wowbright | Tell Me Who's Watching (fic)

Title: Tell Me Who's Watching
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Kurt/Blaine, Finn
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1,631
Warnings: sex, passing mention of vomiting
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, and I don't make any money writing this stuff. Title from "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell.
Summary: Written for this prompt from mander3_swish: Kurt & Blaine caught in the act. Hilarious and hot if so inclined. I've been on a voyeur!finn kick lately (as he tends to accidentally find them in 'compromising' situations...and has a deer in headlights thing going on). But it could be anyone who gets the free show.
Notes: Thanks to lavender_love00 for betaing. Also here on Tumblr.

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One would think that the sudden outbreak of projectile vomiting that cancelled Finn's game would have curbed his appetite – but apparently not. When he opens the front door, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon and lots of things he can't identify slaps him in the face like a welcome wake-up call. If he is going to end up sick, it whatever this is will taste better coming up than the chili dog he had earlier. He'd better balance things out.

And he's probably not going to get sick, anyway. It was pretty much the cheerleaders from the other team who were sick, and they probably had a coach like Sue Sylvester and puts them all on some cayenne-lemon-seneca-and-ipecac diet that sometimes backfires in the middle of games.

Finn pulls off his coat and smiles. It’s nice having such a domestic, predictable brother, especially with their parents gone so much of the time. Yeah, Kurt pretends to be a rebel and maybe his clothing choices are a little unexpected. But that's just the surface. Underneath, Kurt is all routine. It's comforting for Finn to pretty much always know what to expect when he gets home, even without his mother there. The mail will be sorted neatly into piles by recipient on the foyer table, the kitchen will be clean, and there will be food on the stove or in the fridge, and –

"Fuckingshitcockmotherfuckingcocksuckfuckingfuckfuck – "

Whoa. Is that Blaine? The voice is coming from the kitchen, a stream of expletives like Finn is pretty sure he has never heard before – not even when Puck tore his ACL freshman year – and certainly not from Blaine's mouth. He's not even sure he's ever heard Blaine say damn. Finn lurches toward the kitchen to see what's wrong and –

Oh.

Blaine is sitting on top of the kitchen island in those red chinos and striped t-shirt he wears at least once a week, head thrown back and – whoa – legs wrapped around Kurt's shoulders and –

Whoa.

This is the point when Finn should back to the door, put his coat on, and walk out very, very quietly. He tells his feet to take him there. He tells them again. But they won't move.

Because Blaine’s junk is not inside those red chinos. No, it most definitely is not.

Kurt is licking Blaine's balls – hey, Rachel never does that for me – and while Blaine's kaleidoscope of profanities is impressive, what paralyzes Finn is Kurt's hungry moaning. Like he's enjoying this as much as Blaine is.

Yeah, Rachel definitely doesn't do that when she's down there.

"Fuck, Blaine," Kurt rasps, and then his tongue – the entire fucking flat of his tongue – is running up the length of Blaine's cock and whoa, Finn's not usually one to compare and frankly he hasn't had that much opportunity to compare himself with the fully erect cocks of non-porn-stars but – if Kurt's into length and girth, he's lucky that Finn never returned his feelings because, yup, he got a better deal with Blaine. Only slightly better, but still –

Holy crap. Finn did not just think that.

Blaine's expletives get louder and louder. It's like watching a bonfire burst into so many flames that you wonder for a moment why the whole world doesn't catch fire. Finn would think that Blaine was in the middle of coming, except that nothing's spurted from Blaine's dick so, yeah, he can't have. And that’s probably good, because Kurt has one of his McQueen shirts on and would totally flip if it got jizz on it.

Well, Finn thinks Kurt would totally flip, because Kurt totally flipped the time Finn spilled a Pepsi on the other side of the kitchen from that shirt. But Kurt is also humming with delight as he gives his boyfriend head on the kitchen island, so – maybe there’s some things that Finn just doesn’t know at all about his brother.

Kurt pulls his mouth away from Blaine's cock – substituting his fingertips for the moment – just long enough to groan, "You taste so fucking good, Blaine. I've been thinking about the way you taste all day" – and then his tongue is on the slit, lapping at it greedily, and Blaine opens his eyes and looks down at Kurt and –

Oh my God. That look on Blaine's face is the same one that Blaine gives Kurt sometimes at dinner when Kurt says something witty and brilliant, or at glee club when Kurt sings, or sometimes for no reason at all while they are all sitting in front of the TV ostensibly watching football, and Blaine is supposed to like football, but Blaine spends half the time looking at Kurt with that look, the one that makes Finn feel like he should leave the room because there's something so vulnerable and private about it and Finn knows he doesn't look at Rachel like that in front of other people – at least he tries not to.

