He opens his eyes when the mattress creaks with new weight. The bedroom’s still dark, mostly, but there’s a bit of weak light coming through the blinds. Morning, or close to it.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Kurt says, close behind him, and there’s a hand on his shoulder. “Are you awake?”
Will considers staying quiet. “Yes,” he admits, after a few seconds, and tries to figure out if he’s still drunk. He isn’t sure, which means he’s probably not completely sober yet. “Kurt, you should go back to the guest room. It isn’t – you shouldn’t be in here. It isn’t right.”
“We crossed that line about three hours ago,” Kurt tells him. The curve of his body settles against Will’s own, the heat of Kurt’s bare skin flush with Will’s back. “And despite what you seem to persist in thinking, I’m not your student anymore. I’m also well above the legal age.”
Kurt’s hard. Will can feel it, pressing firm against his ass.
He’s grateful he’s facing away from Kurt, on his side, and he’s grateful for the bed sheets, hiding the heavy length between his legs from sight. It’s embarrassing how quickly he’s gotten hard again; it’s like there's a direct line, some chain in Kurt's dry voice that pulls him, reluctant and wretched, into arousal.
“I’m – I’m very flattered," he tries, reaching for reason. "I really am, but –”
Kurt’s kissing the back of his neck, now, moving slowly over the skin, each press of his mouth dismissing what Will knows are the dying remnants of a weak protest. He reaches back behind him with his left hand, maybe to push Kurt away, and his palm lands on the sharp jut of Kurt’s hip, covered with thin fabric. Boxer briefs, maybe. Very brief.
The contact makes Kurt’s breath stutter on Will’s neck.
“I know what you want, even if you can’t admit it to me,” Kurt says, low. “It’s what I like, too. I like it the same way.”
“I’m not,” Will tries, but he’s wriggling, hand rubbing Kurt’s hip, his other hand giving into the demand of his own cock, cupping it over his pajama pants. “I’m, I can’t.”
“I like it when someone tells me to spread my legs for him, or to bend over. I like being held down. Or getting on all fours, sometimes. Having to hold still while I’m being examined.” He pauses. “I like being looked at.”
“Jesus Christ,” Will gasps, jerking a little, and can’t help but imagine the press of a table on his own forearms. His knees knocking into a hardwood floor as he’s pushed down. A fist grabbing his hair, pulling hard. “Where the hell did you learn to talk like that?”
“I took a class,” Kurt retorts. The sarcasm in his voice really shouldn’t make Will want to turn around, rut up against Kurt like some sort of shameless thing. “Honestly, Mr. Schue, it’s not that challenging. You’d think no one’s ever talked dirty to you before.”
He doesn’t answer, but it’s not far off the mark. Emma had tried, once, closing her eyes while she did it to make herself more comfortable, but the attempt had been pretty embarrassing for both of them. They’d pushed through the encounter with red faces and awkward bodies, used generous amounts of lube to get them to the finish line, and hadn’t spoken about it, afterwards.
“Why don’t you try it,” Kurt suggests. “Tell me what you want.”
Will can’t remember the last time someone’s asked him that.
“Um,” he says. Kurt rocks against his ass, deliberate, insistent, and Will suddenly realizes that Kurt’s hard for him, wants him. It’s different, somehow, than just knowing Kurt’s looking for a generic warm body, something to push into, suck on, take in. It’s better. “Those things you said. The things that you like. They sounded good.”
Kurt sighs, sounding impatient, and Will wonders if he’s rolling his eyes. “No wonder none of those women you so infamously dated stuck around for very long, if that’s the best you can do. I’m surprised you managed to get the reputation you had.”
“Hey,” Will says, stung. “Most of that was Sue’s doing.” Some of it had been, anyway. “You remember what it’s like at that school. Rumors get out of hand, people start exaggerating, and before you know it – ” They’re calling you a whore, he almost finishes, but bites it off, in time. It wouldn’t sound right, not here, not in this context.
“I always did wonder how much of that was true. It didn’t seem to match up with your – well. With you.”
He probably shouldn’t be offended by that, but he is, a little.
“Should we try that asking-for-what-you-want thing again?” Kurt continues, and Will feels a sharp nip of teeth on the edge of his ear, probably intended to encourage him. He inhales, sharply. “Come on, Mr. Schue. I know you can do it.”
