“I didn’t think you’d come,” Cooper whispered, his teeth catching on the lobe of Blaine’s ear before flipping him and pressing him into the paint-splotched newspaper-ridden floor. Blaine groaned as Cooper’s hand smoothed down his spine and pressed into his hip.
“I-I couldn’t help it,” Blaine ground out as his skin hummed with need.
Kurt shakes his head quickly. Damn it, damn the fucking possum to hell. "No,” he tells Blaine quickly, “no, I-”
“For fuck's sake,” Blaine curses, standing up, and snatching Kurt’s phone away from him, and no, what if he picks up, what if Bas starts talking to him, then what? “Blaine!"
Too late. Blaine opens the phone and puts it to his ear.
"Hello?” Blaine says. “Oh, hi Seb. No, he’s here. He’s staring at me right now.” A pause, and Blaine chuckles. “No, I’m not naked. We’re not together anymore, re- No, it’s not a booty call, either. Kurt is available.” He raises an eyebrow, and Kurt recognises that damn twinkle in his eye, because the last time that happened, they ended up high-tailing it from the ice cream parlor covered in vanilla milkshake. “Very, very available.”
“Blaine," Kurt hisses, and he so, so wants to die right now, humiliation turning his face red, God.
Blaine has the fucking nerve to wink at him. "Here he is,” he says, and passes the phone to Kurt. “Here.”
Kurt throws up his hands. “What?"
Blaine sighs. "Ask him, you lemming, otherwise nothing will happen. Now, I have to go-” a few more ominous crashes “-look after Coop, so I’m going for five minutes, okay? Just tell him.”
“Tell him what, exactly?” Kurt says shrilly. “That I’m attracted to his asshollic attitude, that his quiff does funny things to my insides, that I like it when he’s kind and caring and charitable, but equally when he calls me on my tricks? That I want to go on dates with him, and argue with him, and hold hands, and kiss him? That I want to tell him I love him enough to ignore his faults, because that’s part of who he is, that’s what helps make me love him?”
The voice came from the phone, the voice came from the phone, and Kurt’s stomach drops to his designer shoes.
As soon as I saw this au I knew I had to write this :p
Warning: m/m incest, rated NC-17
Cooper ‘s art is an even better kept secret than Cooper himself.
Blaine’s parents probably resent not being able to tell their closest friends about it; that there are galleries in some of the greatest cities in the world that paid top dollar to host Cooper ‘s work. But that is Cooper ‘s wish, and they respect it, even if they still can’t respect Cooper ‘s choice in primary occupation, glossing over Cooper ‘s acting career in polite conversation like it’s a dirty secret.
Blaine can’t say that he really understands - his parents’ hang-ups or his brother’s. His parents’ aversion to the performing arts as a “job", Blaine has learned to accept; it’s something he’s always been aware of and struggled with. But Cooper has never shied away from a spotlight.
“Why don’t you just sign your full name?” Blaine asks once, as Cooper adds his nom de plum to a portrait.
“And invite the vultures into our private life, little brother?” Cooper responds with a wry grin. He refers to both art critics and overzealous art collectors, alike, as carrion birds. “It’s bad enough I have to let them look at you.“
Blaine’ s face heats and he has to look away, for as long as Cooper lets him, which isn’t long at all. He wraps paint-smudged fingers around Blaine’ s chin and lifts Blaine’ s face, leaning in until they are eye to eye, close enough to kiss.
He takes Blaine’ s breath away. That is maybe the strangest secret of all: that Cooper is the most beautiful thing Blaine’ s ever seen, but Blaine is Cooper ‘s muse. He calls all of his paintings ‘Blaine’ privately, assigning numbers to them when they’re sent to gallery, except for the single self-portrait he painted because Blaine requested it. It hangs in Cooper’s guest room, it’s title and ownership perhaps the best kept secret of all.
"No, this…” Cooper rubs one thumb along the curve of Blaine’ s cheekbone, then over to the swell of Blaine’ s lower lip. The paint on his fingertips is cool against Blaine’ s skin. “This is just for me.“
Then he kisses Blaine, licking into Blaine’ s mouth when Blaine moans into his lips. Blaine’ s been watching Cooper paint for hours, and nothing could be sexier. Blaine is already so achingly hard, now before Cooper has touched any part of him but his face, that he almost whines when Cooper commands, “Come here. Stand next to this canvas.”
“Coop, please-” “Just one more, Blainey, I promise. Then I’ll take care of you.“
Blaine pouts but Cooper only grins at him, and Blaine always lets Cooper have his way eventually. So he follows where Cooper leads without much fuss, stripping as directed with a shiver of anticipation.
Cooper never paints enough of Blaine that he could be identified as Cooper’ s sitter through his portraits alone. The curve of Blaine’ s shoulders, the arch of his throat, the stretch of his back… Cooper paints them and then worships the body parts they represent. He only includes Blaine’ s face in his personal sketches, which Blaine has made him promise he will never share with another living soul. ("And how exactly would I explain having hand-drawn, pornographic sketches of my little brother if I did share them?” Cooper asked and laughed.)
