Fic (Complete): Always Here In The Silence (NC-17, Glee AU, Kurt/Blaine) 2/2
Part 1 here
***
Things were different. Kurt was different.
He was… prickly, for one thing. Blaine wasn’t sure if it was due to the fact that they were spending so much time together, or if it was something he’d done without meaning to, or if it had nothing at all to do with him, but-Kurt was prickly, touchy-and the dynamic between them had shifted without Blaine having any idea why, or what he could possibly do about it.
In the absence of information or ideas, he did what he did best, and applied himself to learning. He worked hard, and pushed his body hard, and did everything he could to make sure that Kurt’s lessons weren’t wasted on him.
“You’re still not attacking hard enough,” Kurt told him, shaking his head, arming sweat off his forehead.
Blaine picked himself up off the mat. “I know, I know you said to go for it, but. I just.” He shrugged. “What if I hurt you?”
Kurt just looked like he was tossing his head, but-the next second Blaine was flat on his back on the mat with Kurt’s sock-covered foot pressing down on his chest, his right arm up and extended and caught in what felt like an iron grip, wrist twisted almost to the point of pain. Kurt’s eyes were solemn, huge, a brilliant blue. “And I told you-I won’t let you.” He looked away, blinked, then back down at him. “I’m not going to let you hurt me, Blaine.”
After that, Blaine attacked harder.
So the prickliness was new, the cause unknown. And to make everything even more confusing, the other thing that was new was… something that was kind of the opposite of prickliness, moments where Blaine would look up from his books or his practice or his stretching to catch Kurt staring at him with a soft, languorous expression on his face, his eyes half-lidded and dreamy, his cheeks flushed.
It didn’t happen very often. And it didn’t last very long, Blaine’s observation seemingly enough to break the spell. And that was probably a good thing, because every time it did happen Blaine’s heart sped up to a gallop, then his face got hot and his breathing went funny-but then it was over, always over, gone between one moment and the next as if it had never been there at all.
***
It was late, and they were both sweaty and exhausted, but Kurt told him his form was almost perfect on the last attack, so they ran it again, and again, and again…
“Let go, Blaine,” Kurt said, the words staccato between gasps for breath. “Muscle-memory, you have to just… let your muscles do what you taught them. You have to just go for it.”
Blaine went for it.
“Better. Again. Harder. Faster.”
Blaine went again, heaving for air when his back hit the mat.
“One more, come on-”
“No more,” Blaine said to the ceiling, feeling his muscles shake. “I can’t-”
“You can. Blaine. Come on-”
“Kurt-”
“Blaine. Now. Do it-”
Blaine did it-no finesse whatsoever, all of his control drained away by exhaustion. There was only his brain telling his body what to do without any interference from the part of him that thought about who he was doing it to-and Kurt went down hard, flat on his back with Blaine on top of him, all the air wheezing out of his lungs all at once.
Blaine tried to push himself up and off, but his muscles felt like overboiled noodles and all he managed was a shaky half-pushup before he collapsed. “God-sorry, Kurt.”
“Don’t… that was… what I wanted…” Kurt was staring right at him, breathing hard and sweating and flushed and half-smiling, and Blaine felt the world slewing away from him a little.
“You… you’re okay?”
“Mmm.” Kurt’s ankle hooked over his, ran halfway up his calf, then back down again. Blaine had to fight back a gasp and a whole-body shiver. “That was exactly what I’ve been waiting for you to do.”
“Oh. I… uh. Good.” Kurt’s lips were so pretty, pink and full and soft-looking-tempting, inviting-and he really shouldn’t be looking at them because all that did was make him feel like a man dying of thirst while staring at water.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m… um.” He was nowhere near okay. He couldn’t stop staring at Kurt’s mouth, and that was a problem all on its own but what was even worse was that he was actually easing down, tilting his head and slowly giving in to the pressure as if there were a hundred-pound stone looped around his neck, his mouth craving so badly that the want of it curled through his throat and his belly and his blood-
“Blaine.” Kurt’s eyes were wide. “Don’t.” His voice was clipped, calm, and ice-cold. Blaine felt the body under his own go abruptly rigid.
“Kurt-”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking-no. Don’t do it. Just… don’t.”
That was that, that should have been that, that was clear-but. There was something going on under that, under the reserve, under the ice. “Kurt, I-”
That was as far as he got before he went flying. “I told you,” Kurt said coldly, standing seemingly so very far above him, his voice shaking, his hands curled to fists. “I don’t kiss.” He looked away, blinking at the wall, his eyes bright. Then he looked back down. “Now, if you’ve finally worked up the balls to ask for the hand-job you’ve been silently begging for since the day we met-”
“No,” Blaine managed, sitting up and scooting back, as far away from Kurt as he could get. His eyes stung, and his stomach was cramped, heavy and sick. “No, Kurt, I really don’t want to be one of the nameless, faceless guys you use in order to feel like you’ve somehow gotten even with them-”
Kurt’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you even think about judging me-”
“I’m not judging you-I’m too busy wondering why you insist on treating yourself like you’re worthless, when you’re-”
“You can cram your fucking pity right up your ass, Blaine,” Kurt spat at him, crossing his arms over his chest and backing away. “It might do you better than the stick you have up there right now.” His mouth twisted. “And yes, you are judging me-you always have. And you know what?” He looked at Blaine, his eyes brilliant, “I don’t give a shit what you think about what I do-because at least I’m not some kind of repressed, puritan monk. At least I don’t creep through the world being fucking terrified of who-what-I am.”
And with that, Kurt turned and walked away from him. Blaine’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes spilled over and tracked down his cheeks. “Kurt-”
“You and I are done, Blaine,” Kurt said without turning around, his head bowed low, one hand on the handle of the open door. “Just-stay the fuck away from me.”
The door wheezed shut after Kurt went through it, closing with a solid, final click.
And then Blaine was alone.
***
That was Monday night. On Tuesday, Blaine claimed a headache, and stayed home from school. He stayed in bed all day, a day that seemed to last for at least fifty hours.
On Wednesday, he stayed home again. As soon as his parents were gone, he got up and went to his desk, where he spent the day writing a letter to Kurt. And then re-writing it. Re-writing it. Re-writing again. It gave him a terrible headache.
He still had the headache on Thursday. As soon as his parents were gone, he went to the living room fireplace and burned the letter. Then he went back to bed.
On Friday morning, he woke up with his head so calm and clear there seemed to be a deep, resonant hum occupying the space between his ears. It sounded almost like the far-off roar of a motorcycle engine.
He got up, and went to school.
***
He was calm, perfectly calm, through the first half of the day. He went to the cafeteria at lunch, verified that Kurt was not at his usual table, and headed down the hall towards the gym. But before he got there he started to shake, and the linoleum under his feet seemed to be gradually disappearing down a dark tunnel, so he ducked into the bathroom and stood there, both arms braced against the sink and his head hanging down, breathing deep and steadily until his vision cleared and his heartbeat returned to normal.
He splashed some water on his face, dried himself off with a strip of towel (staring at the lock on the dispenser the whole time, a lock that still bore deep scratchmarks from being jimmied), and left.
Kurt was behind the gym, lounging against the bricks, smoking. He looked at Blaine with no visible change of expression. “What the fuck do you want, Anderson?”
“I want…” he cleared his throat and tried again. “I want the same thing that everyone else who comes here wants.”
Kurt laughed, a short, sarcastic bark, tossing his head and looking away. “Right. As if. Get lost.”
Blaine took a step forward. “No.” He took another step. “You’re angry at me for judging you-well, here’s your chance to get even. Do this, and then you can feel about me the same way you feel about all the others-”
“Blaine.” Kurt’s voice was soft, but icy-cold. “Shut the fuck up, and get away from me.”
Blaine took one more step. “Why? Are you afraid to touch me?”
Kurt flicked his cigarette away and turned to him, one eyebrow raised. The cool, contemptuous look on his face had darkened. “What-you think I won’t, just because we were friends?” He took a step forward. “You think I won’t take you down?”
“You are,” Blaine said with conviction. He was shaking, and he didn’t care. “You are afraid-”
That was as far as he got before Kurt had him by the arm, dragging him roughly around the corner to a small alcove, bricks on three sides and nothing but an empty field across the way, dry and brown and dead at this time of year. “I’m really not,” Kurt said calmly, conversationally, one hand hard against Blaine’s chest while the other flicked and worked his pants open with expert speed. Blaine’s knees almost went out from under him when Kurt’s hand plunged into his briefs, but apparently Kurt was used to that, because he wedged his knee in between Blaine’s thighs and steadied him against the cold bricks like it was just the next step in the process.
