Fic: "For Which I Have to Howl" Chapter Four, Kurt/Blaine
Title: For Which I Have to Howl -- (Part 4/5)
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine (Side pairings: Tina/Mike, Finn/Rachel, and Puck/Quinn. Highlight for spoiler pairings:unrequited Karofsky/Kurt, eventual sexual but non-romantic Puck/Kurt)
Rating: NC-17 overall (NC-17 for this chapter)
Warnings: One a chapter by chapter basis! And oh, boy, here we go. Dubious consent (inability to give consent under the influence of a mind-altering substance), orgasm denial, bloodplay, possessiveness, disturbing themes, werewolves.
Length: 14,500 for this chapter
Spoilers: This is an AU, so not really. But elements from the entire series thus far have been pulled in.
Story Summary: Werewolf AU. Tension is rising in the pack, and having the very-human Kurt Hummel come to visit his brother and boyfriend is putting a strain on everyone. Having Blaine and Kurt mate should help the problem, but the process proves to be more complicated - both physically and emotionally - than either of them could have imagined.
This Chapter: “Blaine wants Kurt more badly than he has ever wanted anything in his life. Wants to dig in his claws and fuck Kurt raw. To take him. To make Kurt his, and no one else’s.”
Note: Well, here we are. So close to being all done, guys -- just an epilogue left to go! This is the chapter we've been building up to, and I'm nervous to post it. As always, your feedback means the entire world to me. Thank you so much to those of you giving this fic a try, despite it not being something you'd generally read. It's so different what I would generally write, and you've all been so lovely. Thank you!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
“Wait, ‘sinful delirium’? What does that even mean?” Tina raises her head from the stack of yellowed papers for the first time in over an hour, sounding puzzled. She glares in irritation at the document, as though if she looks sternly at it for long enough it will reveal its secrets to her.
Blaine looks up from his own book, attempting to blink away some of the strain in his eyes. The words on the page in front of him are not only tiny, they are also incredibly formal. Their actual meaning has not been easy to discern: it feels as though he has been staring at the same sentence for five minutes. Next to him on the floor, lying on his stomach, Kurt remains engrossed in his laptop in front of him.
“I have no idea,” admits Blaine, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose. “What’s it in reference to?”
“Blood consumption... I think? It’s hard to tell, actually. The writing is so faded.”
It is two weeks before the full moon. Kurt, who has spent the previous two weeks with his parents in Lima, only arrived back at the motel earlier in the afternoon. Unfortunately, the excitement of having him back for a few days has been somewhat overshadowed by the need to research the intricacies of having a human being involved in the mating ritual. There is only so much that Blaine has been able to convey via e-mail and phone calls, after all, and having Kurt completely understand the risks he’ll be taking is incredibly important. In a few days, Kurt will be back with Burt and Carole to wait out the last week and a half before the full moon. It’s awkward, having him going back and forth over a five-hundred mile distance. But Kurt had wanted to spend time with them before the ritual; to reassure them that they wouldn’t be losing another son to a malady they don’t fully understand.
They had taken the news that their son was going to be permanently bonded to an inhuman creature fairly well, considering. There had apparently been minimal yelling, and Burt had only threatened to strangle Blaine once.
A group of them are assembled in the motel lobby, which has become the de facto gathering spot during their time in the motel. Some are researching the ritual; others are there for the company. Quinn is curled up on the small couch, her nose buried in a paperback romance novel. Her feet are bare and tiny, and her hair falls over her shoulders in a way that is far too graceful for so casual a position. Santana is sitting cross-legged with her computer on her lap, headphones in and watching an episode of a reality television program. On the chair behind her, Sam is playing some sort of online game that involves elves on his laptop.
It feels good, having them all around like this. Just being in the same room with these people - without speaking a word, or even having them all participating in the same activity - feels comforting. Safe.
Tina, Blaine, and Kurt have been neck-deep in research for the past few hours. Mike had been with them until half an hour previous; he’d kissed Tina on the cheek and headed to bed, grumbling about poor translation jobs the whole while. And Finn had long ago fallen asleep on one of the chairs, slouched back with his mouth slightly open and a book lying open in his lap. With Finn and Rachel not currently on speaking terms, he is constantly available to help. If his research skills equalled his enthusiasm, Finn could have been a real asset.
The issue of finding available, easy to understand literature about the process of mating with humans is a problematic one. Their resources are nowhere near as comprehensive as Blaine would like, and what information they can find is often confusingly scientific or overly vague. Tina’s breakthrough of a blog that hinted at the process over an hour ago had been enough to send the entire room - even those not currently with their noses buried in dusty books - into a fit of whooping cheers. Despite not having been updated since 2003, Kurt had launched himself into its archives and had yet to surface since.
The absurdity of this juxtaposition - the dusty, well-thumbed tomes and the sleek modernity of an internet blog - is not lost on Blaine. It’s almost amusing: the way that the old and the new are constantly melding together, becoming indistinguishable from each other when the wolf is concerned.
“Wait,” blurts Kurt next to him, looking up at the room for the first time in ages. He looks tired, small circles beginning to form underneath his eyes. It hits Blaine that not only has Kurt done his fair share of research, but he also drove for ten hours in order to get here. It makes him want to take his boyfriend up to his room and hold him tight, let him close his eyes and get some sleep. “’Sinful delirium’? I might have something. This guy doesn’t record things chronologically, which makes it hard to navigate, but I just came across an allusion to the blood drinking. That phrase sounds like an old-timey euphemism for... hang on, let me find it...”
