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It's a Friday night, and they're watching movies in Sam’s apartment, which is what they’ve done pretty much every Friday night since Blaine came back to Ohio and knocked on Sam’s door, bags in hand and news of a broken engagement on his lips.
And it's fine. It's fun. Sam loves movie nights with Blaine. The problem with coming back to Lima on his own was that most of his friends were still gone, living their big city lives or buried under college essays. There were still the New-No-Longer-New-Directions, and he did hang out with Jake and Marley and Ryder and Unique and even Kitty at least once, but it was hard to find things to talk about when they're still in that high school world and he’s doing the whole adult thing. He missed movie nights and Star Wars fanfiction and his best friend.
But it's been a couple of months now, and it's all Blaine’s done. He’s still sleeping on Sam’s sofa, and sure, he got a job coaching the Warblers so he covers his half of the bills, and it's not that Sam wants him to move out, because he doesn't, but he wants Blaine to move on , to shake the air of sadness and lethargy still clinging to him and live.
When Blaine doesn't so much as exhale out of his nose at Steve Rogers saying the elevator isn’t worthy, Sam, from where he’s lying on the sofa, reaches for the remote and pauses the DVD.
Blaine, cross-legged on the floor, bowl of chips in his lap, turns to look at him with a quizzical expression. “Do you need to pee or something?”
“Uh, no,” Sam begins. Patting his lower stomach, he adds, “bladder of steel, dude. I just…wanted to talk to you about something.”
That makes Blaine sit up straight, moving the snacks off his lap and giving Sam his full, frenzied attention. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been here too long. I’m totally invading your space. You probably want some time alone, or to bring girls back, or whatever. I have enough saved up for a deposit on an apartment, and I can move back into my parents place while I look, and—”
“Woah, calm down!” Sam interrupts.
He reaches for whatever part of Blaine is closest, which happens to be his forearm, as he’s kind of gesticulating all over the place.
“Take a deep breath, okay? I’m not kicking you out. Hanging out with you every night is awesome.”
Blaine takes a few deep breaths like advised, until they start coming slow and even. Once he's calmed down, he looks back at Sam, clearly waiting to hear what this conversation is about, if not their living situation.
So, of course, this is when Sam realizes he actually has no idea how to say it. Yeah, he's been there for his bros through a break up before. Hell, he was there for Blaine through his last break up with Kurt. But that wasn't an engagement, and that time he was sure they would end up back together. This time…he’s not. And even if it does happen, that's not gonna make Blaine any happier in the present. He just wants to see him smile again, and that's what steels his resolve to just start talking, even if he's not entirely sure what will come out. He doesn't let go of Blaine’s arm, knowing the touch is comforting for both of them.
“It's just…you and Kurt have been broken up for a while now…don't you think it's time you…get back out there?”
It takes Blaine a moment to process what he’s implying, and when he does he snatches his arm back and averts his gaze to an apparently particularly interesting patch of floor. With a laugh that's a mix of bashful and bitter, he says, “I’m not ready to start dating again, Sam.”
And, oh, okay, he sounds really sure about that. Sam doesn't want to push him, or upset him. Maybe he should just drop it? But no, he's doing this for Blaine. There must be a way to get through to him. Think, Sam, think!
“Who said anything about dating!” he blurts out to buy time.
“Uh, you? That's what ‘get back out there’ means, Sam.”
“It doesn't have to be dates. But—” An idea occurs to him. Yes! “But you've been with Kurt since you were sixteen. Have you ever even slept with anyone but him?”
Blaine opens his mouth to say something, but Sam has already realized his own mistake and refuses to be interrupted now he's on a roll. “But him and the lighthouse guy you cheated on him with, which made you miserable so it barely counts!”
“Well, no, I guess I haven't,” Blaine murmurs.
Sam jumps to his feet, clapping his hands together as he does so. “Exactly! You're young, Blaine, now is the time to get some life experience.” he waggles his eyebrows on the last two words.
“You're telling me I should go have a one night stand?” Blaine says flatly.
“Exactly!”
“Oh, and how many girls have you slept with? Like I said, you haven't exactly been bringing anyone over.”
“I’ve slept with more girls than you have guys,” Sam answers him quickly. Blaine’s not wrong that he hasn't exactly been out “sowing his wild oats” lately—and he doesn't get what oats have to do with sex, anyway, but that expression really put him off oatmeal after he first heard it—but between the girl in Kentucky he lost his virginity to, Britt, and the woman who came on to him at an open mic night not long after moving back here, it is more than Blaine.
“You know, two is a perfectly normal amount of people to have slept with at our age! or ever!” Blaine crosses his arms.
“Of course it is. Look, I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m just saying… you know.”
“What?”
“That I want you to be happy!”
The defensiveness drains from Blaine’s body. Sam feels himself relax as well.
“Thanks, Sam. You're a really good friend.” He chews his lip. “I’ll…I’ll think about it, okay? But can we just go back to watching the movie for now?”
And he sounds so shy and genuine that Sam can't help but smile and get comfy on the sofa again. “Of course, dude. As if we wouldn't finish it.”
The next morning, Sam hasn't forgotten about the conversation, but they don't have time to talk about it. Even though it's not technically a work day, Blaine still has Warbler lessons to plan (“Why don't you just make it up when you walk into the choir room like Mr. Schue always did?” “Because that was weird, Sam.”). On Sam’s end, he has regular errands to run; the fridge is looking empty and Coach Beiste wants him to check out some new brand of footballs at Lima Sporting Goods. So they have a quick breakfast with few words exchanged thanks to Blaine’s inability to function without caffeine then go their separate ways, the standing agreement to float back to each other at dinner going unsaid.
He does mostly forget about it during the day. Ruler Foods has a great deal on chicken breast pieces so he’s riding that high for a while, then he’s on the phone with Coach Beiste talking the pros and cons of the new footballs versus the ones they already have while he continues to try and get used to the fact he has the phone number of a faculty member, because he is also a faculty member.
When he gets home Blaine still isn't there, so he shoots him a text.
u want chicken alfredo 2nite?
sounds good! I’ll be home at like six?
They normally eat at around six thirty, and the chicken won't take long to cook, so he has a few hours to kill. After putting away the groceries he works on his latest macaroni portrait, losing track of time almost immediately. When he eventually emerges from his bedroom covered in glue and glitter and still wearing his artist outfit of some sweatpants and a loose-fitting Zelda t-shirt he got off Redbubble, Blaine is there taking his coat off, and that's when he remembers.
“Hey,” he greets. “I was just about to put dinner on.”
“Do you want any help?”
“It’s jar sauce, bro.” Sam laughs lightheartedly.
“Well, I can help you scoop it out of the jar.”
“I think I can handle that on my own. You only just got home, relax a little.”
Blaine does look run down, but Sam knows that his day at work is only part of it. So Sam will cook pasta with jar sauce for him, and when they’re done eating, if Blaine doesn't bring up what they talked about last night, Sam will, and Blaine can't get mad at him about it since he made dinner. It's a potentially underhanded plan, but in the list of schemes he’s had to cheer Blaine up after getting dumped, it's certainly subtler than breaking into a private school and stealing a trophy.
