"It was such a lovely shade of pink twenty minutes ago," Kurt sighs, wincing as he shifts on his stomach. "Now I just look like under-cooked chicken."
Blaine pushes his sunglasses up his nose and changes the playlist on his iPod, trying to find something a little softer for Kurt to par-broil by. "Better under-cooked than overcooked?" he hazards, eyebrows up, a conciliatory smile on his lips.
Personally, he thinks that crispy sun-cooked Kurt is adorable, and the way that Kurt sprawls across his towel to be very fetching.
His eyes keep darting to the bottle of lotion at their side. Kurt's as-little-PDA-as-possible rule seems to run all over the place, and he wonders if it would be completely out of the question to offer. He's hesitating mostly because he knows that his offer wouldn't be entirely innocent and he's not sure whether Kurt would appreciate it or judge him quietly (the judging would be mostly in jest, but Blaine is pretty sensitive about it).
He lets his gaze drift over Kurt's long, slender, pale body--he takes up so much room that half of his calves don't even fit on the towel, and his shoulders alone almost exceed the width of it. In the last six months his chest has taken on this gorgeous, tapered shape that, without fail, makes Blaine ache to put his hands on. Even his belly, which has always been soft, has run to the leaner side of slender. The urge to dip his tongue into the sweeping indent of his bellybutton is actually making Blaine dizzy.
"Or we could not," Kurt says, and Blaine realizes that he hasn't heard a word that Kurt's said.
"Sorry, I--sorry, what?"
"I said could you put some of this on my back? I can't reach the middle and that's where it's the worst."
Blaine feels a giddy rush of anticipation.
He settles himself over Kurt's black swimming trunk clad thighs, popping the cap on the lotion bottle. The material is smooth under his own thighs and hangs perfectly over Kurt's round ass, hugging just so but not too tightly. There's a faint, pale pattern of white skulls down along the sides, but it's the way that the material is caught between the two halves of his ass that makes Blaine's belly swoop. The trunks are still wet, so the cling is--pronounced. He can see the entire shape of Kurt's ass in flawless outline.
He twitches in his shorts and inhales sharply, rushing to get the lotion on Kurt's burns before his reaction becomes too obvious.
"Oh, god, that feels ridiculously good," Kurt moans when the cool, smooth lotion is spread down his spine.
That isn't helping, Blaine thinks, biting his lip. He shifts a little farther up on his knees, straddling Kurt's ass and working his hands higher, tracing the dip and rise of Kurt's shoulders, all the way to the back of his lobster red neck.
When he reaches that high Kurt sort of--arches, back up and head down, neck bending easily against Blaine's hand, and the swell of his ass finds a snug home against Blaine's crotch.
Blaine exhales roughly, struck dumb by the warm bend of Kurt's body against his.
God, Kurt is beautiful.
Oh my god, get it together.
"Anywhere else?" He knows how easy it is for Kurt to burn in completely out of the way places.
Kurt sits up on his elbows and tilts his head around to look at Blaine. The corner of his mouth is turned up a little, the beginnings of an evil little smile that Blaine knows all too well.
Kurt's eyes drop down Blaine's body, top to bottom and bottom to top, and then return to his face. "You have the patience of a saint."
Blaine whines. "Kurt."
It's true that they are alone in the very private backyard, and the likelihood of Blaine's parents caring about them enough to check on them is small, but that doesn't take away the danger entirely.
"Sorry, I've just been--in a mood all day," Blaine says, small and a little unsure and sounding about five years younger than he is.
"You--" He blushes, tracing the pad of his thumb down Kurt's spine. "You're so hot, I just--"
Kurt smiles indulgently, wickedly, folding his arms and laying his head down on them without breaking eye contact. His sweet, slender pelvis rubs enticingly backward. "Sweetheart, I'm not complaining."
"Kurt, god, let me--" Blaine pants, hands tightening reflexively around Kurt's hips. He almost can't stop himself from pushing his aching groin against the curve that's so snug against it.
Kurt's cheeks go a different sort of red, and he rolls his hips, grinding their bodies together.
"Oh, god," Blaine whimpers.
"Lie down on top of me," Kurt whispers, eyelashes fanning spiky-wet across his cheeks. Blaine does, heart in his throat, lining their bodies up. When he's settled--oh god the way it feels to press everywhere like that right now--he shifts his chest so that he isn't grinding against Kurt's back.
"Am I hurting--"
"No, shh," Kurt breathes, leaning over his shoulder to kiss Blaine, soft and warm.
"God, Kurt," Blaine whimpers, hips churning eagerly against Kurt's ass. "Sorry, just--can't help it--"
Kurt's pelvis lifts off of the towel. "Give me your hand." When he has it, he guides it under his body, between his belly and the towel, down the front of his swimming trunks and right around his cock. He whimpers--the noise sends something hot and urgent racing down Blaine's spine--and pushes Blaine's fist around him. "T-touch me."
Blaine moans against the back of Kurt's neck and gives his cock a friendly pull. "God, you're already--"
"You think I have any control over it when you're wearing those tiny little shorts?" he asks breathlessly.
He laughs, overwhelmed. He isn't sure that he'll ever get over the way that Kurt wants him as much as he wants Kurt.
Kurt feels so good in his hand, warm and pulsing. He lifts up on his knees just enough to allow Blaine's moving fist room to do its job, and Blaine is more than happy to just grind gently against Kurt, letting the friction created by their swim suits do all of the work.
His heart pounds in his ears; they don't move much and Kurt doesn't let his whimpers climb above a whisper, but for all that there's a charged, contained frantic note to their bodies moving together.
"Here, give me," Blaine chokes out, getting a squirt of lotion on his right hand and quickly replacing it.
"Blaine, oh--oh god--"
Kurt's face goes slack with pleasure and his hips stutter. "Yes. Yes, shit. Don't stop."
Blaine begins rutting just a little harder, a little faster; Kurt's excitement is infectious and he can feel the pleasure building alongside his heartbeat as Kurt wantonly fucks through the channel of his slick fist.
"Blaine, Blaine, please," he whines.
"Wh-what do you--" He thrusts mindlessly, panting. His cock is so hard that it's edging out of the waistband of his trunks, red at the tip and so full, he can't stop.
Kurt's voice is high and threadbare when it comes next, confessing, broken, "Come on my back."
"Oh my god," Blaine gasps, cock twitching and spurting, striping Kurt's pink skin with pale white. "Oh, Kurt."
This seems to be all Kurt can take--he whines and bucks in Blaine's fist, dribbling over Blaine's fingers in short, messy strands.
Blaine slumps, his sweaty forehead finding the equally sweaty back of Kurt's neck. He kisses weakly across the soft skin, shaking like a leaf. "God, that was amazing."
"Ynah," is the gibberish that Kurt offers, and then, grinning, "Thanks for being my umbrella for a while, too."