The slender boy scrolls up, scans the page. “Okay,” Kurt continues. “This guy survived an attack where his wife got turned, right? He uses initials to talk about some of the stuff he wouldn’t want people to recognize. ‘M’ is his wife. Werewolf is ‘W’, obviously, and I’m thinking that ‘B’ is blood.”
He takes a breath, then reads from the screen. “M and I didn’t know what to expect, but when we starting drinking each other’s B we both started to feel differently than her W friends had described. She began to get wilder, more unhinged than we’d expected - and the world began to dissolve around me. I can honestly say I don’t remember the night with any accuracy. Drinking M’s B was like madness; for me, that night is entirely made up of flashes of images, sounds, and sensations. I couldn’t have defended myself against anything, and M tells me I babbled nonsense and writhed like some desperate thing. She says it was a miracle that she was able to restrain herself, and that I survived the night - although I woke up very much worse for wear the next morning... ” Kurt cuts off and looks toward Tina. “Think they’re the same thing?”
Blaine, however, cannot speak. He closes his eyes against the image of Kurt, sprawled across the floor of some dimly-lit room, writhing in the throes of sensation. His lover’s long, pale hands tangled in his own hair as his hips arch up into some unseen pleasure. Pupils dilated so wide that Kurt’s gorgeous blue eyes are almost entirely black. In the unbidden vision, Kurt is moaning -crying desperately into the room to be touched, to feel, to -
He pinches his arm hard to ward off the fantasy, but its effects are immediately apparent. Blaine lets out a shaky breath and counts to five slowly in his head. Santana is looking up at him over the top of her laptop, a smirk playing across her full lips; everyone in the room can smell his reaction, of course, but she is the only one to be so blatant about it. She glances over to where Kurt is sitting, then back to Blaine, and licks her lips with a wicked expression on her face.
Ashamed of the hardness growing between his legs, Blaine turns back to Kurt. The slender boy has propped himself up on his elbows and appears to be deep in fervent conversation with Tina.
“- werewolf blood has so many mystical properties already, of course it would be overwhelming for a human being to ingest!” Tina exclaims excitedly, her book discarded.
“Which means that we’re definitely going to have to have someone sit in on us,” adds Kurt, wrinkling his nose. “Since I’m apparently going to be utterly incapable, and Blaine’s going to turn into some sort of raging sex fiend.”
“That’s not too unusual,” adds Tina comfortingly. “The, erm. The sitting in part, not the sex fiend part. Even when it’s just two of us doing the mating. There’s usually someone on hand, even if it’s only in case first night rights get invoked.”
“... wait, in case what gets invoked?”
“First night rights,” says Blaine. Kurt’s shirt has ridden up slightly at the back, and a small expanse of pale skin is exposed above the line of his jeans. Blaine leans over to absently smooth the fabric back down. “There’s a proper name for it, but you know. The fact that the alpha has the right to be with his pack member’s significant other during the mating ritual.” He leaves his hand in the small of Kurt’s back, thumb stroking softly through the shirt. Kurt’s waist is so tiny.
It takes Blaine far longer than it should to realize that his boyfriend is looking at him with an look of startled disbelief on his face.
“What?” asks Blaine, blinking.
“Seriously?” asks Kurt, raising himself into a sitting position and looking right at him. There is an expression on his face that Blaine is not very used to seeing. Something extremely... prim. Stiff. Blaine inhales, and smells the change in Kurt’s demeanour. There is something ever-so-slightly appalled twisted into his usual scent. “That actually happens and you didn’t tell me?”
Blaine can feel his brow furrowing into an expression of confusion. He can’t shake the feeling that Kurt is annoyed at him; as though he’s done something horribly wrong. “Of course I did. It was in that e-mail attachment I sent you.”
“Yes, I read that. And like any sane human being, I assumed it was some sort of weird ancient ritual that no one actually does anymore.” Kurt is definitely upset now, words coming quicker and harder. There is an edge of sharpness in them.
We aren’t human beings, Blaine wants to say, but stops himself. He may speak without thinking far more than advisable, but even he knows that this would not be a wise choice of words. Santana glances up from her laptop but quickly looks down again, uninterested.
“Nah, first night rights are standard stuff,” pipes up Sam, wrenching his eyes away from his computer screen and looking down at Kurt. “Not every pack leader does it, though. But in my old pack? It was actually mandatory if the union brought in new members.” He smiles, and promptly goes back to his game.
“But what’s the purpose?” asks Kurt. His voice is higher than usual, and there is a slightly desperate note in it. Blaine frowns. “Why would anyone choose to do that?”
“It’s actually fairly practical, you know,” chimes Quinn coolly from the couch, taking a moment to finish her paragraph before continuing. She looks up from the book and looks right at Kurt, expression neutral and even. “It keeps people in line, and the pack together. It’s a good way of showing authority over new members, too. Or acceptance. It can instinctually change the way the pack interacts with someone.”
“In Romania, it’s standard practice to invoke the rights every time a mating takes place,” says Tina matter-of-factly. She shrugs.
“... oh,” says Kurt, looking down at the floor. He looks so very small, so very deflated - and something twists painfully in the bit of Blaine’s stomach. It isn’t fair to expect Kurt to automatically be all right with every part of his - admittedly incredibly bizarre- life. Intellectually, Blaine knows this. But Kurt has taken so much in stride. He’s stood by his brother through so much, has become such an integral part of their life as a pack - and it’s easy to forget that he doesn’t actually belong in this world. That there might be a few things left that still unnerve him.