“This is really good, Sam,” Blaine comments after a few bites of pasta.
Sam laughs. “I’ll give Chef Rao your regards.”
“Shut up.” Blaine kicks him under the table, only making Sam giggle more. “You cooked the pasta and the chicken like a pro.”
“Thank you, thank you very much.”
Blaine cocks his head for a second before smiling—not a proper Blaine smile, but as close as it gets these days. “Elvis again?”
“Yeah! I think I’m getting really good at that one. Like, if there was a best Elvis impersonation contest I’d come first easily. ” After another bite of pasta he adds. “So, how was work?”
Blaine groans. “Why is having good ideas so hard? I ended up scrapping most of the lesson plans I wrote down. And the few I do have still aren't great.”
“Maybe once we’re done with dinner and our post-meal Doctor Who binge I can help?” Sam offers. Blaine shouldn't need help, but it seems his rut extends to music as well. They’ve always worked best together, though.
“Uh, about that…” Blaine says quietly. “I decided to take your advice.”
“Huh?” Sam asks. He was distracted, wondering whether Blaine would agree to a Country week.
“I’m taking your advice. You were right, I need to stop dwelling on Kurt and live a little. I’m going out tonight,” Blaine repeats, more confident.
Sam blinks, then he beams. “Dude, that's great!”
“You really think so?”
“Yes. Of course I think so. It was my idea.”
“I just…I don't know what to do.” Blaine whines.
“It’s sex, dude. It can't be that complicated. Not even the gay stuff, from what I’ve heard.” He knows it involves, like, more time and more lube, but surely Blaine is used to that?
Blaine rolls his eyes, in that specific way that never feels mean, not when he's doing it in answer to something Sam said, anyway. “What I mean is that I’ve never had a one night stand before, or I guess I have, but I met him on Facebook. How do I walk into a bar and make a guy want to take me home?”
Sam snorts.
“What? Sam, I’m being serious here!”
“Yeah, you are. That's what's funny.” He lets his laughter subside before looking Blaine straight in the eyes. “Blaine, I don't know if you’ve noticed, but people kinda flock to you, dude. You had Tina obsessed with you, even when she knew logically that you could never like her back.”
“That doesn't count.” Blaine pouts, petulant.
“Sure it does. You’ll be fine. Go put on an outfit that gay guys will go crazy for, get a drink, strike up a conversation or wait for someone to come to you, and then it’ll all fall into place, okay?”
After a moment, Blaine says, “Okay.”
When the time comes a few hours later, Sam is sitting on his bed watching Blaine tear clothes out of the closet they share. A shirt hits him in the face. Sam picks it up and gives it a cursory glance before frowning. “What the hell, bro? This is mine.”
Blaine looks back over his shoulder. “Huh, really? That's so annoying. It was the only decent thing I found so far.”
It’s nothing special, just a black button-up shirt with some silver embroidery, but Sam’s fond of it because the fabric is all soft and not itchy. It's his date/hookup shirt, thank you very much.
Sam pushes himself off the bed, Blaine out the way, and looks into the closet himself. He would never claim to know a lot, or anything, about fashion, but he's seen Blaine’s clothes a million times and can picture him in them as he browses. He grabs a pair of tight black pants, a red short sleeved shirt, plus a leather jacket that he’s pretty sure Blaine’s only worn once, back when he did Don’t Stop Me Now in glee club.
He shows the items to Blaine, who scrunches his brow thoughtfully.
“You’ll look great, I swear. Every guy in there will want to do you.”
“...Yeah, okay, fine. Hand it over.” He says, words running into each other, as if he has to get them all out before he can change his mind.
Sam does and Blaine disappears into the bathroom to get changed and probably put another three hundred layers of gel in his hair.
When he emerges, Sam wolf-whistles, which makes the remaining tension in Blaine’s shoulders disappear with a huff of laughter.
“Ready to go, Romeo?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Don’t forget to text me, okay? Whether you're coming home or not.”
“I promise.” And with that, he leaves.
Sam wakes up to a quiet apartment. It probably wouldn't be that noticeable, but Blaine had kept his promise:
met a guy. going to his place. don’t wait up.
So he’s fully aware that Blaine isn't home, and it's strange, but Sam’s glad. This is just what Blaine needs!
He goes about his usual morning routine: jog, shower, breakfast. He’s eating cereal against the counter when he hears keys in the door. Blaine walks into the kitchen, rumpled in last night's clothes, hair free of gel—he rarely gets to see that, even though they’ve lived together twice now.
Sam immediately grins at him. “So how was it? Was he good?”
Blaine freezes as if he’s just been blasted by one of the many cold-based supervillains; it doesn’t matter which, though Captain Cold is probably Sam’s favorite.
“...What?” He finally breaks out of it, voice dripping with confusion.
“Was he good?” Sam repeats. Blaine still doesn't seem to be computing, so he urges, “Y’know, guy talk? C’mon, dude!”
Blaine blinks. “Sam, since when do we do…’guy talk’?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Well, obviously I didn't wanna hear it when you were with Kurt. We were friends, I didn't wanna be thinking about sexy stuff every time I looked at him. But we’ll never see this guy again, so come on!”
“I guess if you really wanna know, it was…fine.” Blaine cages, sitting down at the kitchen table.
“Fine? What does fine mean?” Sam prods.
“It means it was fine.”
“Well, what was the problem? Did he have a weird dick? Or does that not matter? What way do you, y’know, do it?” He whispers the last part conspiratorially, sliding into the chair opposite Blaine.
“...You're asking if I’m a top or bottom? Seriously?”
Sam shrugs. “Well you didn't answer last time I asked.”
“I didn't answer anyone. I’m still mad Sue flew that banner over the school.”
“Yeah, that was super uncool of her…but was she right?”
“...Not entirely. I like it both ways. A lot of guys do.” He finally relents.
Sam hums, thinking that over. It makes sense. “So which way did you do it last night?”
“I can't believe I’m having this conversation,” Blaine groans into his hands. “You really want to know? Like, it won't weird you out?”
“No, dude. It's guy talk. I know all kinds of stuff the New Directions guys have done that you wouldn't believe.”
Sam knows Blaine is thinking, “but it's different,” and Sam, as he has been doing for a long time, refuses to let Blaine think the line is somewhere else just because he likes dudes. Sam’s pretty glad they've gotten to a place where he won't try to argue it anymore, even if he still feels it inside sometimes.
“I topped,” Blaine tells him.
Sam takes a moment to swallow his last bite of cereal. “So…did he have a weird ass?”
“No, Sam, he did not have a weird ass. What does that even mean?!”
“I don’t know! Look, I’m not gonna be able to guess why he wasn't good from a game of twenty questions. Just tell me.”