“Huh,” Kurt said mildly, staring down. “Not bad, for a geek.” His touch was smooth, practiced, and clinical-but it was Kurt’s hand, Kurt touching him there, where his heart beat and he ached so badly that he was hard in seconds, so much pent-up need in him-
“And a grower, what do you know,” Kurt murmured in his ear, almost a purr, his hand moving below, smooth and slipping on precome, a tiny, professional flick at the top of each stroke. “Very nice. You want to fuck my hand, Blaine? Want me to make you come? Want me to make you beg me-”
There was more, but Blaine couldn’t listen to it. He stared over Kurt’s shoulder at the dead, frozen field, and a wave of sadness washed through him. It crested at his throat, so intense that he would have slid down the wall if Kurt hadn’t been holding him upright. The touch between his legs was good-so good, too good-but he was losing his erection anyway.
Kurt leaned away from him a little, looking down and frowning. “What… what the fuck is your problem, Blaine?” He looked up, blinking. “I’m actually really good at this, you know-”
“Kurt,” Blaine said, and his voice was so hoarse, barely a croak. “I know you won’t… that I can’t… but I-can I touch you?” He reached out, close but not touching, hovering there. “Can I please… at least… touch you?”
Kurt’s eyes widened. “You… you want to touch me.”
“Please…”
“Like this.” Kurt squeezed his flaccid penis.
“Yes.”
Kurt turned away from him for a moment, then turned back, shrugging. “Whatever gets your rocks off, Blaine. But don’t think I’m going to-”
Blaine was burning, flaming-hot despite the icy winter air. He was shaking almost too badly to get Kurt’s jeans undone, but desperation eventually prevailed. He gasped and jerked when he got inside Kurt’s black boxer-briefs, taking Kurt in his hand with his heart pounding like crazy-and just like that he was hard again, hard and throbbing and pushing himself into Kurt’s grip.
Kurt made some noise, some soft noise, then they were leaning against each other and slowly sliding until finally Kurt was the one sagging against the wall with Blaine leaning into him, holding him up. Kurt’s touch wasn’t expert any more-it was sloppy and shaky and rough, fumbling and entirely without rhythm, and it felt about a million times better than it had before. Kurt was hard in his hand, hard and hot and smooth and beautiful. Perfect. Blaine leaned his head back and sighed. “Kurt. Oh my God… Kurt-”
“Don’t,” Kurt breathed, but he didn’t stop, and he didn’t stop pushing his hips up against Blaine’s fist, so Blaine wasn’t exactly sure what it was that he was supposed to not do. He squeezed Kurt from root to tip, then stroked lightly, slowly, putting everything he had into it-all of his frustration and all of his longing, all of his sadness and desire and-everything. He brought his head up slowly, breathing hard-and Kurt was breathing hard, both of them sharing air and mingled breath and Kurt was staring, staring right at his mouth, his cheeks flushed and his eyes soft, so hazy-dreamy and soft. Kurt licked his lips and Blaine moaned, Kurt shook all over and Blaine gasped, then Blaine felt Kurt’s free hand slide up his neck and into his hair, clutching there, pulling him closer.
He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but the moment their lips touched Kurt came in his hand with a choked-off cry, throbbing and spilling hot over his knuckles. Just one kiss, soft and sweet and chaste, then everything went white and he closed his eyes and came helplessly, pushing himself into Kurt’s fist and shaking hard.
They were tangled together and wet, heaving for breath with their foreheads touching. Blaine cupped Kurt’s face with his free hand and opened his eyes, groaning just a little because Kurt undone was so incredibly beautiful, glowing and vulnerable with his dusky lashes closed and his mouth open, rosy and gorgeous and just so perfect-
Kurt opened his eyes, and there was one dazed and dreamy moment where nothing else existed except the two of them, closer than close-but the next second Kurt blinked and then pushed him away, not roughly, but firmly, then turned from him, his head bowed as he did up his jeans.
Blaine felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach. “Kurt-what-”
Kurt was quiet for a long time, catching his breath. When he spoke, his voice was shaky, almost too quiet to hear. “No, Blaine. We’re not… that was… we just… that was a mistake. It’s not gonna happen again.”
Blaine swallowed hard. He was still gasping. “What… did I do it wrong? What did I do wrong?”
Kurt lifted his head, but he didn’t turn around. “Look, Blaine-you just… you picked the wrong guy if you wanted a boyfriend. That’s… I’m not boyfriend material.” He lit a cigarette, the glowing tip of it jittering wildly. “And I don’t want to be.”
“Kurt-”
“Blaine.” Kurt turned to him then, and other than a trace of hectic flush brightening his cheeks, he looked every bit as calm and remote as he had the day Blaine first met him. “Do us both a favor, okay? Just put your gigantic brain to work on forgetting that this ever happened. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Kurt walked away with his hands fisted in his jacket pockets and a thin ribbon of smoke curling over his shoulder. Blaine slid down the wall until he landed on the icy concrete, put his face in his hands, and tried to breathe past the boulder of pain in his throat.
***
He gave it a week. One week for Kurt to realize what a mistake it had been to walk away. He didn’t pursue Kurt, but he didn’t avoid him either-not that either one would have made any difference, because Kurt appeared to have decided to forget not only what had happened between them, but the fact that Blaine even existed. It was a very, very long week.
When it was over, he gave it another week-Kurt was stubborn, he was proud, he was… he was Kurt, and Blaine loved him, and if that meant waiting an uncomfortably long time for Kurt to see what was right there in front of him-well, he would wait. It was another long week.
Halfway through the third week, he was digging through his backpack looking for his AP history notes when he found a pen that Kurt had gnawed on during the agonizing evening they’d spent on gerunds, a pen he’d scooped up guiltily when Kurt abandoned it, his own lovesick magpie treasure. He stared at it for a long time, rolling it back and forth across the table, then picked it up and gripped it tightly, swallowing-and tossed it in the trash.
It was time to move on.
***
The next day at school he applied himself, pleased when he seemed to be making progress. It was almost lunch, and so far he was entirely normal-back on track, no more mooning, no more moments of distraction where he had to stop and force his brain onto whatever task was laid out in front of him, no more losing track of his surroundings-
“Hey, um,” Blaine jumped. He’d been so busy congratulating himself on his complete normalcy that he hadn’t noticed the guy standing next to him at his locker-and that was ridiculous, because the guy was big enough to be seriously hard to miss. “You’re friends with Kurt, right?”
Blaine felt his cheeks flush hot. “Uh. I… um. Yeah. You’re… Finn, right?”
“Yeah. Finn Hudson. I’m… look, can I talk to you for a minute?”
In that moment, Blaine realized he’d basically been entirely successful at fooling himself into believing that he’d been the least bit successful at ‘moving on’-because his first thought was that maybe Kurt had sent this guy to talk to him about… them, which was completely insane. First of all, if Kurt had something to say to him, Blaine was pretty sure Kurt would choose to say it himself. To his face. And secondly, even if Kurt had decided to use an intermediary for some reason, it seemed much more likely that he would use one of his friends, Mercedes or Rachel or Quinn, rather than… than the jock he’d given his first hand-job to. “Of course,” Blaine said lamely, belatedly, finally realizing that Finn was just standing there staring at him, waiting for an answer.
“Thanks. I… uh. Look, I know-Kurt’s having a hard time right now. And I know he’s giving his friends a hard time, but I think he really needs-”
“What did he do?”
Finn shrugged. “Well, he stormed out of last period yelling, and I’m pretty sure he took off, probably for the hospital-”
Blaine’s stomach dropped. “… hospital?”
Finn blinked. “Yeah, um. Didn’t you know? His dad had some kind of major heart attack two days ago, and now he’s in a coma and they don’t know if he’s going to wake up.”
“Oh my God…”
Finn tilted his head. “You didn’t know?”
“No, I…” Blaine closed his eyes, then opened them. “He… Kurt hasn’t wanted to talk to me much, lately.”
Finn nodded. “Yeah, I think there’s a lot of that going around.”
Blaine took a breath. “So… how come you know? Are you, uh, friends?”
“No, it’s… my mom’s been dating him.” Blaine’s mouth dropped open, and Finn waved his hands around, shaking his head. “Kurt’s dad, that is. Not Kurt.” Finn’s cheeks went pink. “I haven’t exactly been advertising it, but… yeah. And Kurt’s… he’s a good kid. And he needs friends. Whether or not he wants them right now.”
“I… oh. Yeah. Um, thank you, Finn.”
Finn shrugged. “Just be there for him, okay?”
Blaine nodded, but Finn had already walked away.
***
He heard Kurt while he was still making his way down the hospital hallway. Probably half the floor could hear him.
“I don’t give a fuck about your good intentions-” Kurt yelled, and there was so much tension, fear and pain in his voice that Blaine winced. “He’s my dad, and I don’t want you-”
A quiet murmur cut him off, and Blaine had no idea who was speaking until he reached the room-which was packed, Mercedes and Rachel and Quinn and some other lady he’d never seen before, all clustered around Burt Hummel’s hospital bed.