Ironically, however, Blaine thinks that their sexiest encounters have been best captured by the abstracts Cooper’ s painted. Maybe he only thinks this because of the way Cooper has him help with the painting, but Blaine could swear he sees their bodies in the swirls of greens and yellows in Cooper’ s ‘unspoken passion’ series; their clasped hands in the twists of purples and blues. And in the splashes of red… well.
“As your muse, aren’t I supposed to tell you what I want you to do?” Blaine asks, while he still can.
“Why? Don’t you want to help me make art?” Cooper teases, because he knows that Blaine does.
He scoops large blobs of color onto the canvas stretched over the wall he’s led Blaine to stand in front of. The paint gathers and drips around the edges of the pallimpsests Cooper’ s already added to the piece.
Cooper takes each of Blaine’ s hands and places them, Palm flat, in one of the blobs and tells him, “Now, don’t take them down and don’t move your hands… for as long as you can.“
"Cooper!” For a moment, Blaine thinks this is Cooper’s idea of a cruel joke (although he keeps his hands where Cooper put them, just in case) because, though Cooper may be his lover now, he’s still Blaine’s brother, too. It would just figure that Cooper would work Blaine up into a state of near complete sexual frustration, and then put him in a position where he can do nothing about it. “I don’t want to-“
But then Cooper walks behind him, drops to his knees, and sticks his hands between Blaine’s thighs.
"Spread ‘em?” Cooper asks, innocently. “Because I was pretty sure that was the part of all this you’d be into the most.“
Blaine draws in a breath that doesn’t really come out again. Because all of a sudden that thrill of anticipation is back, and then Cooper places his mouth somewhere that steals Blaine’s power of speech and all Blaine can do is lay his head back and moan.
Or so Blaine thinks, until he realizes what he’s done.
“Yeah… I thought you’d like that, baby.”
“No, Coop, I- I moved…” Not his hands, but his fingers. They’d fisted involuntarily as Cooper made Blaine gasp.
“That’s alright… That’s what I want you to do. Just don’t force it. Let it happen naturally.”
Blaine pants through Cooper’s reassurance and explanation, unable to focus fully on what Cooper is saying with Cooper’s mouth back to doing what it does so well, Cooper’s hands on Blaine’s cheeks, spreading him open.
“I don’t under- ooh…”
Cooper replaces his tongue with the tip of a finger, and laughs at Blaine’s instantaneous reaction, the throaty timbre of the sound making his own reaction to Blaine’s reaction clear.
“Exactly like that,” Cooper says. “Shit. That’s beautiful…"
Blaine doesn’t know whether Cooper’s talking about the way Blaine arches as Cooper stretches him, or what’s becoming of the canvas beneath Blaine’s hands as he shudders through Cooper’s work, but he silently agrees that the way the paint Cooper scooped onto the canvas is mixing and spreading across the pallimpsests at Blaine’s fingertips is lovely.
Blaine was already wishing for release. Now that he realizes what Cooper is doing - using him not only as inspiration but as the paintbrush for this piece - Blaine’s practically desperate for it.
“Cooper.. Oh, Coop, please, pl- God, yes…”
Cooper’s barely brushed that spot inside of Blaine that can send him spiralling completely out of control when he stops, removes his fingers from Blaine’s body, and stands.
The sounds of Cooper’s pants falling to the floor quiet Blaine’s protests before they can even start. “Okay there, little brother?“ Cooper asks, against Blaine’s ear, the tickle of his breath on Blaine’s skin raising goosebumps on Blaine’s flesh. He places one hand at the juncture of Blaine’s shoulder and neck, his favorite place to hold onto Blaine as he guides him, shows him off to friends and colleagues, or fucks him from behind. The other he slides down the side of Blaine’s body, then back up to Blaine’s hands, readjusting them as he chooses.
"Amazing,” is Blaine’s breathy answer. Although he has to add, “But I’d be better if you’d fuck me now.“
Cooper’s hand tightens, as it always does, that word out of Blaine’s mouth like a direct switch to Cooper’s head. If he hadn’t already been thinking about pounding Blaine into the canvas they’re making love in front of - Blaine knows - he certainly is now.
"Well… you are the muse, right? You get to tell me what you want me to do…”
“Yes…” Blaine’s never been more happy to have his own words thrown back at him. “Yes, please…"
“Shit, Blaine… You are so damned-”
Whatever he is, Cooper loses interest in saying as soon as he’s got his hands back on Blaine’s cheeks, spreading him open again. And it’s not like Blaine notices that Cooper broke off in the middle of a sentence, not after Cooper starts pushing into him.
They’re obviously both very close to coming, because it doesn’t take long for Cooper’s sharp thrusts to make Blaine quake, or for Cooper’s hips to begin stuttering and for Cooper to pant in Blaine’s ear, encouragement and commands back-to-back.