Blaine reaches over and brushes the backs of his fingers over Kurt’s cheek.
“Sorry I didn’t do a better job of letting you know,” murmurs Blaine, the incredible softness of Kurt’s skin almost making him shiver. He could tell it was half-way through the month even if he didn’t know the date; the way his body is starting to pine for Kurt is a sure sign that there are only two weeks left until the wolf will be set loose.
There is a pause, and then the tension leaves Kurt’s body. His boyfriend sighs, leaning into the touch. “It’s okay. Sometimes I get culture shock, even now. It’s just... unexpected.”
“I know. But having that actually happen, here? With this group? Not very likely,” says Blaine, and a small smile curls at the edges of Kurt’s mouth. Then a curious expression falls over his face. Kurt turns toward Quinn, still tucked comfortably into the couch.
“Wouldn’t it make you angry?” asks Kurt. He doesn’t sound upset anymore; just curious.
“Why would it?” She raises a delicate blonde eyebrow. “It’s just another responsibility. I knew what I signed up for.”
Kurt nods, and a look of understanding hardens his features.
There is a creak, and the whole room turns as the front door opens. At this time of night, the weather outside would be uncomfortably cool for an ordinary man. Puck steps inside wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, and he rubs most of the dirt off his bare feet on the welcome mat as he closes the door. Puck turns to face the group and grins.
“Hey, guys!” he says, shutting the door with a lazy slam. At the noise, Finn snuffles softly in his sleep. He snuggles into his chair, and Kurt sends him a look filled with unmistakable affection.
Puck walks over to join them, and the relaxation in his posture and the calm in his scent lets Blaine know that Puck has discovered no threats during tonight’s patrol. He walks briskly toward Quinn on the couch. “Hey, babe,” he whispers, once he is close enough for the words to be considered private, and leans over to kiss his mate on the lips. It’s chaste, but Quinn responds enthusiastically. Puck pulls back after a few seconds, his hand trailing over her bump before pulling away.
“Hey, yourself,” she whispers back, voice breathier than usual. They smell of love and dedication - of belonging, and rightness, and Blaine cannot help but smile.
That’ll be us in two weeks.
“How goes the bookworming?” asks Puck, turning away from his mate to face the wider room. “Got anything good?”
“I think this is all looking very promising,” admits Blaine slowly, and Tina nods in agreement. The two of them have spent the past few weeks neck-deep in lore, and the impact of werewolf blood on Kurt’s system had been one of the final unknown variables. It feels so good to be getting anywhere near prepared; Blaine has become less and less gut-twistingly nervous about the upcoming ritual with every answer they’ve found. “We’ve got a fairly good idea of what to expect for the ritual itself, now, and we already had fairly decent grasp on what the side effects are going to be.”
“I admit, I am rather looking forward to the whole ‘slightly stronger, slightly heartier’ thing,” says Kurt, gaining back some of his typical pomp. “You fellas sure do know how to make a man jealous.”
“Dude, you’re going to be like Wolverine!” enthuses Sam, looking up briefly from his game. His very full mouth is open wide in excitement. “Except, you know. A less hairy, skinny, really shitty version of Wolverine.”
Kurt turns and looks at Sam. His expression resembles that of staring at a child who has just said something entirely inane. “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”
“Actually, Kurt? I have a favour to ask you,” says Puck, and Blaine tenses. A small strain of anxiety is mingling in Puck’s scent. “It’s about the baby.”
Kurt blinks.
“Me?” asks Kurt, turning to face Puck. “What on earth could you need me to do?”
“What’re you going to call that brat, anyways?” asks Santana vaguely, never taking her eyes off her laptop screen. “You’re not actually going with Jackie Daniels, are you? Because that would be dumb.”
Puck sends her a warning look, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.
“We’re thinking of Beth,” admits Quinn, and in that moment her glow is unmistakable. It hits Blaine, then, hearing the child’s future name. Hits him in a way seeing Quinn’s stomach get slowly larger and larger simply hasn’t: Quinn is going to have a baby. In a few months’ time, there is going to be an infant in the motel with them. Giggling and gurgling, looking for love and attention. Probably crying for half the night, and all of them so inexperienced. So young, in all the ways that matter.
Uncle Blaine, he thinks, and the thought fills him with a strange giddiness. He’ll have to ask Kurt to bring over a couple of Disney movies once the child is born.
“Yep,” agrees Puck, leaning in to kiss his mate on the cheek. Quinn preens. He turns to look at Kurt, then, and he smells... like authority, of course, but something else as well. Excitement. And a hint of nervousness. “Beth won’t start to turn for a few years, Kurt. I know that you’ve got big plans for the future, but just for now: once you two are mated, would you be able to come out here and watch her during the full moon?”
“What?” Kurt exclaims, eyes as wide as saucers. And Blaine just can’t help it: he starts to laugh. Partly at the horrified expression on Kurt’s face. And partly at the idea of this family - this insane, absurd, often confrontation family - banding together to help raise a child.
Uncle Kurt and Uncle Blaine, Blaine thinks, unable to stop the peals of laughter from breaking out of his throat. There are tears in his eyes, now, and his chest is starting to ache. That child is going to have the upbringing of a million Jerry Springer episodes.
“Oh, don’t you start,” snarls Kurt in Blaine’s direction, waggling a threatening finger, before turning back toward Puck. “Puck, I am terrible with kids. Terrible. I’d probably get frustrated after five minutes and - and run off in a huff and leave her lying in her crib or something. Seriously. ” The desperation in Kurt’s voice sets Blaine off again, and Kurt sends a glare in his direction.