“I know you’re scared,” Mercedes said, and Blaine honestly didn’t know which squeezed his heart worse-the pallid, frail-looking man in the bed, or Kurt, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. “And I know you’re tough-but this isn’t the time for you to be tough, Kurt. This is the time for you to turn to God. We’re just praying for him. For him, and also for you, and if you would just-”
“Don’t pray for me,” Kurt spat, and he looked like a cornered wild animal, snarling and panicked. “Prayers are stupid and useless and all the fucking praying in the world isn’t going to make one damn bit of difference-”
There was a babble of voices, all of them talking at once, and it wasn’t precisely difficult to grasp the scope of the conversation. Kurt was backing into the corner of the room with both hands in his hair, and the group around the bed had become the group around Kurt, hemming him in-and all of a sudden Blaine was furious, cold and hot at once, his hands curling into fists.
“There’s been no scientific proof about proximity affecting the efficacy of prayer,” he said, loudly enough that all of the heads in the room (except Burt’s) swiveled towards him at once. He didn’t even care. “So if you’re determined to pray for him, you can at least do it outside this room, where you won’t upset the one member of the family who’s still conscious.”
He herded them out one by one, not listening to a word any of them said, not even stopping to wonder where the authority or the anger had come from. When the last one trailed out he shut the door with hands that had finally started to shake, and turned around to find Kurt right there, staring at him with reddened, overbright eyes.
“I’m sorry, Kurt, I know you love them, but people-when they get like that, it just… it pisses me off.” He looked away, fuming. “It’s like they think they have the right to do whatever they want, say whatever they want, just because they believe in God-”
“Don’t you believe in God?” The question was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it.
“What? I… oh. No. I’m an atheis-”
Kurt kissed him, his mouth wet and molten and salt-bitter, arms around his neck and fever-hot body pressed right up against his own. Blaine closed his eyes and rocked on his feet while something deep in his chest exploded outwards, and his arms wrapped Kurt up all by themselves, without any direction from him. The rest of the world suddenly seemed very remote.
When Kurt finally pulled away Blaine let him go, then put his hands in his pockets so they wouldn’t reach out again. He ached. “Kurt-”
“I’d like to be alone with my father,” Kurt said softly, already turning away, drifting towards the bed like nothing at all had happened. Blaine watched him pick up his father’s hand and squeeze it, saw the tears that had been threatening finally spill over, running down Kurt’s cheeks.
“I’ll… uh. I’ll be out here. If you need anything.”
He found a plastic chair in the hallway three rooms down, and set it up on one side of the closed door to Burt Hummel’s room. He sat there for a long time, compulsively swallowing over and over until the taste of Kurt’s mouth was just an unforgettable memory.
***
And that was where he stayed, every moment that he wasn’t in school. At some point each evening he would leave his post to go to the restaurant across the street for two meals to-go, since the hospital cafeteria was fully up to the standard of hospital cafeterias everywhere. He went into Burt’s room long enough to drop off a plate for Kurt, then back out into the hallway, where he would pick at his own dinner listlessly until it was time to throw it out.
“Are you a friend of the family?” a nurse-Dylan, his nametag said-asked him the first night he was there.
“I’m… a friend of his son’s,” he answered lamely, wondering if he was about to be sent packing.
But Dylan just smiled a little, then nodded and moved on, and that was the end of that.
He heard Kurt, sometimes-no discernible words, just the soft, slow murmur of his voice. It was somehow comforting and sad all at once, terribly intimate at the same time that it was hopelessly remote.
He made a halfhearted attempt at doing his homework, but for the first time ever his books couldn’t hold his attention, and his homework seemed maddeningly incomprehensible. So mostly, he just sat.
One evening, he’d actually started to nod off a little when Kurt’s voice-not soft, now, but loud, loud and very, very urgent-woke him; Kurt yelling for a nurse. His stomach cramped with a sudden wave of fear, but when he followed the nurse into the room he found Kurt standing next to his father, holding his hand.
“He moved-he did, he moved just a little and he made a noise-he heard me, I know he heard me, he heard me and he squeezed my hand-”
Burt Hummel stirred a little, and his eyelids fluttered. The nurse moved in and took over.
Kurt burst into tears.
Blaine took a deep breath, then turned around and left. He left the room, left the hospital, and went home.
***
He came home to a perfectly dark, cold, silent house, which didn’t make sense until he remembered that his father had a conference in San Diego, and his mother had gone along due to her deep distaste for Ohio winters. And that was good, he was glad, it meant he didn’t have to answer (or carefully not-answer) any questions, it meant he could go straight to his room and curl up on his bed and gaze out his bedroom window at the stars, and wait for his eyes to drift closed.
***
He didn’t remember shutting his eyes but he must have, because the tapping at his window woke him up from a sound-if uncomfortable-sleep. When he clicked his bedside lamp on Kurt’s face at his window was shadowed and pale, seemingly suspended in space, his black jacket and cap lost against the night sky.
Blaine slid the pane up with numb fingers, stepping back when icy air washed into the room. “Kurt-”
“They think he’s going to be okay,” Kurt whispered, shifting on the windowsill until he was half-draped across it. Blaine heard the lattice that ran up the side of the house next to his window creak ominously. Kurt winced. “Fuck-sorry-”
“My parents are gone,” he said, and it was just practical, just a practical thing to say when a guy was trying so hard to be quiet while breaking into the second-story window of your bedroom-but then Kurt lunged and a shutter banged and his curtains fluttered, and then Kurt was crouched on the floor of his room, staring up at him with huge, shadowed eyes, and suddenly it didn’t seem practical at all. Blaine took a step back. “I’m… uh. I’m so glad, about your dad, that’s-”
“I’m in love with you, you know.”
Blaine felt something sharp lodge in his throat. He closed his eyes. He tried to move, and couldn’t. “No, I… no, I didn’t know. I didn’t know that.”
He heard the window sliding closed, and the click of the lock, and then Kurt was right there, freezing-cold leather and the faint, crisp scent of winter air and burning leaves. Blaine gasped when icy, trembling hands settled on his arms, but didn’t open his eyes. “Blaine?”
“Yes.”
“You love me.”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“Then. Please.” A quiet, rough whisper. “Kiss me?”
He didn’t remember how they made it to his bed, he only remembered stretching Kurt out there, their mouths sealed together, soft and silky deep wet kisses that were like food to a man who was starving. He fit their bodies together until they meshed seamlessly, until their bodies fit the way their mouths fit, perfectly and so sweetly that it made him feel like his blood was humming.
He wanted to touch-everywhere, wanted to taste and explore and feel and gorge himself on everything, wanted it like he wanted to go on breathing, the muscles in his stomach fluttery and taut, his balls aching and his cock so hard it hurt. He wanted. But. “Kurt-can I… please, what do you-”
“Everything,” Kurt breathed in his ear, shaking hard under him with fists tight in his hair.
Blaine closed his eyes, something deep in his chest spilling over while his cock throbbed and twitched, strangled and constricted in his suddenly-too-tight pants. “I… yes,” he managed. He tried not to be too rough getting them both out of their clothes, tried not to be too greedy, but Kurt was so beautiful naked, dark hair and satiny-pale skin, rosy at his lips, his nipples, his cock, his drawn-tight balls. Blaine wanted all of it, took all of it, touched and licked and sucked while Kurt moaned and shivered and arched under him.
He’d been aware-very keenly aware-of how much he’d had to hold himself in check around Kurt, but he hadn’t known, there was no way he could have known, what permission would do to him, how fundamentally it would undo him from the inside out until he felt like nothing more than a collection of desperate hungers. And he was pretty sure he understood, now, why Kurt had the rules he did, held the line where he did, why he took such determined refuge behind impenetrable walls-because without them Kurt was so, so vulnerable; open and tender and soft, clinging to him and falling apart and his response to everything-every touch, every kiss-right there on his face.
Kurt uttered a soft, stunned-sounding cry when Blaine went down on him, light tremors running through him and then quiet, quiet until his fingers crept slowly into Blaine’s hair and he moaned, his hips twitching. Blaine arched his back to keep his own hips from rutting into the covers, Kurt’s cock heavy and salty on his tongue, his senses soaking up everything, reveling and swallowing until he felt Kurt’s muscles lock up, until Kurt gasped sharply, pushed into his mouth hard three times and then came, groaning with one hand in Blaine’s hair and one on his shoulder, holding on like he couldn’t let go.
Afterwards Kurt was boneless, dewed with sweat and heaving for breath and open, his thighs lax. Blaine moved up quickly to kiss Kurt’s panting mouth and then back down, sliding and spreading Kurt’s toned, dark-furred legs until he got what he wanted. He licked softly, experimentally, a gentle open-mouthed kiss to Kurt’s rose-dark, twitching hole.
