with Blaine as easy as he let him into his life as a friend.

Blaine scoots close to him.  Skims a hand down his naked back.  Teases his fingers at the top of his ass.  “Told you I would get you out of those sweats.”

Kurt laughs.  “I’m still not getting rid of them.  Or wearing the ones you bought me.”

“That’s okay.”  Blaine presses a kiss to his shoulder.  Begins to kiss down his back.  “I’m sure I’ll get you to see the joys of sleeping naked.”

Kurt lifts his head and looks down at Blaine’s naked body and grins.  “I already do.”