“C’mon, Kurt,” wheedles Puck playfully, but there is something earnest in his expression. “Just until we can find someone else we know is safe. It would mean the world to me - to both of us - to have someone we trust looking after our Beth.”
And Blaine can tell, even before Kurt, that this statement is all it is going to take. Kurt tenses, opens his mouth - and crumbles. His boyfriend closes his eyes in apparent pain, raises a hand to his temple, and nods stiffly.
“Fine,” exhales Kurt, defeated. Puck whoops, Quinn smiles, and Tina squeals like schoolgirl. And even though there is a pained expression on Kurt’s face, Blaine can tell - can sense - that this exchange has made his boyfriend incredibly happy. It makes Blaine ecstatic, too, to know Puck and Quinn are so utterly prepared to accept Kurt as one of their own. That they love him.
Kurt loves them, too, Blaine realizes. Somewhere along the line - amid the danger, and the strangeness, and the constant moving from home to home - Kurt has fallen in love with the pack. In a very different way, Kurt needs the pack as desperately as Blaine does.
Without a word Blaine turns and leans in, kissing Kurt firmly on the mouth. Kurt makes a small noise of surprise, but it only takes a moment before he is kissing back. His lips are soft, willing, and his body feels so delicate pressed up against Blaine’s own. Ignoring a catcall from Santana, Blaine places a hand on the back of Kurt’s neck and pulls him closer. The tiny noises Kurt makes against his lips are so good they make him shiver.
When he finally pulls away, Kurt is staring at him.
“What was that for?” Kurt asks, a perplexed but pleased look on his face. Blaine leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose.
“For being you. For being amazing.”
Kurt smiles and lets Blaine pull him into an embrace.
--
Of course, Kurt can’t always be around.
“Ugh,” Blaine groans, allowing himself to fall backwards onto his own bed with a thump. He scowls at the off-white of the ceiling, willing it to provide him with some sort of entertainment. The ceiling remains insentient and uninteresting in response.
However much Blaine may know that this kind of behaviour is sulky, melodramatic, and unattractive in the extreme, it’s difficult to care when there is no one around to impress.
As a whole, the pack does fairly well for itself in terms of keeping a large group of isolated adolescents entertained and busy. There are always chores to do: dinner needs to be cooked, dishes washed, and shared areas kept neat. They order and download books, movies, television programs, magazines, and comics in absurdly large quantities. Artie and Sam both have online games they’re heavily involved in, and Halo tournaments are a weekly event. Brittany has her art projects. He and Puck both enjoy playing the guitar, and Mercedes even runs her own anonymous blog.
Generally speaking, the pack tends to gravitate towards outdoor activities as well. Camping trips, hiking, play-tracking and chasing each other down amid the trees. But the fact remains that their current location is simply not very good for any of these activities.
Blaine is given to understand that Missouri boasts many beautiful forests.
Theirs is not one of them.
The wooded area that surrounds the motel is unexceptionable, and not particularly big. There is no large amount of land to explore; certainly not enough to be able to pick a direction and walk without hitting human habitation after half a day. There is nothing majestic or exciting about the forest, either: the trees are thin and reedy, the soil oddly dry for the climate. There are no sparkling pools awaiting discovery; only slightly rank-smelling puddles surrounded by mosquitoes. Their current home was definitely chosen for the motel’s easy housing, not for the beauty of the woods it lies in.
With Kurt gone back to spend the last week and a half before the full moon in Lima, Blaine feels as though he has lost his last defence against boredom. He knows that it is a very good thing indeed for Kurt to return home to visit his parents, and that there are only so many dance and vocal classes he can miss before his instructors begin to get suspicious. He also knows that once either of their locations change -when Kurt heads to New York to pursue his career, or Puck decides to take the pack out West - there will be even longer breaks between their being able to see one another.
But really. Blaine is bored.
Blaine sighs and rubs his eyes, internally acknowledging that he is acting like a spoiled child. Tina and Mike are hosting a movie night in the room in only an hour, after all. And at least he isn’t on the run for his life, or hurting innocent people. Or with the Warville pack, where there was never any modern technology allowed in order to reduce the threat of discovery.
Generally, Blaine is quite good at keeping to himself. But today...
He reaches over and grabs his cell phone off his bedside table - he’s one of the only members of the pack to own one, since most do not have anyone to contact who isn’t within shouting distance - and texts Kurt.
Walls are coming down around me. Cannot see through veil of tediousness and monotony. Come at once to put me out of misery. :/ - Blaine
A few minutes later, he gets a response:
Oh my GOD. You are such a drama queen. And since I’m currently in a room full of dancers, that is really saying something. Now don’t text me for at least an hour, our ten minute break is just ending. - Kurt
And another one seconds later:
I love you, you weirdo. - K
Both messages make Blaine laugh out loud, and some of the mind-numbing tedium seems to lift from his shoulders. He knows, too, that Kurt loves his classes. It isn’t just that the dance and vocal training is necessary if his boyfriend ever wants to have a hope in hell of performing on Broadway; Kurt genuinely loves them, even if he does have to drive for half an hour in order to get to his vocal instructor. He’s probably gossiping away with the girls in his dance class right now, in between learning some complicated routine.
An image of Kurt wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a tight t-shirt, sweat pouring down his neck and his face screwed up in concentration as he rolls his hips to some dance move, drifts unbidden into Blaine’s mind. He hums appreciatively at the idea, beginning to build up the daydream in his mind.