So, yeah, Finn should turn around and walk away now, but his feet still won't move, and he's glad he didn't turn on the living room light when he came in, and is standing in the shadows. Because watching your brother give his boyfriend a blowjob may be creepy and incredibly inappropriate, but watching your brother's boyfriend give your brother that look seems ten times the violation.

"God, Kurt, I love you," Blaine murmurs, and tenderly draws his fingers through Kurt's hair. And how can Blaine be so fucking gentle and affectionate when he's got a goddamn tongue on his dick?

Also, why is Kurt not getting irritated at Blaine for mussing up his hair? Because the last time Finn tried to touch it, Kurt gave him a look so blistering that Finn kind of wished Kurt had just beaten the crap out of him instead.

Kurt pulls away again, wrapping his hand around Blaine's cock and tipping his head back to gaze at Blaine's face and – damn, Kurt is like the best lover ever; there is never a break in touching Blaine's cock, whether it's tongue or fingers or palm or –

Finn is not thinking this.

Blaine leans down and kisses Kurt, long and slow and luxurious. "I love you, too," Kurt says. "I want you to feel how much."

And then Kurt is darting his mouth back down and – wow – sinks it over Blaine's cock, emitting the loudest and most wanton groan Finn thinks he has ever heard.

It's all a blur. The blood is rushing out of Finn's head and, yeah, he doesn't want to think about where it's rushing to, but he will allow himself the thought that he wishes there was some non-suspicious way to get Rachel and Kurt together to talk about blowjob techniques, and maybe Kurt could say something to Rachel to get her to let go that much, enjoy it that much, because frankly, the blowjobs she gives feel awesome, but they would be earth-shattering if she was as desperate to give them as Kurt seems to be.

"Oh, Kurtkurtkurtkurtkurt, I'm gonna, oh God Kurt, I'm gonna – "

And Finn waits for Kurt to pull off and replace his mouth with his hand, but Kurt's face is still down there, and his moaning and humming and goddamn whimpering are getting louder and even more eager. How is that fucking possible?

Blaine's whole body seizes up and – oh yeah, that's definitely – and Kurt is drawing him through it, the sucking gentler but still steady, a heady thrum of pleasure emanating from his throat between swallows.

Swallows. He's swallowing. Fuck.

Blaine frames Kurt's jaw with his fingers, nudges Kurt gently away from his cock and toward his face, and as Kurt stands up it's kind of impossible for Finn to miss the bulge at the front of Kurt's very, very tight jeans. And while Finn is kind of appalled with himself for even noticing, he's also intrigued because he's always assumed that pants that tight functioned as a kind of chastity belt by cutting off all the circulation to down there, but apparently not. Finn wonders what Rachel would think of him in tight jeans.

Kurt kisses Blaine sloppily as Blaine wraps his legs around Kurt's hips. Kurt presses in and "mmmmmmmmmm" and the kissing becomes sloppier and more wanton and then Kurt is rocking into Blaine and –

Oh my God. I'm watching my brother come.

And somehow, that is the magic thought that frees Finn's feet from the floor.

Kurt and Blaine have their arms wrapped around each other and are staring into each other's eyes, and God, Finn is lucky that they are such damn talkers, because all the "You're amazing"s and "God, I love you"s and "If this is what baking cookies leads to, we should do it every day"s are, he hopes, covering the sound of him sliding back toward the front door. Finn stands there until the sweet nothings meld into, "Well, the cookies have probably more than cooled off by now. Should we wash our hands and eat? I really should change, but I've worked up such an appetite, it'll have to wait a few minutes."

He listens to them shuffle around the kitchen, the faucet turn on and off, the sound of chairs scooting across the floor.

"Wow, these are amazing," he hears Blaine say.

"It's the cardamom," Kurt says.

"You're a fucking genius."

"You've got the fucking part right. Not the genius. I just found the recipe."

"I swear, if I hadn't just come twice," – Finn can't have heard that right – "I'd come just from eating this."

"You are an insufferable romantic, Blaine Anderson."

It's probably safe now. As safe as it will be. Finn grabs the door handle, turns it, swings the door wide open, stomps twice, and slams the door shut.

"Anybody home?" he calls out.

Current Mood: horny
Current Location: from under my cat