“Blaine-” a hoarse, shocked whisper.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop,” he breathed, petting Kurt’s thighs like he was soothing a shying horse. “Just… let me try?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but dove back in, wet, soft kisses and tiny bites and gentle circles with the tip of his tongue-a seduction, something that he would have said he had absolutely no aptitude for-and maybe he didn’t, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. Putting his mouth there was sweet and soft and scorchingly intimate, pushing in a little and then out, and in a little more, using the flat of his tongue and then just the tip, gentle kisses and hard-hungry kisses and patient, slow, hot kisses-
“Please don’t stop,” he heard Kurt breathe, so low and subvocal it probably wasn’t meant for his ears at all, but Kurt’s rocking hips and shaking thighs said the same thing. Blaine opened his eyes to see Kurt’s hand wrap slowly, tentatively around his own renewed erection, pale skin against flushed red, and he moaned a little through his nose, humming approval.
He couldn’t look away. Kurt seemed hesitant at first, and to Blaine it felt like a personal victory when Kurt’s strokes on himself grew gradually more languid and indulgent, slow and lingering, moving like he was moving in a dream. Blaine was absolutely ruthless with himself about keeping his own throbbing, desperate cock out of the sheets, and it was like he was living through his mouth and his eyes only, looking for Kurt’s response and shifting, doing more of this and less of that, going deeper and giving all he had, then backing off again.
Kurt’s soft moans were irresistible, somehow the hardest thing to ignore, striking sparks off the core of his being. But Blaine held on, and held on, until the sounds Kurt made spiraled up to breathy, helpless cries, until Kurt’s hips and his hand sped up and then Blaine closed his eyes because if he watched Kurt come he thought he would probably completely lose it.
Kurt’s hole twitched rhythmically around his tongue when he came, and Blaine groaned, shuddering, rocking with Kurt’s rocking hips, his grip there tight, probably too tight, but right now it felt like the only thing he had to hold on to.
“Blaine,” Kurt sighed, and Blaine knelt up with his eyes still closed, still working the tips of two wet fingers in and around Kurt’s ass, trying to ignore the last throbs and tremors, the open, hot, silky clasp of him.
“Yes?” His voice was wrecked, deep and throaty, shaky.
“You’re gonna fuck me, right?”
Blaine jerked, shuddered. “I… oh, yes.”
“Good.”
His bedside drawer squealed and stuck halfway when he pulled it open. Blaine winced but kept digging, staring resolutely at the drawer and absolutely not at the flushed, limpid, gorgeous, come-spattered boy lying under him. He retrieved a bottle of lube, and then a condom (not easy, as both had been carefully hidden under his socks). Kurt took the lube and held onto it, then took the condom and tossed it across the room.
Blaine had to look at him then. “Kurt…”
Kurt’s eyes were remarkably clear and focused. “It’s your first time.”
Blaine nodded.
Kurt touched his face, once, softly. “Mine too. And I want to feel you.”
Blaine closed his eyes and swallowed. “Oh.”
He probably used too much lube, but he didn’t care-Kurt was fiercely tight, squeezing around his fingers in a way that made Blaine a little lightheaded, made him clamp down on the groans that wanted to spill out of his throat. He slathered an additional handful over himself, touching as lightly as he could, and then-and then there was nothing left to do, except for what remained to be done. So that’s what he did.
He thought it would be awkward-it seemed like it would have to be awkward, given the circumstances-but he had forgotten how profoundly kissing Kurt drew him out of himself, brought parts of him forward that he’d never even known about. Kurt wound around him like a vine and drew him down, offering his mouth with such appealing abandon that Blaine couldn’t resist, and then they were kissing and then they were closer and then he swallowed Kurt’s soft noise and fed back one of his own-and then they were there, Blaine rocking in tiny increments, his brain one cool, quiet rush, as if everything in him had been rendered silent.
Inside, Kurt was hot and smooth, deliciously fitted to him, perfect and irresistible. Outside, Kurt was dreamy-eyed and flushed, clutching his shoulders and wrapping around him with strong, silky thighs, kissing him with slow languor until they were sealed together, then arching his head back into the pillows, licking his lips and sighing.
“Blaine… that’s so… you feel so good-” Blaine kissed him hard and spread him and fucked him, still moving slowly, his hands roaming from Kurt’s arms where they wound around his neck to Kurt’s thighs where they wrapped around his waist, finally settling with one hand fisted into Kurt’s hair while the other reached down between them, down to where everything was humid and moist and Kurt was hard and wet. Kurt moaned when Blaine took him in hand, and his hips jerked hard. “Fuck-Blaine…”
Blaine kept his touch light, kept as much of his focus as he could on stroking Kurt and making it good for him. He was sweating, he was shaking, he was eternally only one narrow hair’s breadth from losing control, and he bit his own lip fiercely, gasping a little when Kurt twisted up his head and licked him there. “Kurt,” he managed, “don’t-I’m… I can’t-”
“Just fuck me,” Kurt whispered to him, pulling Blaine’s hand away from his cock, lacing their fingers together and stretching their joined hands up above his head. “Just… fuck me hard and come.”
That pretty much destroyed whatever vestiges of control Blaine had left. He smothered Kurt’s gasping mouth with his own, reached under Kurt’s ass with his free hand to tilt him up, and then just let go of everything that had been holding him back and went for it, groaning brokenly while his hips bucked and his heart hammered triple-time in his chest. Kurt thrashed under him, clutching his fingers and clawing his back and rutting up against his stomach, and Blaine let himself sink deeper, let himself take what he needed, let himself fuck Kurt as hard as he possibly could. He managed one more wet, hungry kiss before his back arched helplessly and he came, muscles locked and a half-choked-off cry stuck in his throat. Kurt moaned under him, low and sweet, clutching him and coming on his belly and throbbing around him, hips grinding against his own slower and slower until they were finally still.
There were more kisses, afterwards, coming down; more kisses, endless kisses, and a long, long time of quiet. Blaine indulged himself until he went soft enough to slip out of Kurt’s body, and he was still shaking, still glowing when Kurt pushed him gently away, his eyes closed, his beautiful brows knit together.
“Wh… what… Kurt. Did I hurt you-”
“No.” Almost too soft to hear.
Blaine reached out, slowly, and touched Kurt’s shoulder, relieved when Kurt turned back to him, scrunching down in the bed until he could bury his face against Blaine’s chest. “What is it?”
Kurt breathed deep, then again, then a third time before he spoke. “I just… I don’t know how… I don’t know if I can put myself back together, after that. I’m not… I’m not sure I know how.”
Kurt hadn’t specified, but Blaine was fairly sure he knew what Kurt meant by ‘putting himself back together’. “Oh,” he said quietly, stroking Kurt’s damp back gently, softly. “Well… maybe you don’t have to-”
“Of course I have to,” Kurt snapped, but there was no real fire in it, just a heavy quality of sad resignation. “It’s the same world as it was yesterday, Blaine, the same shitty world for… for people like us. The same-”
“I mean,” Blaine interrupted, rolling Kurt onto his back and pinning him with one leg, stroking his stubbled cheek gently with the tips of his fingers. “I mean, maybe you don’t have to here. When you’re… with me.” He swallowed. “I really, really hope you don’t. Because here,” he tucked a sweat-damp lock of hair behind Kurt’s ear. “It’s not the same world at all.”
Kurt blinked. “You’re pretty determined to love me, aren’t you?”
Blaine laughed a little, his eyes stinging at the same time. “It hasn’t worked out so great when I’ve tried not to, so, yes.”
Kurt nodded, then used his thumb to trace under Blaine’s eye, wiping away wetness. “Boyfriend material,” he said softly, self-consciously. Then he sniffed, and smiled a little, shaking his head. “As long as I don’t have to give up being scary.”
Blaine kissed Kurt’s forehead, then his cheek, then, lingeringly, his mouth. When he pulled back, Kurt was blushing all over again. “Look at it this way,” Blaine said quietly. “More people will be afraid of you than before.”
Kurt blinked, his smile widening. “You think so?”
“Mmm. Yes.” He cupped Kurt’s face in his palm. “Because as soon as my parents come home, I’m going to introduce them to my boyfriend-and I guarantee you, both of them are going to be suitably petrified.”
Kurt laughed softly, pressing his cheek into Blaine’s hand. “Well, when you put it that way-how could I resist?”
Then Blaine kissed him again, because he couldn’t resist either.
~End
Author’s endnotes: As it turns out, there’s kind of an overarching theme to almost everything I write, to wit: resolution of emotional issues through development of sexual and emotional intimacy. This makes me pretty much a one-trick pony, but you know what? I AIN’T EVEN SORRY. IT’S MY FUCKING PONY. What I’m trying to say, in my own hamfisted way, is: thank you for reading. I had a great time writing this story, and I hope it’s something that worked for you.
