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Coach Hummel

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It takes an hour and fifteen minutes and one and a half plays of Maroon 5's Songs About Jane before Blaine sighs and sprawls and begins tracing shapes on his chest as he says, "I have the most crazy fantasy stuck in my head."

Kurt stops rubbing the inside of his thigh—where he has been staunchly keeping his wandering hand for the last half hour—and sits up, folding his legs in front of him as he lowers his voice to ask, "Oh, tell?" He smiles wickedly. "It had better be ridiculous. The more ridiculous the better. Do I have sassy one liners?"

Blaine laughs, eyelashes down, cheeks pink, though it's hard to tell exactly how pink with all the grainy Skype screen breaks and stutters. "It is super ridiculous. Are you ready?" He pauses, then, in a way that isn't typical for them once they get going with the sexy talk. It doesn't happen often but when it does it tends to blurt out all at once; Blaine isn't crazy about doing this over Skype and has never hesitated to let Kurt know that it's only when he's desperate that it's likely to happen. "It's—now that I think about it, it's so clichéd and awful. Let's just—"

"Please?" Kurt asks, fingernails scraping the hair on his thigh back and forth. "I really want to." His voice is rough with anticipation. He's been working himself up the entire call, letting the music effect his mood and god, he wants to get off with his fiancé more than anything right now.

"It started with the Cheerios uniform," Blaine begins, letting his eyes drift shut, "and then that stupid thong. And let me tell you, daydreaming was the only way to get through that practice without wanting to strangle Coach Sylvester and half the squad."

Kurt's pulse begins to throb faster. He remembers Blaine laughing off the uniform and the thong, posing for just one second for Kurt over the computer as if it were a joke, and Kurt had his hand down his pants the moment they hung up because Blaine's ass cradling the red thong strap while the rest of his body had been encased in smooth red and white had been enough to get Kurt from soft to painfully hard in record time, though he'd never admitted it. He'd felt guilty enough getting off to images of Blaine in a thong when they weren't even dating. He certainly did not recall the uniform being quite so tight when he had worn it.

"So I have this fantasy that I've built up," Blaine continues, head tilted at the camera but his eyes still shut. Kurt can't see what his hands are doing, and that almost makes it sexier. "You're—promise you won't laugh?"

Kurt exhales roughly, "Promise," and rests the curve of his palm over himself.

"So I'm a senior and also captain of the Cheerios in this little scenario, and you're—you're the coach of the football team. You're, like, early twenties, and just—gorgeous and one hundred percent in charge. The football team gave you attitude when you started because they didn't think that you were the type, but it only took a few months for you to have them whipped and winning games left and right. And I have the biggest, stupidest crush on you."

Kurt begins lightly rubbing himself through his pajama bottoms, cheeks going warm. "Do I know?"

"Yeah, but you're careful. You don't want to encourage me because we could both get into trouble, so we keep it professional, but—it makes us stupid sometimes, especially at games. I like to tease you in the routines, show off my body and make things extra sexy for you when I do my twists and kicks and tumbles. I distract you so well that sometimes I make you walk into the refreshment table and knock over the Gatorade, or miss a call, or call the players the wrong names and numbers, stuff like that.”

He grins. "I'm a sucker for you no matter what. That's not so fantastical.”

"Exactly," Blaine answers, smiling. "So this goes on all season, and right before the end of it we get a little desperate because—we want each other so much and we haven't even spoken much. I come into the locker room after everyone but you and I are gone and you're in your office. I take my time, make noise to let you know I'm there. You want to sneak a peak of me in the showers but you hold back. Still, my locker is right in the line of sight of your office, and go very slowly getting dressed. I'm wearing just a towel and I let it drop, the way I wouldn't if I were alone or with the guys, and just as I'm sliding the thong on you can't hold back. You tilt your head far enough to watch me settle the straps around my thighs and along my butt."

Kurt presses down harder, breath hitching. "You're all wet from showering, and flushed from the heat and from my staring at you."

"God, yeah, I love your eyes on me," Blaine replies, shifting around. Kurt still can't see if he's touching himself and it's driving him nuts. "I get—a little hard just from that, and you can see it straining against the front of the thong. But that's all I let you have then. I know I still have control. I tease you like that so many times—get more obvious about it with each go; stay naked longer, sometimes even rub myself before I give in and put my uniform pants back on."

"Do I touch myself watching you?"

"A little, but you feel so guilty, and we're never really completely alone. So you can't. And when you go home and take care of yourself alone it's not enough. You can't stop thinking about me, and you dream up scenarios about watching me in the showers or against the lockers, putting my hand down the front of the thong and using my fist until I—come, all over myself and the fabric."

"Would want to push you up against the metal, make you feel the cold on your belly, replace your hand with mine—"

"Oh," Blaine exhales, and his arm twitches in view of the camera. "God, Kurt."

"Keep talking?" He's breathing heavily now, feeling his cock fatten up under his hand.