Maybe it's strange that he’s so curious. He was never the one grilling guys for details in the locker room. Most dudes just kind of offered them, whether you wanted them to or not. But this was supposed to help Blaine get over his post-Kurt depression, so Sam wants to know why it didn't work. And, despite what Blaine may think, it doesn't feel weird for him to talk about it. It’s kind of…enjoyable? He’s enjoying it.
“He just…he wanted to get straight to it. Like, zero foreplay except getting him ready, and even that seemed like a chore to him? I tried to suck him off and he said no, which is completely within his rights to do, but who does that?”
Sam wrinkles his nose. “I have never known a dude who would turn down a blowjob,” he agrees emphatically.
“Exactly! And it's not just that, I mean, seriously, until I was inside him we barely touched each other at all. Foreplay is just as important as sex, maybe more so…or is that just me?”
“Of course not,” Sam reassures him. He likes foreplay too, though he doesn't mind just rushing to it. He and Brittany had more than a few quickies, and he liked them just fine.
“Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea,” Blaine sighs.
“What? No! You had one less than great partner, it happens. Next weekend, you should try again. Just trying it once and giving up does not count as getting back out there.”
“Next weekend, fine.” Blaine acquiesces. “Thanks, Sam. I’m gonna go take a shower.”
Sam sits at the table for a while longer, spoon swirling idly in the leftover cereal milk, thinking of the things he just learned about Blaine without really meaning to, but when he catches himself he doesn't think anything of it. It's like how he didn't wanna hear about Kurt, it’s always hard to forget the sexy stuff about your friends for a while after learning it.
The rest of the week goes by the same as usual, but Sam doesn't forget this time. Once the weekend is upon them, and they're both sitting down for dinner again—Blaine cooked this time–the first question he asks is: “So when are you going out again?”
“Tomorrow night, I guess?”
“Why? Fridays are just as good for going out as Saturdays.”
Blaine shrugs. “I like spending Fridays with you.”
Sam can't argue with that.
Sam helps him pick an outfit, even though Blaine’s a lot less frantic about it this time. He looks great, again. Maybe Sam is better at this fashion thing than he thought.
They say goodbye at the door, and Sam stays up until he gets Blaine’s text.
see you in the morning!
Sam grins. Hopefully this guy will be better than the last one. He’ll find out tomorrow, anyway.
“So?” Sam asks, waggling his eyebrows.
He got home early enough for them to eat together this time, and Sam very politely let him drink half his coffee before bringing it up.
Blaine sighs. His hair is still curly, and it makes him look…softer, somehow. The kitchen just feels cozy this morning. “‘Guy talk’ again?”
“Yup. No escaping it, Anderson.”
“It was good,” Blaine replies, in a tone far too bland to suggest it was actually good.
“What was wrong with this one?”
“Nothing!”
“Nuh-uh. I said no escaping it’,”
“It's…it's kind of personal. You have to promise not to judge me.” He says, almost threatening.
“Scouts honor,” Sam promises. He was only a boy scout for a couple of weeks before one of the leaders yelled at him for not being able to read what was written in the handbook and he cried until his parents took him out, but it still counts.
“He was…gentle.” Blaine says, drumming his fingers on the table.
“...and that's a bad thing?” Sam asks, not because he’s judging but because he doesn't really see what Blaine is getting at. Blaine, thankfully, understands.
“Not necessarily. But sometimes I like it a little bit rough, you know? Nothing crazy just…being manhandled a little, maybe they hold me down and just…touch me all over, do whatever they want to me. And I guess I was just in that kind of mood last night.”
The kitchen no longer feels cozy. It feels really warm, all of a sudden, in a way that fills him inside and out. He shifts to try and get more comfortable and feels his suddenly hardening dick brush against leg.
Oh.
That's….
Sam clears his throat. “Are you, uh, in that kind of mood often?”
“Not all the time. Sometimes I like being the one in control, instead. And it's not like I don't enjoy sex without any of that, too. But, more than once in a while, yeah.”
Sam pictures what Blaine is describing. A faceless guy, stronger and bigger than Blaine, holding him down with one hand by the wrists, running his free hand over his body languidly, Blaine lying there and letting him touch him while he writhes, helpless.
Sam’s cock is almost fully hard in his pajama pants now. He should stop this conversation, or find a new mailman to think about to calm him down even though he hasn’t needed that in a while, but he doesn't want Blaine to think he isn't comfortable with this…and he doesn't want to stop, even though he knows he should.
“What did you do this time…did you fuck him or did he fuck you?”
“He fucked me. That part was still pretty good. I probably sound really demanding, huh?”
“No, dude!” Sam tries to ignore whatever is going on with him and reassure his friend. “You deserve to feel good. You…” he says, swallowing, “you should try again next weekend.
Blaine looks at him curiously. “Are you okay?”
“Yep! Yep, totally fine. Why would you ask? I’m completely fine and normal.”
“If you say so…well, I need to pick up some new sheet music so I’ll see you later?”
“See you later,” Sam agrees, totally and completely casually.
Sam waits for his hard-on to go down before even starting to think about what just happened. There are much faster, more pleasant ways to get rid of it, but he’s too confused to do anything else. It's not the guy thing that has him confused. He was in Lima on his own for a while before Blaine showed back up. He wasn't lying when he said he’s only slept with three girls. But having basically no one who knew or cared what he got up to around finally gave him the chance for college experimentation, without the college part, and despite not having gotten particularly far with a dude (yet), he sure did enough to figure out, yeah, guys. Guys and Girls, both awesome.
It's the fact that he’s getting turned on from hearing about what his best friend does with strangers and what he wants strangers to do to him. That's weird, right? It's super weird.
It's probably just because it's been a while. He hasn't been with anyone in a good few months, and while that's not the longest dry spell, it's enough to get him worked up easily. It doesn’t help that, since Blaine moved in, he’s restricted masturbation to quick sessions in the shower because the wall between his bedroom and the living room where Blaine sleeps is pretty thin.
He considers going out to meet someone, maybe on a Saturday so neither him nor Blaine is stuck home alone, but it just…isn’t appealing enough to make the effort.
But Blaine isn't home right now, and knowing how much he loves sheet music, won't be for a while. Sam can go to his room, splay out on his bed, load up something on his laptop, and really take his time with getting himself off. Then next weekend everything will be back to normal, and he can spend Saturday night supporting Blaine like he’s supposed to, and have completely regular, not-incredibly-arousing guy talk on Sunday.
Sam watches Blaine at the closet from his usual seat on the bed and feels his blood pounding in his veins, the same kind of nervous excitement he used to feel before Nationals. He’s waiting for something, and he knows what even if he doesn't want to admit it.
Blaine seems to be seriously considering the shirt in his hands and in a split-second Sam finds himself on his feet and walking over to him.
“Not that one,” Sam says, and he doesn't know what makes him say it other than the sudden thought that picking Blaine’s clothes on these nights is his job.
Blaine dressed, it’s time for him to leave, and Sam is probably imagining that they linger at the door a little longer than usual.
“I hope this guy is better,” Sam says, soft.