Title is taken from Pete Townshend’s song I Am An Animal. Because yes.
***
Things were different. Kurt was different.
He was… prickly, for one thing. Blaine wasn’t sure if it was due to the fact that they were spending so much time together, or if it was something he’d done without meaning to, or if it had nothing at all to do with him, but-Kurt was prickly, touchy-and the dynamic between them had shifted without Blaine having any idea why, or what he could possibly do about it.
In the absence of information or ideas, he did what he did best, and applied himself to learning. He worked hard, and pushed his body hard, and did everything he could to make sure that Kurt’s lessons weren’t wasted on him.
“You’re still not attacking hard enough,” Kurt told him, shaking his head, arming sweat off his forehead.
Blaine picked himself up off the mat. “I know, I know you said to go for it, but. I just.” He shrugged. “What if I hurt you?”
Kurt just looked like he was tossing his head, but-the next second Blaine was flat on his back on the mat with Kurt’s sock-covered foot pressing down on his chest, his right arm up and extended and caught in what felt like an iron grip, wrist twisted almost to the point of pain. Kurt’s eyes were solemn, huge, a brilliant blue. “And I told you-I won’t let you.” He looked away, blinked, then back down at him. “I’m not going to let you hurt me, Blaine.”
After that, Blaine attacked harder.
So the prickliness was new, the cause unknown. And to make everything even more confusing, the other thing that was new was… something that was kind of the opposite of prickliness, moments where Blaine would look up from his books or his practice or his stretching to catch Kurt staring at him with a soft, languorous expression on his face, his eyes half-lidded and dreamy, his cheeks flushed.
It didn’t happen very often. And it didn’t last very long, Blaine’s observation seemingly enough to break the spell. And that was probably a good thing, because every time it did happen Blaine’s heart sped up to a gallop, then his face got hot and his breathing went funny-but then it was over, always over, gone between one moment and the next as if it had never been there at all.
***
It was late, and they were both sweaty and exhausted, but Kurt told him his form was almost perfect on the last attack, so they ran it again, and again, and again…
“Let go, Blaine,” Kurt said, the words staccato between gasps for breath. “Muscle-memory, you have to just… let your muscles do what you taught them. You have to just go for it.”
Blaine went for it.
“Better. Again. Harder. Faster.”
Blaine went again, heaving for air when his back hit the mat.
“One more, come on-”
“No more,” Blaine said to the ceiling, feeling his muscles shake. “I can’t-”
“You can. Blaine. Come on-”
“Kurt-”
“Blaine. Now. Do it-”
Blaine did it-no finesse whatsoever, all of his control drained away by exhaustion. There was only his brain telling his body what to do without any interference from the part of him that thought about who he was doing it to-and Kurt went down hard, flat on his back with Blaine on top of him, all the air wheezing out of his lungs all at once.
Blaine tried to push himself up and off, but his muscles felt like overboiled noodles and all he managed was a shaky half-pushup before he collapsed. “God-sorry, Kurt.”
“Don’t… that was… what I wanted…” Kurt was staring right at him, breathing hard and sweating and flushed and half-smiling, and Blaine felt the world slewing away from him a little.
“You… you’re okay?”
“Mmm.” Kurt’s ankle hooked over his, ran halfway up his calf, then back down again. Blaine had to fight back a gasp and a whole-body shiver. “That was exactly what I’ve been waiting for you to do.”
“Oh. I… uh. Good.” Kurt’s lips were so pretty, pink and full and soft-looking-tempting, inviting-and he really shouldn’t be looking at them because all that did was make him feel like a man dying of thirst while staring at water.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m… um.” He was nowhere near okay. He couldn’t stop staring at Kurt’s mouth, and that was a problem all on its own but what was even worse was that he was actually easing down, tilting his head and slowly giving in to the pressure as if there were a hundred-pound stone looped around his neck, his mouth craving so badly that the want of it curled through his throat and his belly and his blood-
“Blaine.” Kurt’s eyes were wide. “Don’t.” His voice was clipped, calm, and ice-cold. Blaine felt the body under his own go abruptly rigid.
“Kurt-”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking-no. Don’t do it. Just… don’t.”
That was that, that should have been that, that was clear-but. There was something going on under that, under the reserve, under the ice. “Kurt, I-”
That was as far as he got before he went flying. “I told you,” Kurt said coldly, standing seemingly so very far above him, his voice shaking, his hands curled to fists. “I don’t kiss.” He looked away, blinking at the wall, his eyes bright. Then he looked back down. “Now, if you’ve finally worked up the balls to ask for the hand-job you’ve been silently begging for since the day we met-”
“No,” Blaine managed, sitting up and scooting back, as far away from Kurt as he could get. His eyes stung, and his stomach was cramped, heavy and sick. “No, Kurt, I really don’t want to be one of the nameless, faceless guys you use in order to feel like you’ve somehow gotten even with them-”
Kurt’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you even think about judging me-”
“I’m not judging you-I’m too busy wondering why you insist on treating yourself like you’re worthless, when you’re-”
“You can cram your fucking pity right up your ass, Blaine,” Kurt spat at him, crossing his arms over his chest and backing away. “It might do you better than the stick you have up there right now.” His mouth twisted. “And yes, you are judging me-you always have. And you know what?” He looked at Blaine, his eyes brilliant, “I don’t give a shit what you think about what I do-because at least I’m not some kind of repressed, puritan monk. At least I don’t creep through the world being fucking terrified of who-what-I am.”
And with that, Kurt turned and walked away from him. Blaine’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes spilled over and tracked down his cheeks. “Kurt-”
“You and I are done, Blaine,” Kurt said without turning around, his head bowed low, one hand on the handle of the open door. “Just-stay the fuck away from me.”
The door wheezed shut after Kurt went through it, closing with a solid, final click.
And then Blaine was alone.
***
That was Monday night. On Tuesday, Blaine claimed a headache, and stayed home from school. He stayed in bed all day, a day that seemed to last for at least fifty hours.
On Wednesday, he stayed home again. As soon as his parents were gone, he got up and went to his desk, where he spent the day writing a letter to Kurt. And then re-writing it. Re-writing it. Re-writing again. It gave him a terrible headache.
He still had the headache on Thursday. As soon as his parents were gone, he went to the living room fireplace and burned the letter. Then he went back to bed.
On Friday morning, he woke up with his head so calm and clear there seemed to be a deep, resonant hum occupying the space between his ears. It sounded almost like the far-off roar of a motorcycle engine.
He got up, and went to school.
***
He was calm, perfectly calm, through the first half of the day. He went to the cafeteria at lunch, verified that Kurt was not at his usual table, and headed down the hall towards the gym. But before he got there he started to shake, and the linoleum under his feet seemed to be gradually disappearing down a dark tunnel, so he ducked into the bathroom and stood there, both arms braced against the sink and his head hanging down, breathing deep and steadily until his vision cleared and his heartbeat returned to normal.
He splashed some water on his face, dried himself off with a strip of towel (staring at the lock on the dispenser the whole time, a lock that still bore deep scratchmarks from being jimmied), and left.
Kurt was behind the gym, lounging against the bricks, smoking. He looked at Blaine with no visible change of expression. “What the fuck do you want, Anderson?”
“I want…” he cleared his throat and tried again. “I want the same thing that everyone else who comes here wants.”
Kurt laughed, a short, sarcastic bark, tossing his head and looking away. “Right. As if. Get lost.”
Blaine took a step forward. “No.” He took another step. “You’re angry at me for judging you-well, here’s your chance to get even. Do this, and then you can feel about me the same way you feel about all the others-”
“Blaine.” Kurt’s voice was soft, but icy-cold. “Shut the fuck up, and get away from me.”
Blaine took one more step. “Why? Are you afraid to touch me?”
Kurt flicked his cigarette away and turned to him, one eyebrow raised. The cool, contemptuous look on his face had darkened. “What-you think I won’t, just because we were friends?” He took a step forward. “You think I won’t take you down?”
“You are,” Blaine said with conviction. He was shaking, and he didn’t care. “You are afraid-”
That was as far as he got before Kurt had him by the arm, dragging him roughly around the corner to a small alcove, bricks on three sides and nothing but an empty field across the way, dry and brown and dead at this time of year. “I’m really not,” Kurt said calmly, conversationally, one hand hard against Blaine’s chest while the other flicked and worked his pants open with expert speed. Blaine’s knees almost went out from under him when Kurt’s hand plunged into his briefs, but apparently Kurt was used to that, because he wedged his knee in between Blaine’s thighs and steadied him against the cold bricks like it was just the next step in the process.