Kurt would have his hair styled to within an inch of its life, even just for practice. Blaine knows he always does whenever he isn’t visiting the pack - perhaps in some sort of protest at the their inability to deal with the stench of hairspray. Coiffed and gorgeous, with a bright flush in those pale cheeks from the exertion. Eyes fixed on some far-off point in the distance as he tries to remember the choreography, twisting himself into complicated positions.
There is a delicious heat growing between his legs, and Blaine can feel himself getting hard at the fantasy. He glances at the bedside clock and sees that he has forty-five minutes before he has to head up to Tina and Mike’s room; plenty of time to release some of his pent-up energy.
In this moment, he feels so completely normal. He can feel the wolf beginning to throw itself against the edges of his mind - the full moon is less than a week away - but he’s still capable of pushing it down for now. Of just being a normal kid who misses his boyfriend.
A slow, lazy smile begins to curl at Blaine’s lips. He reaches down and unbuttons his pants, unzips the fly, and takes himself in hand.
He starts off slow, not wanting to rush himself. Palms at his cock idly as he remembers one of the videos Kurt has on his laptop; someone with a handheld camera had taped a few of the class’s routines in order for people to be able to see their mistakes. Kurt had complained about how sloppy he was in it, but Blaine had only seen his gorgeous boyfriend writhing to the music. There had been one moment, near the end of the clip, where Kurt had looked right at the camera while simultaneously twisting his hips in the most rampantly sexualized way imaginable. Blue eyes dark with something intense and exhibitionistic before the clip cut off. Seeming to look right at Blaine through the screen.
And oh, that makes the heat flare up. Makes his fingers wrap tight around his now fully-hard cock and begin to stroke in earnest as the pleasure gradually begins to build. Blaine trails his free hand down his own neck, shivering at the touch. He lets out a little hiss when he reaches his nipple, gently rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It makes tiny sparks of heat flare in him at the touch, and he can feel his breath beginning to grow heavier.
A memory nudges at the back of Blaine’s consciousness, and it’s so good it makes him groan out loud into the silence of the room. His hand speeds up as he remembers -
Kurt, on his knees with his legs spread wide, breath catching as he ever-so-slowly lowers himself onto Blaine’s cock. Taking Blaine deeper little by little, Kurt’s body pale and long and stretched out in front of him. Muscles strung so tight as he impales himself, making the hottest little noises until finally, finally Blaine is fully seated inside of him. Hair a complete mess and biting his bottom lip, shuddering and breathing deeply as he adjusts to Blaine’s cock.
And Kurt so tight around him; so good that Blaine can barely restrain himself from grabbing Kurt’s slim waist and thrusting up into him. Smelling so fucking good, too, the hot smell of want and need and sex making his usual scent even more mouth-wateringly intoxicating. Blaine breathes deeply, letting the smell fill his nostrils as Kurt adjusts. Blood and bone and flesh and desire, and his boyfriend squeezing his cock so tight and making Blaine’s whole body quiver with anticipation.
And then Kurt begins to move. And fuck, it feels so amazing Blaine can’t stop himself from growling low in the back of his throat and gripping Kurt’s hips so hard he knows there will be bruises the next day; little dark circles standing out against the perfect skin. Kurt cries out - a high, clear noise of desperate need -and speeds up, long dancers’ legs straining to keep up a quick pace. Blaine helps him along, guiding Kurt as he rides his cock, the slide of lube and the squeeze of Kurt’s muscles around him and pulling him closer and closer to the edge. He’s so aware of Kurt around him, of every tiny move and noise and clench of muscles.
Kurt reaches down to frantically stroke himself before throwing his head back and letting out a blissful wail as he comes. Blaine moans in appreciation, the white heat of his own orgasm building at the base of his spine, still gripping Kurt’s hips tight and dragging him up and down through his orgasm.
The spasms of Kurt’s muscles pull him over the edge, shouting as he slams his hips up into Kurt’s spent body and -
Blaine comes, hard, into his own frantic hand. He rides it out, the waves of pleasure crashing through him and making him arch up into his own touch. Until he is left shuddering and panting on the bed as he rides out the aftershocks, the echo of Kurt’s wanton moans still lingering in his ears.
It takes Blaine a few long, breathless moments to realize that his hair is in his eyes - sweat-slicked curls having snuck down at some point. He chuckles, breathing heavily, and uses his clean hand to swipe the hair aside. There is a sticky heat over his right hand and stomach, and his whole body thrums with the shock and delight of release.
When his phone unexpectedly buzzes on the table, it startles him out of his post-coital lull. Blaine carefully manoeuvres his way over, wipes at his hand and stomach with a tissue from the box, and checks his phone.
Getting water and risking beheading to text you. Cannot believe what’s going to happen in a few days. Doesn’t feel real at all; every part of me excited to see you, to make this happen. I’m nervous, Blaine - but I’m so ready. Call me tonight. <3 - Kurt
Sometimes, Blaine cannot believe how incredibly lucky he is.
He lies back happily on the bed, deciding to enjoy the afterglow for just a few more minutes before getting ready to head to Tina and Mike’s room. The phone lies on the space in the bed next to him as his body hums in pleasure and his eyelids flutter closed.
--
It is Blaine’s own fault, in the end, for going to Mike and Tina’s movie night literally stinking of satisfaction. It’s an accepted courtesy to clean up after anything like this in order to avoid rubbing the smell of sex in other peoples’ faces, but Blaine’s impromptu nap had made him have to rush in order to even arrive on time.