The patronizing note in Kurt’s request makes him uncomfortable. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Kurt.”
“Then will you stop acting like one? I swear, if you can’t even ask for it when you’re this obviously turned on, I honestly don’t know how you’ve ever managed to be involved with anyone in the first place.”
“Hey, you’re asking me to step out of my comfort zone.”
“Well, considering your comfort zone is probably limited to having sex with Ms. Pillsbury in the missionary position directly after and before two long, hot showers, I don’t think asking you to leave it is all that big of a request.” His voice rises. “All you have to do is say the words. God, Mr. Schue, you’re completely pathetic, you know that?”
The obvious disdain in Kurt’s voice – “Fuck,” Will chokes, unable to stop himself, and rocks back, rubbing against the stiff length of Kurt’s cock. “Oh, fuck, please, like that –”
There’s a pause, and then Kurt says, thickly, “Oh,” hips pushing forward into Will’s ass, the two of them trying for friction together.
Will’s face is hot again. His whole body’s hot, now, swollen with blood and shame and need, droning with want, and he wants to sink into the mattress and disappear.
“I didn’t,” Kurt says, and stops. His hand strokes over Will’s thigh. “I haven’t – intentionally spoken to anyone that way before. In bed, I mean. I could try, if that’s what you’d like me to do.”
“You don’t have to,” Will says, quickly, although he wants Kurt to keep talking, more than anything. His hand pushes beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, clutching his cock, and he strokes up, fist tighter than his usual grip. “I’m not going to ask that of you.”
“Stop being such a pushover,” Kurt returns, clearly irritated, and sits up, reaching across Will’s body for the lamp on the bedside table. He turns the switch, and Will squints in the sudden light, turning his head back to look at Kurt. “We’re going to do this the right way. I’m not going to let you get away with hiding that body of yours.”
He’s kneeling on the mattress now, blinking a little at Will, like he’s daring him to make a remark about his body. Will’s learned his lesson there, at least. Kurt’s upper chest is more muscular than he’d expected. There’s a small, surprising pudge around his middle, a tiny bit of softness cupping his otherwise lean frame, not much to speak of, and Will has to remind himself not to stare before Kurt catches him looking there. He’s sure Kurt must be a little self-conscious about it.
“Do you want me to pull these off?” he asks, kicking the sheets down and gesturing at his pants.
Kurt stares down at him. “In a moment. Take your hand out. I think I want to look at you like this first.”
Will obeys, wishing he’d just gone ahead without asking, because he’s feeling slightly more exposed than he thinks he might if the damn things were lying on the floor. His hard-on’s almost comical, tenting out the cotton fabric like some sort of obscene parody. Just looking at it, though, is enough to make that pull of arousal a little stronger, and Will feels his dick twitch under the pressure of his own gaze, under Kurt’s intent scrutiny.
“You’ve gotten yourself wet, Mr. Schue,” Kurt says, like he’s surprised, and his fingers trace the small damp spot on the front of Will’s pajama pants, rubbing just a little over his cock. “You’re leaking. Look at how hard you are for me already. I’ve barely even touched you.”
Will bites his lip on an apology or a groan, he isn’t sure which, trying not to hitch up into Kurt’s hand. He’s got to maintain some sort of control, a tiny bit of dignity, even though he knows that’s slipping away fast.
“You know, I actually thought about doing this with you, back in high school.” Kurt’s face is fully red now, his cheeks and neck soaked with color. He strokes Will through his pants, roughly, one slow pull that leaves Will dizzy and keening for more after Kurt’s hand lifts, moving up to touch Will’s stomach and chest. “I thought about it more than once. Although the situation I imagined wasn’t exactly like this. It was pretty formulaic, if you want to know the truth. There was detention involved. And yelling. Both of us were yelling at each other. And you pushed my face into your desk while you punished me in extremely inventive ways for my insolence.”
“Uh,” is all Will can manage.
“Did you think about me at all?” Kurt asks, and bends down to press his mouth against the hard plane just south of Will’s belly, where his skin ends and the sweatpants begin. “I won’t tell anyone if you did.”
“No,” Will protests, wondering if Kurt plans on continuing a downward trajectory. “You were my student. I wouldn’t do that. There are boundaries.”