“Yeah, me too. Tell you about it tomorrow?”
Sam’s stomach flutters wildly. “Of course.”
His ringtone wakes him up at four a.m. Sam reaches for it blearily, then he sees Blaine’s name flashing on the screen and his heart races into his throat, waking him up completely.
“B?” he says when he answers. “What is it? What's wrong?”
“I’m fine, Sam,” Blaine says, but Sam can’t tell if that’s true from his voice. “But I’m outside. I was about to let myself in, but I know you're a light sleeper and I didn't want you to freak out when you heard someone in the apartment.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll see you in a second, then?”
He hangs up before Blaine can reply. He gets out of bed and moves to the living room without bothering to put a shirt on. He opens the door before Blaine can and leads them to the sofa.
“You're home early,” Sam observes, trying to keep his tone neutral.
“Yeah. He, uh, he didn't want me to stay.” He bites his lip.
“He didn't…he didn't hurt you or anything, right?”
Blaine’s eyes go wide. “God, no! Nothing like that, I promise. He just had to get up really early for work or something.”
Sam repeats this to himself in his head three times before the leftover panic stops eating him alive. Finally, he takes a good look at Blaine. He doesn't look hurt, or upset; he looks…his hair is curly again, but this time it's a little wet. Sam doesn't think it's raining, so that can only mean it's sweat. His lips are just slightly pinker than usual, like they’ve seen a lot of use tonight. There’s a love bite blooming just above the collar of the sweater Sam picked out for him. Sam tamps down the urge to reach out and touch it.
He looks back up to Blaine’s face. Into the quiet of the night, he says, “In that case…how was it?”
Blaine doesn't break their eye contact. “It was…It wasn't great, but I’m not sure why.”
That's new. The conversation could easily end there, but Blaine is making no move to kick him out and reclaim the couch, and Sam, brave or stupid, says, “Maybe…Maybe you should tell me what you did with him. In detail. I could…I could help you figure out what you didn't like.”
“Yeah,” Blaine breathes. “Yeah, okay.”
A nervous chuckle. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“We got back to his place. He didn't say anything. He just grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bedroom. He pushed me down onto the bed and straddled me…” Blaine trails off. Sam remembers he likes that—being manhandled, pushed around—but even if he didn't he’d be able to tell from the sudden blush in his cheeks.
“Keep going.” He’s all too aware of it this time, the heat puddling his stomach and his cock filling out. There's no table between them this time. Blaine could easily notice… but why would he even be looking, Sam reassures himself.
“We kissed. He was a good kisser, not too much tongue, and he was always cupping my face or the back of my neck. After a while, we stripped each other down to our underwear. I flipped him over so I was the one straddling him and I started kissing down his torso.”
Sam knows that move, knows what it's leading up to. “Did you get to blow him? I know you wanted to do it to that other guy…do you enjoy it?”
That's a series of questions that he knows, somewhere beneath the haze of lust and the desperate ache between his legs, is edging past the boundaries of guy talk. Thankfully, Blaine doesn't seem to notice… or maybe he’s choosing not to , whispers the same part of his mind that catalogs things like his best friend's blush and the way he keeps looking at Sam, instead of averting his gaze out of embarrassment like he did before.
“Yeah. It feels good to make someone else feel that good. It’s hard to explain…it's like it makes me feel powerful, even though everyone acts like it's supposed to be something demeaning.”
Sam nods. He’s never really thought about it, but he’s experiencing first hand how much power Blaine Anderson can have over a man, and that's just from talking.
“I did suck him off. Once I finished kissing down his stomach and reached the hem of his boxers, I kind of looked up and silently asked him if he wanted it. I would have asked out loud, but he still hadn't said anything since we got there. It felt weird to break the silence and…oh my god, that's it!”
Sam blinks dumbly. “What's what?”
“That's why it wasn't good. We barely said anything the whole time. I…I like talking.”
“You do?” Sam asks, and means: tell me more.
“Uh-huh. It's reassuring. You know without a doubt you're both into what's going on. I think that's important. And hot. If someone is making me feel good, I wanna tell them so.”
Sam’s brain whites out. He can see it so clearly: Blaine straddling some guy, grinding against him as the guy sucks a hickey into his neck, Blaine’s voice in his ear, “you're so good, baby.”
“You know, I think I’m gonna take a shower!” Sam exclaims.
“At four a.m?”
“May as well stay up instead of falling back asleep for another couple of hours. You should get some rest, though.”
He stands up from the sofa and leaves quickly so that Blaine won't see how turned on he is.
He can't bring himself to keep insisting it's weird and that he's not really into it as he takes hold of his cock in the shower. There's no use denying it, and even if it is weird, it feels so good, so why does it matter?
I am very, very into my best friend telling me about his hookups, he thinks, and comes harder than he has in who knows how long.
The routine of helping Blaine pick out an outfit stays the same the next Saturday. When it’s time for them to part, they seem to linger again… is it just the anticipation filling Sam's very being that makes it seem so? It must be, right?
Blaine comes home the next morning. Sam doesn't even have to ask—Blaine sits down next to him, so close they’re almost touching, and tells Sam about the not-quite-right guy in as much detail as last time until his head is spinning and he has to excuse himself with something he has to go do, in the bathroom, right now, and bites down on his lip until it almost breaks in the hopes Blaine won't hear him.
In his room, he hands Blaine a shirt. “I think you should wear this.”
“This is your shirt,” Blaine points out.
Sam tries to sound casual when he says, “Yeah, but you were right, It’ll look good on you.”
Sam’s already turned on the second Blaine puts it on. He kind of hopes he’ll keep it on all night, even when… especially when he’s fucking whoever takes him home that night.
He doesn't ask the next morning, and Blaine doesn’t mention it. But when he tries to hand it back, he says, “I didn't get anything on it, I promise.”
“Maybe you should keep it, just in case,” Sam tells him. He wants to keep seeing Blaine in it. Maybe he will get something on it next time. It’s a strangely appealing thought.
If Blaine notices that Sam is a lot more dressed up than he usually is when he takes his place in front of their closet that Saturday, he doesn't mention it.
“I was thinking…” Sam starts, then trails off.
“Hm?” Blaine questions. He’s the one on the bed this time, easily and willingly accepting that Sam will choose what he wears.
“Maybe the reason none of these guys are right is because you're picking the wrong ones.”
“I mean, yeah? I guess that's the only thing it can be, unless I really am too high maintenance.”
“You're not,” Sam tells him again. “But, clearly you aren't great at picking guys. So…”
“So?”
“So I was thinking I’d come with you. I’ll help you choose.”
The seconds-long silence makes Sam want to snatch the words out of the air and shove them back in his mouth.
Blaine, in a tone he can't parse, says, “You want to help me choose who I’m going to fuck.”
