Blaine and I had been a sexually active couple for nearly three months now and we were learning new things about each other all the time, but Blaine was much better at talking about... that sort of thing than I was. I know, I know, it's absurd that I'm still embarrassed when I've been having regular sex with my extremely attractive boyfriend for months. But Blaine didn't seem to have any shame, at least not while we were alone together. He told me everything – everything he'd ever fantasised about, everything I did that he particularly enjoyed, and every position and kink he was curious to try. However, although there were lots of things going on in my head, I just couldn't return the favour, like saying any of it out loud might make me seem perverted or something.
Blaine never pressured me, of course. He could tell that just wasn't ready to talk about that stuff yet, but I'd get there eventually. But I wished that I could just open up to him like he could with me. It wasn't like he was going to judge me or think any less of me or suddenly fall out of love with me just for telling him what I wanted. We trusted each other completely. So what was I so afraid of?
What I needed to do was start with something small. Obviously there were a great number of things that turned me on about Blaine, everything from the way his hips moved when he walked, to his Disney Princess eyelashes. But there was one thing that made me shiver just thinking about it, one thing that I knew I should tell him about but I wasn't sure I'd even be able to explain.
During the throws of passion, when we were making love so fiercely that the bed was moving with us, Blaine had a tendency to get kind of... talkative. I'm pretty sure he had no idea what he was saying, but God. Just listening to him talking, his voice sounding all deep and husky, could probably get me off without him even having to touch me. He would tell me what he wanted to do to me, how sexy he thought I was and how much I was turning him on, not to mention a stream of expletives that he would never say in any other situation. And there was something about hearing Blaine curse when he was usually so polite and proper that just... did something to me.
But the thing that I really couldn't explain was that I wanted more. I wanted him to really talk dirty to me. I wanted him to whisper filth into my ear in that deep, raspy voice as he took me hard. I wanted him to call me names, tell me I belong to him and call me his slut... oh, God. That sounded so wrong even in my head. I really had no idea how I was going to tell him all this, at least not without dying of embarrassment midway through the conversation.
Blaine's parents were away for the weekend, so I was spending the night at his house. We went straight up to his bedroom without much prelude. He sat down on the edge of the bed and brought me with him so I was straddling his lap, crashing our lips together in a slow but heated kiss. As it was the weekend his hair was gel-less, and I ran my fingers through his loose, fluffy curls as our tongues explored each other's mouths in a wonderfully familiar way. I felt his hands move down my back, resting on my ass and squeezing, and I couldn't help but moan into his mouth. He pulled me closer to him, kissing me harder and pressing our bodies against each other until the bulges in our jeans rubbed together.
"Mmm, you're so hot, Kurt," he murmured against my lips, squeezing and massaging my ass cheeks. "So fucking hot... you have no idea..."
I hummed at his words, his voice already making me shiver. It was now or never. I had to tell him what I wanted, no matter how embarrassing. I pulled away from his kiss. His little disappointed whimper was adorable, but it did nothing to calm my nerves.
"Hey, Blaine?" I said tentatively.
"Yes, Kurt?" he smiled.
"Erm... you know how, er," I mumbled, already blushing. "You know how you want me to talk about... about... stuff... about things I want... in the bedroom?"