“Of course not.” Kurt lifts the waistband and licks just below it. “Because then you wouldn’t be Teacher of the Year, would you?”
“I didn’t –”
“You’re not a very good liar. If it wasn’t me, it was someone else. Rachel. You always looked at her a little too long. Or Santana.”
“Kurt,” Will says, nearly helpless, and lifts his hips, appealing for attention.
“Look at you, Mr. Schuester. Acting like a slut for me.” He lifts his head, and the hesitant look on his face doesn’t match his offhanded tone. “Is that the sort of word you want to be called? You know, honestly, ‘slut’ sounds a little clichéd. I think I’d rather use something that hasn’t been done to death."
“It works for me,” Will offers, the words coming out strangled.
“I kind of like ‘jezebel,’” Kurt says, thoughtfully, “but that really doesn’t have the same ring to it. How about ‘harlot’? Or ‘trollop.’ Trollop is a good word.”
Trollop? “Kurt, this isn’t the nineteenth century. I’m really okay with ‘slut’.”
He’s rewarded for that comment with an unexpected pinch on his lower stomach, nothing hard enough to hurt badly, but hard enough to feel good, and Kurt seems almost as surprised at the action as Will. A little pleased, too. Will closes his mouth, chastened.
“You’re a failure, Mr. Schue,” Kurt informs him, and then, picking up the pace, “You’re a pathetic disappointment who really doesn’t deserve to be touched. I’m only here because I felt sorry for you.”
He’s nearly positive Kurt doesn’t mean it, that he’s just playing the part, saying his lines because he knows that’s what Will wants. It sounds alarmingly like the truth, though, and that’s what makes Will groan, cock twitching involuntarily against the cotton. What if Kurt’s actually being honest with him?
“We all saw it, you know. We used to talk about it behind your back. How sorry we felt for you. You thought we liked you, but it was mostly pity. Your ex-wife walked all over you. Coach Sylvester walked all over you. Remember how you let Ms. Corcoran take over for that month during senior year, when you clearly didn’t want her anywhere near the choir room?”
“That was different. I was trying to keep the peace. Find a solution that worked for all of us.”
Kurt doesn’t seem to hear him. “If they could all see you now,” he observes, and Will’s breath catches in his throat. He could come, he realizes. He could come, just like this, without being touched, listening to Kurt talk, watching Kurt stare at his body, clearly fascinated by Will’s response. “Rachel. Santana. Finn. Blaine. All of them. They’d see you humping the air. Begging to get touched. Staining your pants because you’re so desperate for it. They’d laugh.”
“Well, you’re clearly a natural at this,” Will manages, after a few seconds of silence.
“Thank you,” Kurt says, sounding flattered. “You know, I really seem to be.”
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Will’s pants, and Will lifts a little off the mattress, obediently, to let Kurt slide them down past his thighs, to his knees, and all the way off. His cock, dark and full, angles up, resting just to the side of the muscled V bisecting his pelvis. Kurt looks at it, and Will watches his face, fascinated by Kurt’s response, as Kurt slips his hand beneath the tight band of his boxer briefs, finding his own cock, stroking it a little.
“God, you’re so turned on,” Kurt murmurs, and there’s a little hitch to his breath that makes Will’s heart stutter for a beat or two. “You’d do whatever I wanted you to do. Say whatever I asked you to say. You’d beg for it, wouldn’t you?”
Will’s only able to nod.
“Fuck.” Kurt inhales. “Do you want to suck me? Do you want to get your mouth around me?”
Hearing Kurt Hummel say that to him – Will’s mind goes white. His body answers before his mind does, demanding agreement.
“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, I want to do that. Let me do that for you. Please, Kurt.”
“I hope you have a condom,” Kurt says, and pulls down his underwear.
Will does. He’s never been so grateful for anything in his entire life. He rolls over, finding the bedside table and yanking open the drawer. There’s a strip of condoms in the back, a bottle of lube, too (he’s not going to think about Emma right now, he’s not) and he grabs both, dropping them on the bed, not bothering to shut the drawer behind him.
Kurt holds out his hand, looking amused.
Will’s own hands are shaking as he tries to tear open the wrapper, once, and then a second time when the first try proves fruitless. Kurt wiggles his open, impatient fingers, sighing when Will finally places the freed condom on his palm.