“That’s it, Blainey… That’s it, baby. Jesus… Look at you. Come for me, Blaine… You wanted me to sign my work? Sign this one for me. Sign it, baby brother. There you g- Oh, fuck, yes, Blaine…”
Only after Blaine has climaxed, crying out, head thrown back against Cooper’s shoulder, with Cooper scattering kisses over Blaine’s brow as he whispers those dirty words in Blaine’s ear, does Cooper start to really work towards his own release. He moves his hands down to Blaine’s hips to hold Blaine steady - and to keep him from collapsing into the artwork in front of them - as he rocks into Blaine with thrusts powerful enough to raise Blaine up slightly onto the balls of his feet.
Blaine’s hands remain, however unsteady, on Cooper’s canvas, until the very end, when his knees give out and so do Cooper’s. They slide to the floor, Blaine’s hands sliding down with them, through the streaks and swirls of mixed paint, creating twin tracks of color down to the very bottom edge of the canvas.
They slump together in a tangle of limbs and a mess of paint and sweat and come at the foot of Cooper’s latest masterpiece.
Blaine rests his head on Cooper’s chest and tries to breathe evenly and stares up at it. No sooner than the blood stops pooling in Blaine’s dick does it rush straight back to his face.
“Cooper, oh, god… You can’t sell this to anyone!”
On top of the newspaper print that Cooper applied to the surface of the canvas, the paint Cooper used Blaine to apply looks like two mushroom clouds rising out of the negative space at the painting’s bottom edge. The critics will call it “a statement about the role the struggle for lesbian and gay rights plays in today’s media and vice versa", but Blaine doesn’t know that. All he can see are the places on the canvas where the paint has a peculiar texture and color variation that no one but he and Cooper will be able to account for. He’s certain that ‘I Fucked My Brother On Top Of This’ is the only title that anyone’s going to read if they get to see this, no matter what Cooper calls it when he gives it to a gallery.
“Got to. Too big to keep here in the studio.” Cooper leans down and nips at Blaine’s ear. “Besides… If it stays here, every time I see it I’ll want to repeat the process that created it.“
The thought makes Blaine’s breath hitch, but he manages to sound reasonably unaffected when he says, “That’d be alright.”
Cooper laughs out loud.
“Speak for yourself, kid. I don’t think my knees would survive that much wall sex.”
“Your knees would survive just fine, Coop,” Blaine argues, though by this time he and Cooper are cuddling, nothing but lazy contentment in Blaine’s tone. “You’re not that much older than me.“
And when Cooper’s fans starts clamoring for more like “Abstract # 103"… Blaine lets Cooper prove it.
So I thought I was late to the party but it doesn’t look like anyone else has posted their’s yet? This is for Kamira (blaineanderdone) I hope I’ve done your prompts justice! Also thanks to Sal for a quick, dirty beta.
Title: Four Times It Almost Happened And One Time It Did
Cooper slouched over the countertop, sliding his finger over the glob of vanilla ice cream escaping the carton and into his mouth, his heart heavy in his chest.
Amy. Fucking Amy. His first love hung him out to dry for the fifth time this year, and this time he couldn’t help but mope, nursing a tub of ice cream, a flavor he didn’t even like that much to the point where he felt sick.
Maybe if he ate enough he wouldn’t have to go to lecture on Monday. His professor wouldn’t notice, anyway. Cooper either slept through class or ditched to fuck Amy, so now here he was, a pathetic loser and borderline college drop out that still lived at home with his parents.
This is what his life was now.
Cooper groaned shamefully, grabbing the largest spoon from the drawer and scooped a huge chunk of creamy ice cream, shoving it into his mouth, the flavor shivering along his tongue and teeth. He swallowed hugely and almost jumped, startled at a sudden presence in the kitchen.
“Hey,” Blaine greeted tiredly, padding to the fridge, rubbing his drooping eyes.
Cooper dropped his spoon with a clatter.
The light from the fridge illuminated his little brother, who was ruffling his unruly dark curls and scratching his stomach, right above a taunting treasure trail that Cooper never noticed before.
Suddenly his mouth was really dry. “H-hi.”
“Are we out of chocolate milk?” Blaine wondered, his voice gravelly from sleep. He leaned heavily against the fridge and Cooper’s eyes followed the sculpted muscles of Blaine’s shoulders to the veins of his forearms down to the loose hugging pants slung around his jutting hipbones.
When did Blaine get a six pack?
“You don’t need any,” Cooper said suddenly and Blaine gave him a bewildered look. “I mean.. yeah we’re out.”
Blaine shrugged, closing the fridge. Cooper’s eyes now burned in the darkness. “I guess I’ll just have water.. ‘Night.”
Cooper could barely make out the dimples of Blaine’s lower back as he made his way down the hallway and out of sight to his bedroom, Cooper’s breath now coming quicker and body unusually still.