"But I don't want just that," he says. "I want all of it—all of you. I don't want to take the time to go through everything carefully. It's been too long of a wait and I'm desperate. So desperate for you." He inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales audibly. "I want to push you over the edge, make you just as desperate for me. So I wait for a night when I know we'll be alone after practice, or a game, maybe. And I—" He licks his lips, cheeks gone cherry red.

"Yeah?" Kurt asks, panting, rubbing the shaft of his cock through his pants steadily now. "What do you do?"

The hesitation is clear on Blaine's end but he pushes past it, opens his eyes and begins to watch Kurt in return as he hasn't since he began talking. "I bring a toy to school and put it in my gym locker. After my shower I make sure you're in your office, and then I sit on the bench where you can clearly see me, and I—take the toy out of my locker, and a little bottle of lube."

Oh, fuck.

Kurt bites his lip, stops stroking himself for long enough to let the urgent ache that spreads at that image settle. "Oh, god."

Blaine reads the arousal on Kurt's face—finds it satisfying, obviously, and smiles a hot smile as he goes on, "I wet my hand and touch myself until I'm hard, then straddle the wooden bench, lean back on one hand and use the other to slowly tease my—hole open, wet and careful, making sure you get nice long looks at me. I'm still wearing the thong and it's wet with lube and I just kind of shift it aside so that I can get a second and a third finger down there."

"Yeah," Kurt whimpers, shifting his hand from outside of his pajamas to inside. He hisses at the skin to skin contact. "God, yeah, keep—"

"Are you—"


"Me too," Blaine says, breathing unevenly. "I know you're watching me and I'm so hard, so wet now, so focused on you watching me that I can hardly feel my fingers moving inside of me, just want you so bad.”

"I sneak out of my office and up behind the next row of lockers, wedge myself so that I can watch you through them without being caught. I want to see you closer, want to hear you, your moans and your fingers moving."

"Yes," Blaine moans, the muscle in his forearm ticking faster as his hand speeds up out of frame. "And then I get the toy. It's—got a wide base, so that I can put it steadily on a surface, and I put it on the bench and—sit down on it, so slowly that you'd be able to see every inch of it sink inside of me. It's not huge; I picked it so that I could do this without too much work.”

Kurt pants. It's almost too much; he's close and they haven't even touched in this fantasy yet, but the scenario Blaine is constructing is so painfully, stupidly, pornographically hot.

"But I don't just want you to watch me. So I—start moaning. Saying things to—tempt you. Moan your name. Beg for more. It's like I'm already with you, stuck in a fantasy of you inside me, using me for your pleasure." Kurt can see his hand speed up even more.

"Tell me what you'd say," he asks, smearing the faint wetness at the tip of his cock down the shaft with a breathless groan.

Blaine goes red again and the red creeps all the way to the collar of his pajamas. Kurt knows from experience just how far it can go. And then Blaine shifts a little, angles the laptop so that Kurt can see his pajamas bottoms shoved down around his thighs and his skin and his cock throbbing in his fist.

"Oh, oh, god, you're—so—god, keep talking," Kurt whines.

"I'd—I'm—going so fast, b-bouncing on it, just, completely open, letting go, it feels so good in me, and I'm sweating and my head is thrown back and my thighs are spread so far over the bench that it hurts, but it's so good that I don't care. I'm moaning Coach Hummel and please and fuck me and harder, harder, sir and you're hiding there watching me but I know you're there and you know that I know, and you have your cock in your hand and you're jerking off to the rhythm of me riding the toy—"

"Blaine," Kurt whimpers, fist flying.

"You watch me make myself come, make a mess all over the bench and the floor with it, listen to me sob your name, and I can hear you bite down on your knuckle when you come in your shorts, but we—we pretend that we don't know what's happened. I ease off the toy and you watch it slide out of my wet, stretched body, and you come again, just a little, fisting yourself because you can't stop touching yourself, can't stop staring at me all open and spread over the bench. You know that you could easily reveal yourself, bend me over and just—push into me. I'm already ready for you and I want you so, so badly.”

Kurt slows down. "Shit. God. That—I was—okay, just—"

"I know," Blaine breathes. "It's—there's more. You can't bring yourself to do it, and you've already come twice anyway. The next day I'm frustrated because I thought it would have been enough to get you to crack, even if all that meant was you revealing yourself. I'm so distracted that I mess up during practice and Coach Sylvester makes me run laps. By the time I'm finished I have to shower and it's already dark—I'm not sure if you're there or not, but I'm cranky from practice, so I just get dressed and intend to leave. But you're in your office and you're—touching yourself, thinking about yesterday. You think you're alone. You have a toy and you're using it on yourself, just teasing, pinching your nipples and pressing the toy against your hole while your cock gets hard."

"Oh my god," Kurt hisses. Sweat has broke out over his entire body and he's fucking up into his hand, ass clenching, thighs burning. He can't stop staring at Blaine with his neatly pressed pajamas around his knees, smooth thighs and swollen, thick cock peaking in and out of his hand, imagining the way it would feel to be the Kurt in this fantasy.