“How –” Will clears his throat, half-sitting, his legs tucked under him. “How do we do this?”
It’s remarkable, Kurt’s talent for superciliousness even he’s when rolling on a condom. “I can believe a lot of things about your sex life or lack thereof, Mr. Schue, even if there are some details I’d rather have kept from me for all eternity, but forgive me if I find it incredibly hard to believe you’ve never had a blowjob.”
“Of course I have,” Will says, stung. “I’ve just never been on the giving end. I want to make it good for you, Kurt. That’s – I just want it to be good.” He almost adds I want to make things better but thankfully manages to keep that tucked inside at the last second. He’s still not sure, if Kurt asked him to clarify, what these ‘things’ would be. Fumbling around in the dark of his life, like usual, like he’s always done.
There’s a softness to Kurt’s face, when Will looks at him, nervously, that hasn’t been there all night. Maybe Kurt understands what he’s thinking after all. Softness, and some pity. His cock twitches a little in response.
“It’ll be good,” Kurt says, gently, “you’ll be fine,” and then, “You can start by getting off the bed and onto the floor. I think I’d like to see you on your knees.”
Will obeys, promptly, and after about five seconds in the requested position wishes Terri had never gone through her anti-carpeting phase. The hardwood floor is painful on the unpadded bone. He swallows, uncomfortable, as Kurt stands naked in front of him, one hand fisting firmly in his hair.
Up close, like this, it becomes real in a way it hadn’t been until now, Will’s head still foggy with sleep and the waning grip of alcohol. He stares at Kurt’s light brown curls, cropped short and neat, the smooth, pallid skin around his thighs and groin. His cock heavy with arousal and proud, straining up, longer than Will’s own but thinner, maybe.
Will braces his hands on either side of Kurt’s thighs and then, because the thought occurs to him, slips them up and around to cup Kurt’s ass, briefly. It’s plump, round under his fingers. Firm, too.
“Use your hand first,” Kurt instructs, his voice rough and uneven. “You should see the way you look right now. Your face.”
Will doesn’t answer. He touches the side of Kurt’s cock with hesitant fingertips, tracing along the length. Kurt groans, hips jerking a little, and he’s close enough to Will’s face that his cock smacks lightly against Will’s cheek.
“More,” Kurt gasps.
The pain in his knees is shouting through his thighs now, demanding his attention, but Will’s not going to let on about a little thing like that, not when he’s got a task to get done. He licks his hand and closes it around Kurt, gripping close like he likes it himself, pretty sure that it’s what Kurt wants, too. He moves, slowly for the first few strokes, then quickly, picking up speed, finding a rhythm. Kurt makes a choked sound and pulls, hard, on Will’s hair.
“Give me your mouth, come on –”
Will pushes his fist to the base of Kurt’s cock and finds the tip with his mouth and tongue, tentative at first, taking him in. There’s a hard jerk on his hair he takes to mean encouragement. He opens wider, willing, sucking harder, stroking down because that’s what he likes, it’s what he knows.
Reaching up with a free hand, he finds the small of Kurt’s back, pressing there, needing the contact. The skin under his fingers is damp with new perspiration, and he sucks as best he can, slicking Kurt with his mouth and he listens for Kurt’s uneven breaths, whining now, coming faster.
Kurt pulls hard on his hair again, this time yanking Will back, and Will releases him, unsure, looking up. His mouth feels hollow now, weirdly deprived.
“I need,” Kurt tries, and then swallows, noticeably. “We have to stop or I’m going to come and I don’t want to do that yet.”
Small, undeniable pride fills him. He’s done that. “All right.”
“You’re going to fuck me now,” Kurt says, in a rush, staring down at Will. “I’ve changed my mind. I was going to screw you because I know that’s what you want even if you can’t ask for it, and I wouldn’t mind doing that still, but I would really like – I need you to fuck me. I want to be fucked right now.” His mouth is red, a little wet, and his tongue slips out, licking the lower lip, maybe unconsciously. “Will you do that?”