He walks in the open door to the room with a not a minute to spare, only having had time for a quick clean with a washcloth. Watching a movie with his family had sounded fun, after all, and it would be disrespectful to be late. He is still rubbing at his eyes, mouth still fuzzy with sleep, when he walks in.
The room’s furniture has been pushed together in order to accommodate the large numbers, shoved to create a rough semi-circle around the television set. Puck sits in one of the chairs with Quinn perched gracefully on his lap. Another chair is occupied by Mercedes, and Finn and Rachel - who have apparently made up - are curled up together on the uncomfortable-looking couch. They are physically close, but there is a tension still lingering between them that is clear even across the room. Karofsky and Sam are sitting at the foot of the bed, having some sort of excited conversation about time travel in film. Brittany is laughing, sprawled in the middle of the carpet with her head in Artie’s lap. He is smiling down at her as he tickles the sides of her neck. Santana is sitting cross-legged by herself on the bed, looking and smelling inexplicably irritated. Tina is sorting through an enormous pile of DVDs; Mike has apparently been put onto refreshment duty as he sorts through the mini fridge with a stack of cups at his side, ready to dole out beverages.
A quick glance around the room shows Blaine few seating options, so he picks his way across the crowded floor and crawls on the bed next to Santana. He shoots her a grin. She responds by glancing his way, rolling her eyes, and continuing to scowl at the room at large.
Odd, thinks Blaine. He and Santana usually get on fairly well.
“Titanic?” asks Tina.
“Too sad,” responds Rachel immediately.
“Ghostbusters?”
“Ugh, really?” says Quinn, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“How about Moulin Rouge?”
“A musical?” asks Karofsky, looking up at the room. He raises a thick eyebrow. “Those things are so unrealistic.” He then turns back to Sam, and they continue their discussion about something called the ‘Grandfather Paradox’.
“I like musicals,” Blaine adds cheerfully, but the only response is another irritated glance from Santana. Which, okay, there is definitely something off with this situation. Santana can be a fairly negative and confrontational individual, it’s true - a trait that is only exacerbated by the approach of the full moon. But she has never directed her anger specifically toward Blaine, as far as he can remember. He attempts to stealthily follow her gaze, but only finds the inoffensive sight of Artie playing with strands of Brittany’s hair. Nothing to be upset about.
“I don’t know why we always do this right before our time of the month, guys,” adds Puck with a roll of his eyes. He adjusts in the seat, moving so that Quinn is sitting more solidly on his lap. “We can all barely agree on a movie at the best of times.”
“Does anyone want beer? Cider? Coke?” asks Mike, and several people raise their hands.
“I’m up for anything without guns or explosions,” adds Mercedes. “I get enough bloody violence once a month, thank you very much.”
“Aw, man,” moans Finn, looking disappointed. Rachel pats him on the arm.
“I’m okay with anything,” says Blaine, and for some reason this makes Santana spin around and glare at him full-on. She inhales deeply, dark brown eyes dragging up and down over his body with a look of disdain.
“Yeah, well,” she snaps, tilting her head to one side. “Maybe we can all be chipper like you if we had our own personal human to fuck.”
It is as though someone has poured a bucket of ice cold water over his head. Blaine blinks and opens his mouth, too shocked to speak for a moment. Santana’s words feel like a physical blow.
“What?” he finally manages to get out, looking uneasily around the room. A few people are turning to look at them. “Santana, Kurt isn’t even here. And he’s not -”
“Whatever, Blanderson.” Santana is pulling herself up now, a mask of contempt pulling her stunning features into something ugly. Uncalled for.
This isn’t about me at all, it occurs to Blaine at the back of his mind. Before her next statement drives the thought right out of his head.
“Just because you have a human ass to bury your dick in doesn’t mean you get to rub it in all of our faces. I mean,” she continues, gesturing toward the room at large, “who wouldn’t want a little fuck-toy at their beck and call?”
“Hey,” says Finn, glowering at her. “Don’t say that about Kurt.”
“Why not? Because it’s true?” Santana sneers, standing up. She is in her element now; digging her claws in, drawing blood. “Dave, what about you? Tell me you wouldn’t piss your pants with joy if you had a human around to pound whenever the tension gets to be too much.”
Karofsky turns beet red and looks down at his lap. But he doesn’t disagree. Horrified, Blaine surveys the faces in the room - and sees more than a few people looking guiltily away, refusing to meet his eyes. Rage starts to twist inside his stomach, hot and sharp and animal.
“Santana,” he growls, narrowing his eyes and pulling his lips back. Show some teeth, show he’s serious. “You’re out of line.”
“The hell I am.” She leans in, speaking quickly and looking Blaine right in the eyes. He has seen her this fierce, this cruel before - but never toward him. And never toward Kurt. “You need a reality check, Anderson. This gong-show you’re planning at the end of the month? It doesn’t make you equals: it makes him your thing.”
“Stop it,” hisses Blaine, on his feet before he realizes he has begun to move.
“Maybe I’ll go out and claim the first hot guy I find for myself, huh?” she taunts, getting closer. Up in his face. “Get in on some of that action. Use him ‘til he’s raw and have a nice meal waiting for me when the moon comes out -”
“Lopez, you’re going to want to shut your mouth right now,” barks Puck, and Blaine is distantly aware that the alpha is on his feet. It hardly matters, though, because Blaine is so furious that he can barely see straight. His whole body is pumping with rage, hands curled into fists at his sides and shaking from the effort of striking out and clawing her fucking eyes out.