“Huh,” Kurt said mildly, staring down. “Not bad, for a geek.” His touch was smooth, practiced, and clinical-but it was Kurt’s hand, Kurt touching him there, where his heart beat and he ached so badly that he was hard in seconds, so much pent-up need in him-
“And a grower, what do you know,” Kurt murmured in his ear, almost a purr, his hand moving below, smooth and slipping on precome, a tiny, professional flick at the top of each stroke. “Very nice. You want to fuck my hand, Blaine? Want me to make you come? Want me to make you beg me-”
There was more, but Blaine couldn’t listen to it. He stared over Kurt’s shoulder at the dead, frozen field, and a wave of sadness washed through him. It crested at his throat, so intense that he would have slid down the wall if Kurt hadn’t been holding him upright. The touch between his legs was good-so good, too good-but he was losing his erection anyway.
Kurt leaned away from him a little, looking down and frowning. “What… what the fuck is your problem, Blaine?” He looked up, blinking. “I’m actually really good at this, you know-”
“Kurt,” Blaine said, and his voice was so hoarse, barely a croak. “I know you won’t… that I can’t… but I-can I touch you?” He reached out, close but not touching, hovering there. “Can I please… at least… touch you?”
Kurt’s eyes widened. “You… you want to touch me.”
“Please…”
“Like this.” Kurt squeezed his flaccid penis.
“Yes.”
Kurt turned away from him for a moment, then turned back, shrugging. “Whatever gets your rocks off, Blaine. But don’t think I’m going to-”
Blaine was burning, flaming-hot despite the icy winter air. He was shaking almost too badly to get Kurt’s jeans undone, but desperation eventually prevailed. He gasped and jerked when he got inside Kurt’s black boxer-briefs, taking Kurt in his hand with his heart pounding like crazy-and just like that he was hard again, hard and throbbing and pushing himself into Kurt’s grip.
Kurt made some noise, some soft noise, then they were leaning against each other and slowly sliding until finally Kurt was the one sagging against the wall with Blaine leaning into him, holding him up. Kurt’s touch wasn’t expert any more-it was sloppy and shaky and rough, fumbling and entirely without rhythm, and it felt about a million times better than it had before. Kurt was hard in his hand, hard and hot and smooth and beautiful. Perfect. Blaine leaned his head back and sighed. “Kurt. Oh my God… Kurt-”
“Don’t,” Kurt breathed, but he didn’t stop, and he didn’t stop pushing his hips up against Blaine’s fist, so Blaine wasn’t exactly sure what it was that he was supposed to not do. He squeezed Kurt from root to tip, then stroked lightly, slowly, putting everything he had into it-all of his frustration and all of his longing, all of his sadness and desire and-everything. He brought his head up slowly, breathing hard-and Kurt was breathing hard, both of them sharing air and mingled breath and Kurt was staring, staring right at his mouth, his cheeks flushed and his eyes soft, so hazy-dreamy and soft. Kurt licked his lips and Blaine moaned, Kurt shook all over and Blaine gasped, then Blaine felt Kurt’s free hand slide up his neck and into his hair, clutching there, pulling him closer.
He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but the moment their lips touched Kurt came in his hand with a choked-off cry, throbbing and spilling hot over his knuckles. Just one kiss, soft and sweet and chaste, then everything went white and he closed his eyes and came helplessly, pushing himself into Kurt’s fist and shaking hard.
They were tangled together and wet, heaving for breath with their foreheads touching. Blaine cupped Kurt’s face with his free hand and opened his eyes, groaning just a little because Kurt undone was so incredibly beautiful, glowing and vulnerable with his dusky lashes closed and his mouth open, rosy and gorgeous and just so perfect-
Kurt opened his eyes, and there was one dazed and dreamy moment where nothing else existed except the two of them, closer than close-but the next second Kurt blinked and then pushed him away, not roughly, but firmly, then turned from him, his head bowed as he did up his jeans.
Blaine felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach. “Kurt-what-”
Kurt was quiet for a long time, catching his breath. When he spoke, his voice was shaky, almost too quiet to hear. “No, Blaine. We’re not… that was… we just… that was a mistake. It’s not gonna happen again.”
Blaine swallowed hard. He was still gasping. “What… did I do it wrong? What did I do wrong?”
Kurt lifted his head, but he didn’t turn around. “Look, Blaine-you just… you picked the wrong guy if you wanted a boyfriend. That’s… I’m not boyfriend material.” He lit a cigarette, the glowing tip of it jittering wildly. “And I don’t want to be.”
“Kurt-”
“Blaine.” Kurt turned to him then, and other than a trace of hectic flush brightening his cheeks, he looked every bit as calm and remote as he had the day Blaine first met him. “Do us both a favor, okay? Just put your gigantic brain to work on forgetting that this ever happened. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Kurt walked away with his hands fisted in his jacket pockets and a thin ribbon of smoke curling over his shoulder. Blaine slid down the wall until he landed on the icy concrete, put his face in his hands, and tried to breathe past the boulder of pain in his throat.
***
He gave it a week. One week for Kurt to realize what a mistake it had been to walk away. He didn’t pursue Kurt, but he didn’t avoid him either-not that either one would have made any difference, because Kurt appeared to have decided to forget not only what had happened between them, but the fact that Blaine even existed. It was a very, very long week.
When it was over, he gave it another week-Kurt was stubborn, he was proud, he was… he was Kurt, and Blaine loved him, and if that meant waiting an uncomfortably long time for Kurt to see what was right there in front of him-well, he would wait. It was another long week.
Halfway through the third week, he was digging through his backpack looking for his AP history notes when he found a pen that Kurt had gnawed on during the agonizing evening they’d spent on gerunds, a pen he’d scooped up guiltily when Kurt abandoned it, his own lovesick magpie treasure. He stared at it for a long time, rolling it back and forth across the table, then picked it up and gripped it tightly, swallowing-and tossed it in the trash.
It was time to move on.
***
The next day at school he applied himself, pleased when he seemed to be making progress. It was almost lunch, and so far he was entirely normal-back on track, no more mooning, no more moments of distraction where he had to stop and force his brain onto whatever task was laid out in front of him, no more losing track of his surroundings-
“Hey, um,” Blaine jumped. He’d been so busy congratulating himself on his complete normalcy that he hadn’t noticed the guy standing next to him at his locker-and that was ridiculous, because the guy was big enough to be seriously hard to miss. “You’re friends with Kurt, right?”
Blaine felt his cheeks flush hot. “Uh. I… um. Yeah. You’re… Finn, right?”
“Yeah. Finn Hudson. I’m… look, can I talk to you for a minute?”
In that moment, Blaine realized he’d basically been entirely successful at fooling himself into believing that he’d been the least bit successful at ‘moving on’-because his first thought was that maybe Kurt had sent this guy to talk to him about… them, which was completely insane. First of all, if Kurt had something to say to him, Blaine was pretty sure Kurt would choose to say it himself. To his face. And secondly, even if Kurt had decided to use an intermediary for some reason, it seemed much more likely that he would use one of his friends, Mercedes or Rachel or Quinn, rather than… than the jock he’d given his first hand-job to. “Of course,” Blaine said lamely, belatedly, finally realizing that Finn was just standing there staring at him, waiting for an answer.
“Thanks. I… uh. Look, I know-Kurt’s having a hard time right now. And I know he’s giving his friends a hard time, but I think he really needs-”
“What did he do?”
Finn shrugged. “Well, he stormed out of last period yelling, and I’m pretty sure he took off, probably for the hospital-”
Blaine’s stomach dropped. “… hospital?”
Finn blinked. “Yeah, um. Didn’t you know? His dad had some kind of major heart attack two days ago, and now he’s in a coma and they don’t know if he’s going to wake up.”
“Oh my God…”
Finn tilted his head. “You didn’t know?”
“No, I…” Blaine closed his eyes, then opened them. “He… Kurt hasn’t wanted to talk to me much, lately.”
Finn nodded. “Yeah, I think there’s a lot of that going around.”
Blaine took a breath. “So… how come you know? Are you, uh, friends?”
“No, it’s… my mom’s been dating him.” Blaine’s mouth dropped open, and Finn waved his hands around, shaking his head. “Kurt’s dad, that is. Not Kurt.” Finn’s cheeks went pink. “I haven’t exactly been advertising it, but… yeah. And Kurt’s… he’s a good kid. And he needs friends. Whether or not he wants them right now.”
“I… oh. Yeah. Um, thank you, Finn.”
Finn shrugged. “Just be there for him, okay?”
Blaine nodded, but Finn had already walked away.
***
He heard Kurt while he was still making his way down the hospital hallway. Probably half the floor could hear him.
“I don’t give a fuck about your good intentions-” Kurt yelled, and there was so much tension, fear and pain in his voice that Blaine winced. “He’s my dad, and I don’t want you-”
A quiet murmur cut him off, and Blaine had no idea who was speaking until he reached the room-which was packed, Mercedes and Rachel and Quinn and some other lady he’d never seen before, all clustered around Burt Hummel’s hospital bed.