“Yes,” Will says, trying not to stare too hard at Kurt’s mouth. Everything’s moving quickly enough that he hadn’t thought ahead past whatever Kurt’s current request or demand might be. The change in Kurt’s plans isn’t much of a disappointment, not when he’s fixed on the increasingly hungry look on Kurt’s face (for him, Will reminds himself). He’ll take that need however Kurt wants to give it. “That’s fine. Whatever you want. Where do you want me?”
Kurt points to the bed, and Will, wanting to move quickly for him, make him happy, pushes himself off the floor, knees screaming in protest. Old man Schuester, could’ve done that fine ten years ago, maybe five, but not anymore. He grits his teeth, taking the pain in. He can deal with it.
While he’s standing still, trying to collect himself, Kurt’s busying himself with sliding off the spit-slicked condom, wrapping it carefully in a tissue. He deposits it in the small wicker waste bin next to Will’s bedside table, a leftover from life with Terri he’d kept out of habit. “It doesn’t hurt to clean up after yourself,” he says, when he notices Will’s staring, and turns to the mattress again, picking up the discarded bottle of lube, sitting down with it.
“What,” Will begins, and then cuts himself off, joining Kurt on the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t need to make himself look more like an idiot than he already has.
Kurt doesn’t answer him right away. He squeezes out what looks like a generous amount, covering the middle three fingers on his right hand, then holds out the bottle to Will. His fingers, coated, shine, and Will takes it from him. The room’s brighter now, coming to life with the effort of the early morning.
“Come here,” Kurt tells him, finally, and positions himself on the bed, reclining on his back, feet pressed against the mattress, knees bent and touching. “Sit at my feet. I want you to look at me while I do this. Touch yourself.”
Will nods, settling in front of Kurt. His hand finds his cock again, rubbing it, waiting.
Kurt spreads his knees wide, cock bobbing a little at the movement, straining towards the soft, flat plane of his lower belly. With his eyes trained on Will’s face, he lifts his hips, just slightly.
“I’m going to get ready for you,” he says. “Nice and wet.”
The sound that comes out of Will is thin, helpless, and Kurt reaches a hand around the side of his right thigh, between his legs, sliding a slick finger inside his hole. It moves slowly in and out, in and out.
“Good?” Will asks, hoarsely. It’s all he can manage.
“Feels so good,” Kurt whimpers, eyes closed now, and grips his cock with his other hand, pumping steadily. His breath hitches. A small moan escapes his mouth. “Are you watching me? Of course you’re watching. God – I’m ready for another one –”
“I’m watching you, I’m watching.” Will couldn’t look away now if someone paid him. His rhythm twins with Kurt’s, fist moving at the same rate up and down his shaft, and he fumbles around blindly for the strip of condoms he’d left somewhere on the mattress, looking for the feedback of plastic wrapping on his fingers.
Kurt adds a second finger, still moving slowly, then a third. “Put it on,” he orders. “Right now. The lube, too. I don’t know if I can wait much longer.”
The condoms find his hand, somehow, and Will leaves his cock for the moment, ripping one of the wrappers, rolling the freed rubber on and down. It’s tight, but he doesn’t mind. He likes the pressure; enjoys it, even.
“I’m ready,” he says, the second it’s fitted and slicked, lightly pinching the tip to make sure he’s got room. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
Kurt slips his wet fingers free. He opens his eyes. “Come here,” he tells Will again, pulling his bent legs up, his knees reaching towards his shoulders, everything exposed, now. His face is proud, defiant. “Fuck me.”
When he pushes inside Kurt, just a few inches at first, leaning down close while he guides himself inside, Kurt’s hands drop down to the mattress. They press flat against the fitted sheet, tense with strain.
“No, it’s good,” he breathes, when Will, suddenly unsure, stops moving and asks if he’s all right. “You’re doing good. It’s good.” Then, clearly remembering what he’d promised to give Will, he adds, “Your hair looks like a Brillo pad up this close.”
It’s unexpectedly funny. Will has to try not to laugh out loud. “A Brillo pad? That’s all you’ve got? Believe me, I’ve heard worse.”
“Whatever hair product you’re using, you – God, keep doing that. More.”