“And you,” Santana sneers, hair flying as she turns to face Puck. She’s on a roll, words coming without any time to think. “What the fuck is so special about that scrawny little weakling that makes you defend -”
“Santana,” Puck roars, loud and strong and holy shit, he looks so enormous in that moment that even Blaine can’t help but recoil. Santana looks shell-shocked, eyes wide and lips pressed tight together. “Take a walk. Now.”
She swallows, glances at Blaine - then turns on her heel and runs out of the room, jumping over outstretched legs and barrelling out the door, slamming it as she goes. Blaine wants to chase after her, make her apologize for those filthy things she said - but something other than Puck’s hard stare stops him. For a second, before she turned, it had almost looked as though Santana had been crying.
Santana slams the door behind her, and the silence that she leaves behind could not be more uncomfortable. Mike stands with his mouth open by the fridge, still clutching a can of beer and a glass. Karofsky is still looking determinedly down at his lap unblinkingly, reusing to look anyone in the eye. Finn looks about ready to punch someone in the face, and Blaine is still seething in the middle of the room.
“All right, I am going to say this one more time.” Puck’s voice is deadly quiet, but his tone makes it impossible for anyone to do more than remain still and listen. “Kurt stays. Anyone who wants otherwise can take it up with me in a one-on-one fight, because I am sick and tired of everyone’s shit about this. I know what’s best for this pack. Now sit the fuck down and watch your fucking movie.”
And with that he strides to the door, flings it open, and leaves.
There is another moment of complete silence. Then Quinn, standing off to one side, lets out an irritated sigh.
“Well done, everyone,” she mutters, absently rubbing her stomach. Tina scrambles to put the DVD on the top of the pile into the player as fast as possible, her fingers shaking.
Blaine hesitates - and then follows after Puck, heart still in his throat and the wolf pushing at the edge of his skin. Because this is too much to deal with; the pack’s underhanded disapproval, peoples’ need to contest his and Kurt’s decision that barely fucking involves them. He follows the scent of Puck’s anger and frustration, jogging down the stairs and finding the main door flung open.
There is a moment where Blaine considers turning back, attempting to salvage what is left of their ‘fun’ group evening - but a loud crack! from outside makes him put on an extra burst of speed instead.
He steps outside, and through the darkness he can both sense and see his pack leader. Puck is breathing heavily through his teeth, and the tree beside him is missing a large chunk of its trunk. The gaping hole is splintered, quivering, and without needing to ask Blaine knows that Puck had punched it away. He walks slowly up to the brawny boy. Slow steps. Non-threatening. He stops a few metres away, giving him space if he needs it.
Eventually, Puck’s breathing calms. His fist, bloody and with large chunks of wood gauging into it, relaxes. He wrenches the larger splinters out and wipes the blood on the leg of his pants.
Blaine wants to say something, ask something. Words are on the edge of his tongue, but before he can form them fully Puck begins to speak.
“Being alpha... being pack leader. It means I can tell when things are right with us.” Puck’s words are calm, measured. Completely incongruous with his still-bleeding hand, although it doesn’t look as though anything is broken.
He continues, looking down at the ground. “It’s who I am. It’s in my blood. We’ve had a lot of people coming and going in the past few years, but... it’s really starting to get close to something good. And Kurt belongs with us.” He growls out this last part. “Don’t ask me how I know that. I just do, and all these idiots second-guessing my instincts is getting me fucking pissed. He brings something unique and right to the pack. And I just don’t know how to make them realize that we’re stronger with him than without him.”
“Neither do I,” whispers Blaine, and Puck shakes out his bloodied hand absently. He looks out into the woods, and it seems to Blaine for a moment that he is seeing something far beyond the trees and the bushes, the leaves and the soil. Beyond the moon and the night sky.
“We’ll figure something out,” says Puck at last. He looks Blaine in the eye; attempts to smile. “Go back to the movie, Anderson. I have to go deal with Lopez.”
Blaine nods, and Puck darts into the night. Darting into the trees faster than any human could. Leaving Blaine standing in the dark, feeling empty and missing Kurt so much it hurts.
Continue on to Chapter Four (Part Two)
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine (Side pairings: Tina/Mike, Finn/Rachel, and Puck/Quinn. Highlight for spoiler pairings:unrequited Karofsky/Kurt, eventual sexual but non-romantic Puck/Kurt)
Rating: NC-17 overall (NC-17 for this chapter)
Warnings: One a chapter by chapter basis! And oh, boy, here we go. Dubious consent (inability to give consent under the influence of a mind-altering substance), orgasm denial, bloodplay, possessiveness, disturbing themes, werewolves.
Length: 14,500 for this chapter
Spoilers: This is an AU, so not really. But elements from the entire series thus far have been pulled in.
Story Summary: Werewolf AU. Tension is rising in the pack, and having the very-human Kurt Hummel come to visit his brother and boyfriend is putting a strain on everyone. Having Blaine and Kurt mate should help the problem, but the process proves to be more complicated - both physically and emotionally - than either of them could have imagined.
This Chapter: “Blaine wants Kurt more badly than he has ever wanted anything in his life. Wants to dig in his claws and fuck Kurt raw. To take him. To make Kurt his, and no one else’s.”
Note: Well, here we are. So close to being all done, guys -- just an epilogue left to go! This is the chapter we've been building up to, and I'm nervous to post it. As always, your feedback means the entire world to me. Thank you so much to those of you giving this fic a try, despite it not being something you'd generally read. It's so different what I would generally write, and you've all been so lovely. Thank you!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
“Wait, ‘sinful delirium’? What does that even mean?” Tina raises her head from the stack of yellowed papers for the first time in over an hour, sounding puzzled. She glares in irritation at the document, as though if she looks sternly at it for long enough it will reveal its secrets to her.