“I know you’re scared,” Mercedes said, and Blaine honestly didn’t know which squeezed his heart worse-the pallid, frail-looking man in the bed, or Kurt, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. “And I know you’re tough-but this isn’t the time for you to be tough, Kurt. This is the time for you to turn to God. We’re just praying for him. For him, and also for you, and if you would just-”
“Don’t pray for me,” Kurt spat, and he looked like a cornered wild animal, snarling and panicked. “Prayers are stupid and useless and all the fucking praying in the world isn’t going to make one damn bit of difference-”
There was a babble of voices, all of them talking at once, and it wasn’t precisely difficult to grasp the scope of the conversation. Kurt was backing into the corner of the room with both hands in his hair, and the group around the bed had become the group around Kurt, hemming him in-and all of a sudden Blaine was furious, cold and hot at once, his hands curling into fists.
“There’s been no scientific proof about proximity affecting the efficacy of prayer,” he said, loudly enough that all of the heads in the room (except Burt’s) swiveled towards him at once. He didn’t even care. “So if you’re determined to pray for him, you can at least do it outside this room, where you won’t upset the one member of the family who’s still conscious.”
He herded them out one by one, not listening to a word any of them said, not even stopping to wonder where the authority or the anger had come from. When the last one trailed out he shut the door with hands that had finally started to shake, and turned around to find Kurt right there, staring at him with reddened, overbright eyes.
“I’m sorry, Kurt, I know you love them, but people-when they get like that, it just… it pisses me off.” He looked away, fuming. “It’s like they think they have the right to do whatever they want, say whatever they want, just because they believe in God-”
“Don’t you believe in God?” The question was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it.
“What? I… oh. No. I’m an atheis-”
Kurt kissed him, his mouth wet and molten and salt-bitter, arms around his neck and fever-hot body pressed right up against his own. Blaine closed his eyes and rocked on his feet while something deep in his chest exploded outwards, and his arms wrapped Kurt up all by themselves, without any direction from him. The rest of the world suddenly seemed very remote.
When Kurt finally pulled away Blaine let him go, then put his hands in his pockets so they wouldn’t reach out again. He ached. “Kurt-”
“I’d like to be alone with my father,” Kurt said softly, already turning away, drifting towards the bed like nothing at all had happened. Blaine watched him pick up his father’s hand and squeeze it, saw the tears that had been threatening finally spill over, running down Kurt’s cheeks.
“I’ll… uh. I’ll be out here. If you need anything.”
He found a plastic chair in the hallway three rooms down, and set it up on one side of the closed door to Burt Hummel’s room. He sat there for a long time, compulsively swallowing over and over until the taste of Kurt’s mouth was just an unforgettable memory.
***
And that was where he stayed, every moment that he wasn’t in school. At some point each evening he would leave his post to go to the restaurant across the street for two meals to-go, since the hospital cafeteria was fully up to the standard of hospital cafeterias everywhere. He went into Burt’s room long enough to drop off a plate for Kurt, then back out into the hallway, where he would pick at his own dinner listlessly until it was time to throw it out.
“Are you a friend of the family?” a nurse-Dylan, his nametag said-asked him the first night he was there.
“I’m… a friend of his son’s,” he answered lamely, wondering if he was about to be sent packing.
But Dylan just smiled a little, then nodded and moved on, and that was the end of that.
He heard Kurt, sometimes-no discernible words, just the soft, slow murmur of his voice. It was somehow comforting and sad all at once, terribly intimate at the same time that it was hopelessly remote.
He made a halfhearted attempt at doing his homework, but for the first time ever his books couldn’t hold his attention, and his homework seemed maddeningly incomprehensible. So mostly, he just sat.
One evening, he’d actually started to nod off a little when Kurt’s voice-not soft, now, but loud, loud and very, very urgent-woke him; Kurt yelling for a nurse. His stomach cramped with a sudden wave of fear, but when he followed the nurse into the room he found Kurt standing next to his father, holding his hand.
“He moved-he did, he moved just a little and he made a noise-he heard me, I know he heard me, he heard me and he squeezed my hand-”
Burt Hummel stirred a little, and his eyelids fluttered. The nurse moved in and took over.
Kurt burst into tears.
Blaine took a deep breath, then turned around and left. He left the room, left the hospital, and went home.
***
He came home to a perfectly dark, cold, silent house, which didn’t make sense until he remembered that his father had a conference in San Diego, and his mother had gone along due to her deep distaste for Ohio winters. And that was good, he was glad, it meant he didn’t have to answer (or carefully not-answer) any questions, it meant he could go straight to his room and curl up on his bed and gaze out his bedroom window at the stars, and wait for his eyes to drift closed.
***
He didn’t remember shutting his eyes but he must have, because the tapping at his window woke him up from a sound-if uncomfortable-sleep. When he clicked his bedside lamp on Kurt’s face at his window was shadowed and pale, seemingly suspended in space, his black jacket and cap lost against the night sky.
Blaine slid the pane up with numb fingers, stepping back when icy air washed into the room. “Kurt-”
“They think he’s going to be okay,” Kurt whispered, shifting on the windowsill until he was half-draped across it. Blaine heard the lattice that ran up the side of the house next to his window creak ominously. Kurt winced. “Fuck-sorry-”
“My parents are gone,” he said, and it was just practical, just a practical thing to say when a guy was trying so hard to be quiet while breaking into the second-story window of your bedroom-but then Kurt lunged and a shutter banged and his curtains fluttered, and then Kurt was crouched on the floor of his room, staring up at him with huge, shadowed eyes, and suddenly it didn’t seem practical at all. Blaine took a step back. “I’m… uh. I’m so glad, about your dad, that’s-”
“I’m in love with you, you know.”
Blaine felt something sharp lodge in his throat. He closed his eyes. He tried to move, and couldn’t. “No, I… no, I didn’t know. I didn’t know that.”
He heard the window sliding closed, and the click of the lock, and then Kurt was right there, freezing-cold leather and the faint, crisp scent of winter air and burning leaves. Blaine gasped when icy, trembling hands settled on his arms, but didn’t open his eyes. “Blaine?”
“Yes.”
“You love me.”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“Then. Please.” A quiet, rough whisper. “Kiss me?”
He didn’t remember how they made it to his bed, he only remembered stretching Kurt out there, their mouths sealed together, soft and silky deep wet kisses that were like food to a man who was starving. He fit their bodies together until they meshed seamlessly, until their bodies fit the way their mouths fit, perfectly and so sweetly that it made him feel like his blood was humming.
He wanted to touch-everywhere, wanted to taste and explore and feel and gorge himself on everything, wanted it like he wanted to go on breathing, the muscles in his stomach fluttery and taut, his balls aching and his cock so hard it hurt. He wanted. But. “Kurt-can I… please, what do you-”
“Everything,” Kurt breathed in his ear, shaking hard under him with fists tight in his hair.
Blaine closed his eyes, something deep in his chest spilling over while his cock throbbed and twitched, strangled and constricted in his suddenly-too-tight pants. “I… yes,” he managed. He tried not to be too rough getting them both out of their clothes, tried not to be too greedy, but Kurt was so beautiful naked, dark hair and satiny-pale skin, rosy at his lips, his nipples, his cock, his drawn-tight balls. Blaine wanted all of it, took all of it, touched and licked and sucked while Kurt moaned and shivered and arched under him.
He’d been aware-very keenly aware-of how much he’d had to hold himself in check around Kurt, but he hadn’t known, there was no way he could have known, what permission would do to him, how fundamentally it would undo him from the inside out until he felt like nothing more than a collection of desperate hungers. And he was pretty sure he understood, now, why Kurt had the rules he did, held the line where he did, why he took such determined refuge behind impenetrable walls-because without them Kurt was so, so vulnerable; open and tender and soft, clinging to him and falling apart and his response to everything-every touch, every kiss-right there on his face.
Kurt uttered a soft, stunned-sounding cry when Blaine went down on him, light tremors running through him and then quiet, quiet until his fingers crept slowly into Blaine’s hair and he moaned, his hips twitching. Blaine arched his back to keep his own hips from rutting into the covers, Kurt’s cock heavy and salty on his tongue, his senses soaking up everything, reveling and swallowing until he felt Kurt’s muscles lock up, until Kurt gasped sharply, pushed into his mouth hard three times and then came, groaning with one hand in Blaine’s hair and one on his shoulder, holding on like he couldn’t let go.
Afterwards Kurt was boneless, dewed with sweat and heaving for breath and open, his thighs lax. Blaine moved up quickly to kiss Kurt’s panting mouth and then back down, sliding and spreading Kurt’s toned, dark-furred legs until he got what he wanted. He licked softly, experimentally, a gentle open-mouthed kiss to Kurt’s rose-dark, twitching hole.