Will isn’t sure what he’s just done to make Kurt make that sound, but he pushes in, deeper, more than halfway inside Kurt now, oh, fuck, so tight and unforgiving around him, so hot on his cock, and Kurt moans, rising off the mattress, pushing back, eager for it. “Slut,” he manages, the word almost two syllables, disintegrating. “Harlot. What was the other, what did I – failure, you’re a failure, fuck, move faster, go faster, listen to me, do it –”
Moving now, he’s moving, sliding, leaning down into Kurt, close, and his mouth presses against Kurt’s hairline, the top of his forehead as he tries to follow Kurt’s instructions. Kurt’s gasping now, getting louder, and Will feels the movement of his hand as he slides it between their bodies, jerking his cock hard and quick.
“I’m going to come,” Kurt says, suddenly, his voice sliding up into a whimper, “Mr. Schue, I can’t, I’m going – oh –” and then he’s seizing below Will, crying out, wordless as he climaxes, and Will, feeling a stray track of hot come strike his stomach, can’t hold back either. He groans, Kurt’s thighs grip him hard, shaking with effort and Will lets go, emptying inside him, giving over to the white, glad shock of release.
They cling together, for maybe a little longer than they need to. Will, hazy, is just thinking that he likes the closeness nearly as much as the orgasm, the heat and sweat of it. The small, shallow breaths coming out of Kurt and the way his bed smells now, like someone else, and then Kurt says, softly, a hand touching his shoulder, “You should probably pull out now, Will. It’s over. We’re done.”
“Oh,” Will says. “Of course.”
There’s no question of going back to sleep afterwards. It’s morning.
Will stumbles his way into the kitchen, half-dressed, still a little dazed with what’s just happened, while the old water pipes keep up their muted hum for Kurt’s shower. There’s a few eggs left on the middle shelf of the fridge, still several days out from their expiry date, and he grabs them, thinking that even if Kurt doesn’t want breakfast, at least this’ll keep him busy while he waits.
He’s got a lot of thinking to do, he’s realizing, about a lot of things. The idea doesn’t sit well with him, but it’s like Emma used to say, her language flush with therapeutic jargon in those first few excited months of recovery: just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it isn’t necessary. Maybe he doesn’t know himself as well as he’d always assumed. Or what he wants, or why he wants it.
The whisk spins in the eggs, albumen disappearing into the yellow of the yolk.
“Well,” Kurt says behind him, a little too brightly. “This was – an interesting experience.”
“Interesting is a good word for it,” Will agrees, turning around. Kurt’s hair is nicer like this, he thinks, damp and soft without product. In the daylight that shirt of his actually looks pretty neat. Like modernist art. “Did you want breakfast? I’m making eggs.”
“I can see that.” The wry note is back in full force. “No, thanks. I’m fine. I used your phone to call a cab, so I’ll be leaving now.”
Will hadn’t expected Kurt to stay for long, but he can’t help feeling a little flex of disappointment. “All right,” he says, and lets the whisk drop in the bowl, wiping his hands on his thighs. It’s old denim, not worth keeping clean. “I guess this is goodbye. Until Rachel’s opening.”
“Until Rachel’s opening,” Kurt repeats. “Yes, of course you’d come to the city for that. I’ll see you then, I’m sure.”
He isn’t sure what to do. Hug Kurt? Wave? Just turn back to the eggs? There’s no protocol for any of this, and it’s not like he’s ever been the best at morning-after exchanges. Kurt seems at odds, too, his hands uncharacteristically busy, touching his hair first, lightly, then falling to his sides.
“Sometime,” Will says, and takes a deep breath.
“In the future, if you’d like to – those things you said, last night, at the bar. About high school, and me. I only remember some of them. But if you’d like to talk about it again someday, I can promise you I’ll try harder to hear you out. Sober, this time. I think I owe you that, at least.”
Kurt nods, his mouth pursed. “Thank you,” he says, his voice a little unsteady. “Maybe someday. Thank you for saying that.”
There’s a honk somewhere outside, two short bursts and a long, steady blare. The cab.
“I think I understand some things a little better now,” Kurt tells him, softly, and he takes a couple of steps forward, leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to Will’s mouth.
Will, surprised, forgets to kiss back until Kurt’s already moved away, and then it’s too late. He swallows the urge to ask for another try.
“You know, I’ve learned a lot about myself from you, Mr. Schue,” Kurt says, walking through towards the dining room, not looking back.
The front door opens and closes before Will can tell him the same thing.