Sam can't see a way out of it, so he just says, “Yes. I mean, as your bro, I want you to have a good time, y’know?” That’s how it started, at least. He wanted to see Blaine smile again. He still wants that. His motives just aren't completely selfless anymore. He didn't expect it to get this far, but last night they were sitting on the sofa, watching Star Trek Into Darkness. Their legs had ended up pressed together, and when Sam thought about what was going to happen tomorrow night he realized that he didn't want Blaine to walk out of that door. He still wanted what came after, but he wanted to be more…involved.
“As my bro,” Blaine repeats, a different but still unrecognizable tone. “You realize we’d be going to a gay bar, right?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Really? Wow. And here I thought it was women you were having sex with this whole time!”
Blaine laughs. It’s a nice sound. “Hey, I’m just making sure you're cool with it. If you start freaking out on me in there, no one’s gonna want to get close enough to sleep with me.”
Sam can't help but bounce on his heels. “So you want me to come?”
“Sure. Pick someone good for me, Sam.”
Twenty minutes later, Blaine’s car pulls into the parking lot of Scandals. He kills the engine and turns to Sam in the passenger seat, a gleam in his eye. “Ready?”
“Are you?” Sam quips back. “You're the one who's gonna have to seduce whoever we pick into falling into bed with you.”
“Yeah, well, someone once told me that people just flock to me.” He teases.
Sam shoves his shoulder lightly. “Dude, shut up.”
Blaine leads the way out of the car and into the bar. Sam lets him. He has been to Scandals, a few times. It’s the only gay bar in Lima, after all. Where else would we have gone to fool around with guys? But Blaine doesn't know that. It's not that Sam is purposefully keeping his bisexuality discovery from him, but Blaine was so upset when he first came back that Sam didn't want to derail that by talking about himself, and now? Now it would feel like revealing something a lot more incriminating than just liking men.
They're greeted by a Kesha remix playing just quietly enough that they don't have to yell. The bar is pretty full. It’s a little overwhelming. How does Blaine normally end up with a guy? He doesn't doubt that there’s more than one guy in here who would want to share a bed with him for the night.
They both order something non-alcoholic at the bar. Idly, Sam thinks they should get drunk together sometime soon. Some nights, they have a beer or two, but he hasn't seen Blaine so much as tipsy since New York. They’d both been drunk, the first time they’d met, at Rachel’s terrible party that people only remember for Blaine and Rachel kissing. Sam had barely noticed it was happening, or the boy now standing next to him at all. It seems crazy to think about now.
Their drinks arrive. Sam’s tugs the sleeve of Blaine’s shirt—the shirt, his shirt. “Anyone caught your eye?”
Blaine hums, eyes scanning over the room. “I’m not sure yet. What do you think?”
Sam nearly chokes on his diet soda. He expected to maybe warn Blaine off guys who look like selfish assholes, or encourage him towards a guy he thought was cute. He didn't expect Blaine to just ask for his advice before he’d even laid his eyes on someone. It's definitely doing something for him, though.
Looking around, he can't help but pause at one guy in particular. He’s slim and not too tall, with a kind of alternative edge expressed by multiple piercings in his ears and messy, jet-black hair. He and Blaine would look good together. Really, really, good.
“Him.” Sam points to the dancefloor and the guy he’s still imagining tangled up with Blaine
It's then Sam realizes he kind of has no idea what Blaine’s type is. As much as they've talked about all these guys, Blaine has never described them, only what they've done together. He doesn't know what Lighthouse Guy looked like, either. He has two clues: Obviously, there's Kurt, who isn't dissimilar to the guy on the dancefloor in body type but they're miles apart in style. Then there's…well, there's Sam. They haven't brought up Blaine’s senior year crush on him much since the engagement, but he thinks about it. A lot. Sam is pretty sure he looks nothing like Kurt or this guy. The point is, he’s half-expecting Blaine to turn the guy down.
But when his gaze follows Sam’s finger, he doesn’t falter. “Him,” he agrees, and heads out to the dance floor.
Sam watches from the bar as Blaine walks up to him with a charming smile he recognizes from when he performs. Presumably, he asks the guy to dance, because soon enough they're moving together. Blaine’s a good dancer. Not one of the standouts from New Directions, sure, but he’s fluid and confident. Sam chuckles fondly when he notices Blaine throw in a body roll, the butterflies that have made a home in his stomach flapping their wings in perfect sync. The two figures on the dance floor move closer, until the guy wraps his arm around Blaine’s waist and pulls him until their chests and groins are practically one. They really do look incredible together. Sam can't think of a word other than beautiful.
After a few more songs, the guy presses his lips against Blaine’s. Sam can't tell from here if he's doing it right—if he’s using the right amount of tongue, if his hands are doing more than hanging loosely around his waist. Part of him wants to go over there and tell him, he likes to be touched. Guide his mouth to the sensitive spot under Blaine’s jaw he let slip after the last guy didn't find it. Whisper, make him feel good. Let him make you feel good.
Blaine comes back to Sam, the guy following behind with a giddy smile.
“Hey,” Blaine greets, a little out of breath. “We’re gonna go.”
“Text me when you get there?” Sam asks, still wanting the check in text even if he knows Blaine won't be home.
“Sure,” Blaine says. Cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming, he adds, “talk to you tomorrow?”
He knows what Blaine isn't saying. Can’t say in front of the guy holding on to his hand. I’ll tell you tomorrow how good he fucked me.
“It’s a date.”
“He was the best yet,” he tells him.
It's early morning. The curtains are still closed and the lights off, giving the room an illusion of timeless privacy. They’re sitting on the living room floor with their backs against the sofa. Their arms and legs are pressed against each other again, and Sam is fiddling with the hem of Blaine’s shirt, the shirt, half just to do it and half because he’s trying to subtly tug it down to get a better look at the series of little, purpling love bites trailing down his throat.
“Do you like these?” Sam asks.
“Huh?”
Sam forgets about words and gently runs the pad of his thumb down the visible trail of bruises. He hears Blaine's breath hitch.
“Yeah. Yeah, I like them. Not so much the pain but…I like looking at them and remembering I was wanted.”
“Well, clearly, this guy really wanted you.”
“Seems like it,” Blaine shrugs coyly.
“So…I chose well?” Sam asks, struck by how desperately he wants to hear it.
Blaine’s fingers brush against Sam’s. “You did, Sam, you chose really well for me.”
He has to grit his teeth to hold back the moan that bubbles in his throat.
“He left me all of these, then he dropped to his knees and started sucking me off. He was really attentive, eager to please.”
Sam pictures it. That guy on his knees with Blaine above him. He’s taking as much of Blaine’s cock as he can, lathering attention on every inch of it with his lips and tongue. It feels right, that Blaine be treated that way.
It's how I would treat him.
“He got me off like that. And I returned the favor, obviously.”
“Is that all you did with him?” Sam asks, voice thick. He needs more.
“No. I fucked him up against the wall, Deep and slow until he was trembling. The way he moaned…I wouldn't be surprised if his neighbors had noise complaints tomorrow.”
“Sounds like he was perfect,” Sam whispers.
Blaine shakes his head. “Not quite.”
“What did he do wrong?”