“Blaine-” a hoarse, shocked whisper.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop,” he breathed, petting Kurt’s thighs like he was soothing a shying horse. “Just… let me try?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but dove back in, wet, soft kisses and tiny bites and gentle circles with the tip of his tongue-a seduction, something that he would have said he had absolutely no aptitude for-and maybe he didn’t, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. Putting his mouth there was sweet and soft and scorchingly intimate, pushing in a little and then out, and in a little more, using the flat of his tongue and then just the tip, gentle kisses and hard-hungry kisses and patient, slow, hot kisses-
“Please don’t stop,” he heard Kurt breathe, so low and subvocal it probably wasn’t meant for his ears at all, but Kurt’s rocking hips and shaking thighs said the same thing. Blaine opened his eyes to see Kurt’s hand wrap slowly, tentatively around his own renewed erection, pale skin against flushed red, and he moaned a little through his nose, humming approval.
He couldn’t look away. Kurt seemed hesitant at first, and to Blaine it felt like a personal victory when Kurt’s strokes on himself grew gradually more languid and indulgent, slow and lingering, moving like he was moving in a dream. Blaine was absolutely ruthless with himself about keeping his own throbbing, desperate cock out of the sheets, and it was like he was living through his mouth and his eyes only, looking for Kurt’s response and shifting, doing more of this and less of that, going deeper and giving all he had, then backing off again.
Kurt’s soft moans were irresistible, somehow the hardest thing to ignore, striking sparks off the core of his being. But Blaine held on, and held on, until the sounds Kurt made spiraled up to breathy, helpless cries, until Kurt’s hips and his hand sped up and then Blaine closed his eyes because if he watched Kurt come he thought he would probably completely lose it.
Kurt’s hole twitched rhythmically around his tongue when he came, and Blaine groaned, shuddering, rocking with Kurt’s rocking hips, his grip there tight, probably too tight, but right now it felt like the only thing he had to hold on to.
“Blaine,” Kurt sighed, and Blaine knelt up with his eyes still closed, still working the tips of two wet fingers in and around Kurt’s ass, trying to ignore the last throbs and tremors, the open, hot, silky clasp of him.
“Yes?” His voice was wrecked, deep and throaty, shaky.
“You’re gonna fuck me, right?”
Blaine jerked, shuddered. “I… oh, yes.”
“Good.”
His bedside drawer squealed and stuck halfway when he pulled it open. Blaine winced but kept digging, staring resolutely at the drawer and absolutely not at the flushed, limpid, gorgeous, come-spattered boy lying under him. He retrieved a bottle of lube, and then a condom (not easy, as both had been carefully hidden under his socks). Kurt took the lube and held onto it, then took the condom and tossed it across the room.
Blaine had to look at him then. “Kurt…”
Kurt’s eyes were remarkably clear and focused. “It’s your first time.”
Blaine nodded.
Kurt touched his face, once, softly. “Mine too. And I want to feel you.”
Blaine closed his eyes and swallowed. “Oh.”
He probably used too much lube, but he didn’t care-Kurt was fiercely tight, squeezing around his fingers in a way that made Blaine a little lightheaded, made him clamp down on the groans that wanted to spill out of his throat. He slathered an additional handful over himself, touching as lightly as he could, and then-and then there was nothing left to do, except for what remained to be done. So that’s what he did.
He thought it would be awkward-it seemed like it would have to be awkward, given the circumstances-but he had forgotten how profoundly kissing Kurt drew him out of himself, brought parts of him forward that he’d never even known about. Kurt wound around him like a vine and drew him down, offering his mouth with such appealing abandon that Blaine couldn’t resist, and then they were kissing and then they were closer and then he swallowed Kurt’s soft noise and fed back one of his own-and then they were there, Blaine rocking in tiny increments, his brain one cool, quiet rush, as if everything in him had been rendered silent.
Inside, Kurt was hot and smooth, deliciously fitted to him, perfect and irresistible. Outside, Kurt was dreamy-eyed and flushed, clutching his shoulders and wrapping around him with strong, silky thighs, kissing him with slow languor until they were sealed together, then arching his head back into the pillows, licking his lips and sighing.
“Blaine… that’s so… you feel so good-” Blaine kissed him hard and spread him and fucked him, still moving slowly, his hands roaming from Kurt’s arms where they wound around his neck to Kurt’s thighs where they wrapped around his waist, finally settling with one hand fisted into Kurt’s hair while the other reached down between them, down to where everything was humid and moist and Kurt was hard and wet. Kurt moaned when Blaine took him in hand, and his hips jerked hard. “Fuck-Blaine…”
Blaine kept his touch light, kept as much of his focus as he could on stroking Kurt and making it good for him. He was sweating, he was shaking, he was eternally only one narrow hair’s breadth from losing control, and he bit his own lip fiercely, gasping a little when Kurt twisted up his head and licked him there. “Kurt,” he managed, “don’t-I’m… I can’t-”
“Just fuck me,” Kurt whispered to him, pulling Blaine’s hand away from his cock, lacing their fingers together and stretching their joined hands up above his head. “Just… fuck me hard and come.”
That pretty much destroyed whatever vestiges of control Blaine had left. He smothered Kurt’s gasping mouth with his own, reached under Kurt’s ass with his free hand to tilt him up, and then just let go of everything that had been holding him back and went for it, groaning brokenly while his hips bucked and his heart hammered triple-time in his chest. Kurt thrashed under him, clutching his fingers and clawing his back and rutting up against his stomach, and Blaine let himself sink deeper, let himself take what he needed, let himself fuck Kurt as hard as he possibly could. He managed one more wet, hungry kiss before his back arched helplessly and he came, muscles locked and a half-choked-off cry stuck in his throat. Kurt moaned under him, low and sweet, clutching him and coming on his belly and throbbing around him, hips grinding against his own slower and slower until they were finally still.
There were more kisses, afterwards, coming down; more kisses, endless kisses, and a long, long time of quiet. Blaine indulged himself until he went soft enough to slip out of Kurt’s body, and he was still shaking, still glowing when Kurt pushed him gently away, his eyes closed, his beautiful brows knit together.
“Wh… what… Kurt. Did I hurt you-”
“No.” Almost too soft to hear.
Blaine reached out, slowly, and touched Kurt’s shoulder, relieved when Kurt turned back to him, scrunching down in the bed until he could bury his face against Blaine’s chest. “What is it?”
Kurt breathed deep, then again, then a third time before he spoke. “I just… I don’t know how… I don’t know if I can put myself back together, after that. I’m not… I’m not sure I know how.”
Kurt hadn’t specified, but Blaine was fairly sure he knew what Kurt meant by ‘putting himself back together’. “Oh,” he said quietly, stroking Kurt’s damp back gently, softly. “Well… maybe you don’t have to-”
“Of course I have to,” Kurt snapped, but there was no real fire in it, just a heavy quality of sad resignation. “It’s the same world as it was yesterday, Blaine, the same shitty world for… for people like us. The same-”
“I mean,” Blaine interrupted, rolling Kurt onto his back and pinning him with one leg, stroking his stubbled cheek gently with the tips of his fingers. “I mean, maybe you don’t have to here. When you’re… with me.” He swallowed. “I really, really hope you don’t. Because here,” he tucked a sweat-damp lock of hair behind Kurt’s ear. “It’s not the same world at all.”
Kurt blinked. “You’re pretty determined to love me, aren’t you?”
Blaine laughed a little, his eyes stinging at the same time. “It hasn’t worked out so great when I’ve tried not to, so, yes.”
Kurt nodded, then used his thumb to trace under Blaine’s eye, wiping away wetness. “Boyfriend material,” he said softly, self-consciously. Then he sniffed, and smiled a little, shaking his head. “As long as I don’t have to give up being scary.”
Blaine kissed Kurt’s forehead, then his cheek, then, lingeringly, his mouth. When he pulled back, Kurt was blushing all over again. “Look at it this way,” Blaine said quietly. “More people will be afraid of you than before.”
Kurt blinked, his smile widening. “You think so?”
“Mmm. Yes.” He cupped Kurt’s face in his palm. “Because as soon as my parents come home, I’m going to introduce them to my boyfriend-and I guarantee you, both of them are going to be suitably petrified.”
Kurt laughed softly, pressing his cheek into Blaine’s hand. “Well, when you put it that way-how could I resist?”
Then Blaine kissed him again, because he couldn’t resist either.
~End
Author’s endnotes: As it turns out, there’s kind of an overarching theme to almost everything I write, to wit: resolution of emotional issues through development of sexual and emotional intimacy. This makes me pretty much a one-trick pony, but you know what? I AIN’T EVEN SORRY. IT’S MY FUCKING PONY. What I’m trying to say, in my own hamfisted way, is: thank you for reading. I had a great time writing this story, and I hope it’s something that worked for you.
Title is taken from Pete Townshend’s song I Am An Animal. Because yes.