"I can't help myself. I stand there like an idiot staring at you, your shorts around your ankles, your shirt shoved up around your collarbone, your nipples hard, your cock leaking all over your stomach, and then you see me, and I realize that the toy you're using is the same one I'd used on myself the day before. I'd cleaned it and left it there after, and you couldn't help yourself, you took it out of my locker. Putting it inside of your own body after it had been in mine turns you on so much. And before I know what I'm doing I'm moving into your office, dropping to my knees in front of you. If you're willing to do that I know that you're willing to let me touch you, finally.”

"Fuck," Kurt hisses, pulling faster. "Oh god, I want your mouth. Need you to suck me."

"Yes," Blaine whimpers, thighs spreading. "We don't talk. I just take your dick in my mouth and start sucking it, and you—you push my hand to the toy, make me get it inside of you, make me fuck you with my own dildo while my mouth bobs around your cock. You stroke my hair and call me Anderson and even though your tone is sweet your touch is rough. You put me where you want me. You push my head down and pull my hair. You tell me to fuck you, to make it good.”

"Blaine, oh, oh—"

"Stay with me, just—so close."

"Please. Shit, please."

"You lift your legs, put your feet on your desk and spread open for me. My toy all the way inside of you and your cock in my mouth and all I can hear is my heartbeat roaring in my ears and your muffled moans because you're trying to keep them in, and your ass is snug and wet around the toy and the head of your cock keeps sliding into my throat—"

"Oh my god."

"Kurt," Blaine gasps, shaking and bent over. He looks wrecked.

"Fuck me," Kurt whimpers, lost to the fantasy and the blur of his own hand, pressing three fingers down against his perineum just above his clenching hole, "oh god fuck me, Blaine—"

"Finger yourself for me?"

"Keep talking," Kurt answers, spitting into his hand. It's not enough but he can't stop to rummage for lubricant, even with the loft to himself. It's enough to get a knuckle or two in and he's rough with it anyway, crooking his fingertips up in search of his prostate. It's hardly swollen but he scrapes past it anyway, twisting his body to keep Blaine in sight.

"You come down my throat, riding the toy off of the edge of the chair, and it's—crazy, because we don't even talk about it."

"Are you—"

Blaine shifts the laptop again, lets Kurt see where he's wet and has his fingers buried deep, and Kurt groans and spreads his legs, letting Blaine see him, as well. He hadn't even got his pajama bottoms past his thighs.

"Oh, god, you're—"

"More," Kurt moans. “Need more.”

"You corner me after practice the next day. Take me to the parking lot where your car is. It's so filthy. You kiss me like you're fucking my mouth with yours. You push me onto my knees in the back seat of your car, roll my uniform pants down just far enough to get at my ass."

"Oh, god."

"You're so bad. You tell me you're going to make me feel it, going to pay me back for all the teasing, not going to let me off easy like in your office when I'd caught you in the act. You press me down onto the cushions with my ass in the air and open me up with your tongue until I'm begging for it."

"Jesus. Blaine. Blaine."

"There are people in the parking lot. They could see us if they got close to the car. But you don't stop. You lick me until I'm squirming, begging for your cock, then replace your tongue with your fingers, and once or twice you stop to spank me when I get too noisy—tell me that I need to make you come before all of these people see us and if I keep moaning and sobbing they'll hear. You tell me that I have to be good and tight and perfect for you and if I am you'll let me come, too."

"Ohgod, oh god oh god—"

"It ends with you fucking me, pushing me onto my back. Teasing me about how you know I can take this because you've seen the splits that I can do. You spread my legs open to the limit, then lift them into the air so high that my toes brush the ceiling of your car. You push into me and I grab your ass and pull you in deeper and it's so good, waited so long to feel your cock in me—"

Too much. Too much, and Kurt whimpers, belly tense and quivering as the sensation begins to coil. "Fuck you so hard, so deep, make the car shake, make you feel it."

"God, yes," Blaine gasps, rocking on his knees. The laptop shakes as the bed shakes, as he fucks his hand and his fingers work behind him, between his cheeks. "You feel so good. So big, so hard, and I'm bent so that I can hardly breathe and it feels like you're splitting me in half—"


"I want you to come in me," Blaine says, back on his calves, rocking down against his fingers, "god, I want you to fill me up with it, want to feel bloated with it, want to feel it dripping down my legs when you pull out of me—"

"Oh, god, I'm going to come—"

"Can't—oh, Kurt—"


"M-me too—"

Everything goes hot and sharp and dark for about twenty seconds, and then Kurt blinks his eyes hazily open. His belly and chest and hand are covered in release and Blaine is on his side, legs flung apart, equally striped. He looks so sexy that Kurt could cry.

"Oh my god," he pants, fingers trying to untangle the headset that's knotted itself up around everything. "That was incredible. Cheesy and incredible. You get all the cybersex points."

"All of them? That's a lot," Blaine answers, equally out of breath.

"All the points," Kurt mutters, fingers gesturing.

"Your turn next time?"

Kurt grins. "Challenge accepted."