“Well, like I said, he was really attentive with his mouth around my cock. But when I was fucking him, I was doing all the work. He pretty much just stood there. Like I said, he was the best so far, but I would have preferred a little more give and take. You still chose so well. I’m sure the guy next week will be even better.”
Next week, Sam points out a huge guy with well-trimmed facial hair. Despite knowing how strong Blaine is, Sam can't help but think he looks tiny next to the man now buying him a drink at the bar. This guy could hold Blaine up and fuck him against any surface, or pin him down the way Sam knows he likes.
They talk lying on their stomachs because Blaine is still sore. He says it's a good hurt, though. The guy kept Blaine up most of the night, fucking him twice and touching and kissing him in between.
“No marks.” Blaine pouts when Sam asks him what wasn't quite right, and undoes the first button of his shirt and pulls his collar down to show Sam the unblemished skin. “You know I like them.”
Scandals is busy. Somehow, Sam has ended up with his arms around Blaine, holding his back to his chest, so they don't get jostled in the crowd.
“Who do you want?” Blaine asks, neck craned so Sam can hear him better. Sam can feel his breath on his neck.
Sam feels like he’s been struck by lightning when he sees him. The guy has just come through the door. Sam takes him in as he walks: tall, muscled—not absurdly so, but he clearly takes care of his body. His hair is blonde bordering on brown, short but long enough to flop against his forehead. Sam can't see the color of his eyes from here, but in his mind they're a blue-green.
He looks like me.
It's not a striking resemblance, but it's enough. The thought of Blaine with this guy already has his dick stirring in his jeans, not helped by the small of Blaine’s back rubbing against it.
Sam points him out. Blaine presses closer.
“You want me to fuck him?” Blaine whimpers into his neck. Sam’s heart is staccato in his chest.
“Yeah. I want you to fuck him, B.”
Blaine pulls out all the stops—barely any time has passed at all until Blaine is slowly running a finger down the guy's chest, looking up at him with doe-eyed faux innocence.
“You're so strong,” Blaine says. They're close enough this time that Sam can hear them, standing right next to Sam’s seat at the bar. He watches out of the corner of his eye. Blaine doesn't even acknowledge that he’s here with Sam, that he knows him at all, as he seduces another guy. But it still feels like there's a connection between them, thrumming in the air. He may as well be holding Blaine’s hand, he may as well trade places with the stranger who looks just like him.
Blaine has to get up on his tiptoes to kiss the guy. His hands are spread flat on the guy's pecs, while the guy runs a hand under the hem of Blaine’s shirt and strokes his side.
Yeah, just like that , Sam thinks, That’s how he wants to be kissed. That’s how I’d kiss him.
Sam can’t sleep that night. Every time he closes his eyes, his mind is filled with Blaine and the guy he’s with right now. The things they could be doing together, the ways this man might be taking Blaine apart, Blaine splayed out on his bed, Blaine’s hands in his blonde hair, Blaine’s hand around his cock…
Sam comes with an exhale, cum spurting weakly onto his stomach. He hasn't jerked off this much since, like, sophomore year. But it's never quite enough…he needs Blaine’s addictive, beautiful voice telling him exactly how they made each other feel good, the sound filling the darkened room with lust as he confides in Sam all the little details.
When Blaine comes home, Sam runs to greet him. He's frenetic energy and he wants to put his hands all over Blaine, especially in the curls of his hair. Instead, they just flutter uselessly at his sides.
Blaine smiles at him, sweet and familiar. Almost the smile Sam has been trying to find again.
He takes Sam’s hand and tangles their fingers together. Cloudy-headed, Sam follows wherever Blaine is taking him, a mirror image of all the guys who trail after him in the bar.
Blaine sits on the sofa. He doesn't pull Sam on to it with him, but instead tugs at his hand and Sam rushes to sit on the floor, cross-legged at Blaine’s feet. He stares up at him to see if that was right, and pride and arousal bloom in his gut in equal measure at Blaine’s little nod.
It’s torturous, waiting for Blaine to talk. Sam has gotten used to not having to ask, but Blaine isn't saying anything, he’s just… looking at him.
“Tell me,” Sam eventually pleads.
“Tell you what?” Blaine’s eyes widen and his lips part, an innocent expression reminiscent of last night.
Sam kind of wants to cry, but, like, in a good way.
“Tell me what you did with him. How you touched each other. How he fucked you, or how you fucked him, whatever, just…tell me?”
Blaine huffs a laugh. “Oh, yeah, ‘guy talk’, right?” he says as if he forgot, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Sam nods frantically. “Guy talk,” he confirms weakly.
“Well, we started by him asking me to strip for him. He sat on the edge of bed and watched me take my clothes off, real slow. He didn't take his eyes off me.”
And it's so easy, for Sam to imagine himself in that guy's place—he knew it would be, it's why he wanted him—and for that undescribed bedroom to become his own. Sitting on his bed, hypnotized by each inch of skin Blaine teasingly reveals, reveals for Sam.
“More,” Sam doesn't mean to say, but he does, quiet enough that maybe Blaine doesn't hear him.
“I lay down for him on the bed and he ran his hands all over me. He really liked my nipples—he played with them for what felt like hours.”
Sam’s gaze travels down to Blaine’s chest. His nipples are hard, now, the outlines visible through the thin white t-shirt Sam put him in last night (he can't choose the shirt every Saturday, even if he wants to, but Blaine still looks good in anything).
Sam wants to touch. In his imagination, he does. He has Blaine beautiful and spread out beneath him and strokes and pinches the buds on his chest until they're hard and flushed, Blaine letting out breathy little moans all the while. He uses his mouth too, sucking and nipping gently—in his mind, it makes Blaine’s cock jerk and pre-cum bead at the tip, because that's what happens to Sam just thinking about it.
He muffles a moan and lets his head fall so it's resting on Blaine’s thigh, needing some kind of contact with him. He must look wrecked, he knows he must, but Blaine doesn't call him out on it—he reaches out and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. It feels like splashing into a cool lake on a hot day.
He drifts easily between reality and fantasy as Blaine keeps talking. Blaine weaves the filthy details together like the lyrics of a song and Sam subconsciously drifts even closer to him, curling around him until all he'd have to do is shift slightly and he could grind his wet and aching cock on Blaine’s leg. It’s only the last thread of self control and the feeling of Blaine’s fingers still scratching against Sam’s scalp that stops him.
“Was he…was he right?” Sam stutters when Blaine finishes describing how the guy had pulled out and came all over Blaine’s back after fucking him.
“Almost. Not quite,” Blaine answers easily.
“Why not?”
“...I guess I just want something else.”
Sam tries to ask what that means, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth and it's hard to get words out right. Before he can manage it, Blaine pulls back. “I’m gonna go take a shower. You haven't had breakfast, yet, right? I’ll make us pancakes.”
While Blaine is in the shower, Sam gets himself off hard and fast. It kind of hurts, considering how much he already worked his cock waiting for Blaine to come home, but it's so worth it—to have Blaine’s voice in his head, to be able to picture himself as the one making Blaine feel good.
The thing is, the song is stuck in Sam’s head; not a moment passes when he’s not thinking about Blaine on that most recent Saturday and himself in the place of the man he took to bed.
He’s pretty sure it's not healthy to be this horny 24/7. He’s barely functioning. Even Coach Beiste asks him what's wrong a few times as they craft plays for the next practice, but he can't tell his former football coach and kind of boss that he can't stop thinking about fucking his best friend, and it's all his fault because he somehow went from wanting him to get laid to being so involved that he’s basically doing everything but fucking him himself.
Maybe Sam wants something else too.
Saturday evening comes, and Sam is sitting on his bed like usual, except for how he’s deep in thought about things that aren’t what's gonna happen tonight.
Yesterday’s movie night was…weird. They normally talk the whole time, and lately they’ve been practically cuddling up to each other too. But Sam could barely look at Blaine, not without thinking about pinning him to the sofa. Blaine’s hand brushed his when they both reached for the popcorn and Sam had jolted back, vision filled by the idea of that hand unbuttoning his jeans.
He’s at a crossroads.
Right on time, Blaine knocks on the door and pushes it open without waiting for a response.
“Hey,” he says shyly. “Are we, uh, are we going out tonight?”
He’s barefoot, dressed in his lounging-around-the-house sweatpants, and…and the shirt, unbuttoned over an undershirt.
His hair is wild and curly, and Sam feels like the dog in that experiment Kitty told him about once. He probably just hasn't gelled it again after his pre-going-out shower, but to Sam those curls mean that Blaine’s sitting above Sam, or lying on his stomach, or brushing their side-by-side arms together and telling Sam what he wants and likes and needs.
Whatever has been holding him back from crossing finally snaps.
He scoots back on the bed and pats the spot in front of him.
“Come here, B.”
Blaine does, half-kneeling between Sam’s open legs. His pupils are blown wide. Sam leans closer to tuck a curl behind his ear, a strangled noise gets caught in his throat.
Sam’s pretty sure at this point that he's not imagining it. That this thing they’ve been doing has an effect on Blaine too.
Sam begged Blaine for details and dressed him up and picked boys for Blaine to fuck.
But Blaine let him.
“These guys aren't giving you what you need,” Sam says, fingers still trailing down Blaine’s jaw.
“They're not.” Blaine swallows.
“But I can. I know what you like, what you don’t like. I can make it so good for you!” Sam doesn't care if he sounds needy. He is. He needs this so much that he hasn't been able to think of anything else.
The air around them stills. Sam is caught between one breath and the next, and Blaine's so still that Sam isn't sure he’s even blinking.
“You're straight,” Blaine says weakly, a formality neither of them are buying.
“I’m trying to do you, so I think it's pretty obvious I’m not. We can talk about it later, but, now…I need to know if you want this.”
“Yeah,” Blaine exhales. “Yeah, I want it.”
He crashes his lips into Sam’s, the force of it knocking Sam on to his back and leaving Blaine leaning over him. They quickly find a rhythm. Sam cups Blaine’s jaw and runs his thumb across his cheekbone, and skims his other hand along Blaine’s side, still over his clothes. Blaine’s lips part, a small whine escaping, and Sam uses the opportunity to lick into his mouth but lets Blaine lead from there, knowing he doesn't like too much tongue but unsure what qualifies as too much.
Blaine’s hands are everywhere, running through Sam’s hair and clasping his biceps and squeezing his pecs. He’s completely enveloping Sam, calves on either side of his thighs. He shifts slightly, and his cock brushes against Sam’s own. He’s just as hard as Sam is and the electric shock of pleasure makes Sam pull back from the kiss with a cry before grabbing Blaine by the hips and grinding against him properly. Blaine moves with him the next time, effortless and perfect, but Sam still guides him—he likes to be manhandled a little. As he does that, he starts pressing kisses against Blaine’s jaw, paying extra attention to that one sensitive spot, and then down his neck.
“Sam, Sam,” Blaine whimpers, pulling at the hem of Sam’s shirt. “Wanna see you.”
Sam sits up and pulls his shirt off, bunching it up and throwing it across the room. He lets Blaine stare. It’s intoxicating, having his attention all to himself. “It’s flattering,” he remembers telling Blaine in senior year. Past Sam didn't know the half of it.
“You too,” Sam says. Blaine shuffles backwards so he’s no longer sitting on Sam and starts pulling off the shirt, slowly. It’s one of the best things Sam has ever seen. “Wait!” he blurts out as Blaine is about to let the shirt fall to the bed.
“Is something wrong?” Blaine asks, immediately soft and concerned.
“Nothing,” Sam assures him. As if anything could be wrong right now. “Just…could you put it back on after? Just the shirt, unbuttoned like it was before. Please keep taking the rest of your clothes off.”
There’s a crease between Blaine’s eyebrows, but he nods. Sam forgets all about it as Blaine strips off his undershirt too.
Sam starts unbuttoning his jeans. It’s difficult to do without taking his eyes off Blaine, and when Blaine inches his own sweatpants down his hips Sam is worried that if he accidentally brushes even a finger tip against his dick he’s going to come in his pants. He can see the outline of Blaine’s cock through his underwear and he’s never wanted so badly in his life.
Pants finally kicked off, Blaine picks up the shirt again. Sam waits for him to slip it back on, but he just stares at the fabric in his hands. “Sam…what is this?”
“...It’s a shirt?”
Blaine looks at him, his expression vulnerable. Sam reaches out and tangles their fingers together, trying to ground him. It seems to work, if the way Blaine squeezes his hand is any indication. “No, I mean what is this?” He gestures between them. “Is this another one night stand, or…?”
He’s really glad they're already holding hands, because he’s the one who needs grounding now. “As much as I enjoyed hearing you talk about fucking other guys—and I really, really, enjoyed it—if it's up to me…then I wanna be the only one from now on. But if you don't—”
He’s cut off by a lapful of Blaine and lips kissing him until he’s breathless. When he’s finally, too soon, set free, his vision is filled with Blaine, looking wrecked and wild, and now wearing the shirt like Sam had asked. He's still taking the sight in when he feels a hand wrap around his clothed cock and stroke him base to tip. His hips arch off the bed, fucking up into Blaine’s palm.
“I only fucked them for you.”
“Wh-what?” Sam’s lost in the haze of pleasure, but he grabs on to the voice like a lifeline. Blaine’s voice, a voice Sam will always listen to.
“I fucked them for you,” he repeats, breathy, hand still working Sam’s dick. “It took a few times, but I realized what it was doing to you. That it was getting you off. It was the hottest thing that's ever happened to me, Sam. I was doing that to you, without even touching you. I came harder after we talked than I did with any of them.”
Sam is coming with a shout before he even realizes it, squeezing Blaine’s hand so hard that it has to hurt, but if it does he doesn't seem to notice. He’s looking at Sam in awe as he strokes him through the aftershocks. Sam lets himself recover for a second, but he still feels like he’s on fire and moments later he’s flipping them over. Blaine lets out a little ‘oof’ of surprise when his back hits the mattress.
Sam pins Blaine’s wrists above him and lays sloppy kisses down the column of his throat then gets to work sucking at the tender junction between his shoulder and neck, alternating between nipping at it with his teeth and lathing his tongue over it when Blaine’s steady stream of little moans start to sound pained. Once he's sure it will bruise, he starts again a little further up. I fucked them for you is a litany in his head. Sam has never felt so wanted in his entire life, and he’s gonna make sure Blaine feels the same.
Without detaching from Blaine’s neck, he slides his own underwear off with his unoccupied hand. They were starting to get uncomfortable, especially now his dick is swiftly getting back with the program. He tugs at Blaine’s too, murmurs into his skin, “Let me make you feel good?”
“Yes. Touch me. God, please touch me.”
He takes them off and finally gets to touch Blaine’s cock. He’s done this part before, with a couple of guys, but neither of them felt as good in his hand as Blaine does.
He jerks him off slowly, adjusting his technique and experimenting to see what makes Blaine moan the loudest. He twists his wrist roughly on the downstroke and Blaine starts blabbering. “Yeah, just like that. Feels so good. You're doing so well.”
Sam moans brokenly into Blaine’s neck. He finally raises his head. He needs to see him. He needs to…
“Can I fuck you?” He pants. “Or, can you fuck me? Either one. Anything.”
Blaine wiggles out of Sam’s hold and pushes himself up, his cock slipping from Sam’s grasp. “You mean…you’d want me to…?” His fingers trace the curve of Sam’s ass.
Sam nods. “Whatever you want.”
Blaine’s gaze turns thoughtful. Sam waits.
“I want you to fuck me,” Blaine says decisively. “I've been thinking about your cock for so long.”
“Yeah? Is that what you were thinking about all those times I caught you staring at me in the choir room. Having me inside you?”
“...And other things,” he admits, playfully shrugging his shoulders.
“We can do that. We can do all those other things, too. We have time, right?”
“We have time,” Blaine affirms. “And then maybe you can tell me what you want. Our ‘guy talk’ has been pretty one-sided.”
“I’ll tell you anything you wanna know,” Sam tells him. “But first…”
“But first,” Blaine agrees, and flips them over again so that he can open the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and grab the lube and condoms. Sam will totally wonder about how he knew where to find them later, but given they live together it’s probably not that surprising.
“Have you done this before? With a girl or…anyone else?”
“No. But I’m pretty sure I know how. Just tell me if it doesn't feel good.”
Blaine spurts the lube into his own hand and slicks up three of Sam’s fingers. “Just one at first.”
Sam cups Blaine’s ass with his clean hand before bringing the other one up to tease at the opening. He circles one finger around Blaine’s hole a few times before finally starting to push it inside. God, it's so hot and tight and his cock aches at the thought of being inside there. He keeps sliding the finger in slowly, then pulls it almost all the way out.
“That's good,” Blaine praises. “Keep doing that, okay?”
Sam does, speeding up slightly every few thrusts until Blaine’s taking it easily and spreading his legs wider. “More,” he demands.
Sam starts the process again with a second finger, and once he’s used to that, a third. Blaine rocks back onto his fingers, breath coming in pants. Sam strokes over Blaine’s walls until he finds that place that makes him sob. He’s sure to keep pressing against it, captivated by the pre-cum beading on the tip of Blaine's cock every time he does, until Blaine grabs Sam’s wrist and stops him from plunging his fingers back in. “I’m ready,”
“You're sure?” Sam checks.
Blaine nods impatiently and Sam withdraws his hand. He finds the condom and tears it out of the packaging before rolling it over his dick. Blaine uses the leftover lube on his hand to slick Sam up.
Blaine positions himself above Sam’s cock and slides down on to him. The tight heat surrounds him inch by inch, and though he knows Blaine is probably going so slowly for his own sake, Sam is grateful for it too; he doesn’t think he could handle it all at once.
Once Blaine is fully seated on his cock, Sam grabs on to his hips and rests their foreheads together. Their breath mingles together, both of them adjusting to the feeling.
“Gonna move now, okay?” Blaine whispers after a moment.
“Totally.”
Blaine lifts himself up in a long, fluid motion before slamming back down. He does it again, and Sam does his best to fuck his hips up in harmony with Blaine’s movements. Sam presses kisses over the now blooming love bites on Blaine’s neck and chest, and anywhere else he can reach until the pleasure is too much to keep it up anymore and he uses his little remaining focus to take over when Blaine’s energy starts to flag, gripping his hips tighter and pulling Blaine up and down on his cock.
“So good,” Blaine babbles. “You're making me feel so good. Better than anyone else ever could. You're so good, baby.”
“Are you close?” Sam rasps, not sure how much longer he can hold on.
“So close. Just…just need…” Blaine wraps his own hand around his cock.
Sam watches as he tugs in time with Sam’s thrusts one, two, three times, then Blaine’s hole clenches around him and cum splatters all over his stomach. Some of it lands on the shirt. Sam’s thrusts speed up, becoming rough and uncoordinated, following Blaine over the edge.
Once they’ve caught their breath, Sam throws the condom towards the trash can and lazily cleans Blaine up with the already ruined shirt, which joins their boxers on the floor. He should really do all of that properly, but he wraps his arms back around Blaine instead. His head is resting on Sam’s chest and one of Sam's legs is trapped between both of Blaine's. Sure, he’s starting to feel kind of sticky and gross, but he has no desire to disentangle himself. He thinks he could stay here forever. He's about to say as much when he feels Blaine stiffen in his arms. The quiet, horrified "my god," that falls from his lips is a shard of ice puncturing his heart.
"What's wrong?" Sam clamors, afraid and desperate, pulling them up into a sitting position.
Did Sam hurt him? He would have said something, right? He has to know Sam would never mean to hurt him! Or does he regret it? He probably regrets it, and he's going to move out and Sam's gonna be heartbroken and Blaine will never speak to him again even though they're not supposed to let anything get between them.
Completely deadpan, Blaine says, "We can never tell anyone how we got together."
A beat. Two. Three. And then Sam can't help it, he bursts out laughing. Uncontrollable, loud laughter that's going to leave his sides hurting.
"Stop laughing!" Blaine whines, and hits him with a pillow. "We can't! They would never let us live it down. Ever. And also I would die of embarrassment. I'd die immediately. Do you want me to die?"
Sam's shoulders are still shaking as he pecks Blaine's lips. "Don't worry, we can make something up. We’ll make up the best story ever, with, like, flowers, and true love’s kiss…aliens, if we wanna make it really cool."
Blaine's expression softens, a smile taking over. "Sure, Sam, there can be aliens. Maybe I saved you from getting hit by their death ray and you swooned into my arms...huh, that's actually kind of romantic."
And, oh, there it is; the beautiful, real Blaine smile that he's been looking for this whole time.