Blaine looks up from his own book, attempting to blink away some of the strain in his eyes. The words on the page in front of him are not only tiny, they are also incredibly formal. Their actual meaning has not been easy to discern: it feels as though he has been staring at the same sentence for five minutes. Next to him on the floor, lying on his stomach, Kurt remains engrossed in his laptop in front of him.
“I have no idea,” admits Blaine, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose. “What’s it in reference to?”
“Blood consumption... I think? It’s hard to tell, actually. The writing is so faded.”
It is two weeks before the full moon. Kurt, who has spent the previous two weeks with his parents in Lima, only arrived back at the motel earlier in the afternoon. Unfortunately, the excitement of having him back for a few days has been somewhat overshadowed by the need to research the intricacies of having a human being involved in the mating ritual. There is only so much that Blaine has been able to convey via e-mail and phone calls, after all, and having Kurt completely understand the risks he’ll be taking is incredibly important. In a few days, Kurt will be back with Burt and Carole to wait out the last week and a half before the full moon. It’s awkward, having him going back and forth over a five-hundred mile distance. But Kurt had wanted to spend time with them before the ritual; to reassure them that they wouldn’t be losing another son to a malady they don’t fully understand.
They had taken the news that their son was going to be permanently bonded to an inhuman creature fairly well, considering. There had apparently been minimal yelling, and Burt had only threatened to strangle Blaine once.
A group of them are assembled in the motel lobby, which has become the de facto gathering spot during their time in the motel. Some are researching the ritual; others are there for the company. Quinn is curled up on the small couch, her nose buried in a paperback romance novel. Her feet are bare and tiny, and her hair falls over her shoulders in a way that is far too graceful for so casual a position. Santana is sitting cross-legged with her computer on her lap, headphones in and watching an episode of a reality television program. On the chair behind her, Sam is playing some sort of online game that involves elves on his laptop.
It feels good, having them all around like this. Just being in the same room with these people - without speaking a word, or even having them all participating in the same activity - feels comforting. Safe.
Tina, Blaine, and Kurt have been neck-deep in research for the past few hours. Mike had been with them until half an hour previous; he’d kissed Tina on the cheek and headed to bed, grumbling about poor translation jobs the whole while. And Finn had long ago fallen asleep on one of the chairs, slouched back with his mouth slightly open and a book lying open in his lap. With Finn and Rachel not currently on speaking terms, he is constantly available to help. If his research skills equalled his enthusiasm, Finn could have been a real asset.
The issue of finding available, easy to understand literature about the process of mating with humans is a problematic one. Their resources are nowhere near as comprehensive as Blaine would like, and what information they can find is often confusingly scientific or overly vague. Tina’s breakthrough of a blog that hinted at the process over an hour ago had been enough to send the entire room - even those not currently with their noses buried in dusty books - into a fit of whooping cheers. Despite not having been updated since 2003, Kurt had launched himself into its archives and had yet to surface since.
The absurdity of this juxtaposition - the dusty, well-thumbed tomes and the sleek modernity of an internet blog - is not lost on Blaine. It’s almost amusing: the way that the old and the new are constantly melding together, becoming indistinguishable from each other when the wolf is concerned.
“Wait,” blurts Kurt next to him, looking up at the room for the first time in ages. He looks tired, small circles beginning to form underneath his eyes. It hits Blaine that not only has Kurt done his fair share of research, but he also drove for ten hours in order to get here. It makes him want to take his boyfriend up to his room and hold him tight, let him close his eyes and get some sleep. “’Sinful delirium’? I might have something. This guy doesn’t record things chronologically, which makes it hard to navigate, but I just came across an allusion to the blood drinking. That phrase sounds like an old-timey euphemism for... hang on, let me find it...”
The slender boy scrolls up, scans the page. “Okay,” Kurt continues. “This guy survived an attack where his wife got turned, right? He uses initials to talk about some of the stuff he wouldn’t want people to recognize. ‘M’ is his wife. Werewolf is ‘W’, obviously, and I’m thinking that ‘B’ is blood.”
He takes a breath, then reads from the screen. “M and I didn’t know what to expect, but when we starting drinking each other’s B we both started to feel differently than her W friends had described. She began to get wilder, more unhinged than we’d expected - and the world began to dissolve around me. I can honestly say I don’t remember the night with any accuracy. Drinking M’s B was like madness; for me, that night is entirely made up of flashes of images, sounds, and sensations. I couldn’t have defended myself against anything, and M tells me I babbled nonsense and writhed like some desperate thing. She says it was a miracle that she was able to restrain herself, and that I survived the night - although I woke up very much worse for wear the next morning... ” Kurt cuts off and looks toward Tina. “Think they’re the same thing?”
Blaine, however, cannot speak. He closes his eyes against the image of Kurt, sprawled across the floor of some dimly-lit room, writhing in the throes of sensation. His lover’s long, pale hands tangled in his own hair as his hips arch up into some unseen pleasure. Pupils dilated so wide that Kurt’s gorgeous blue eyes are almost entirely black. In the unbidden vision, Kurt is moaning -crying desperately into the room to be touched, to feel, to -
He pinches his arm hard to ward off the fantasy, but its effects are immediately apparent. Blaine lets out a shaky breath and counts to five slowly in his head. Santana is looking up at him over the top of her laptop, a smirk playing across her full lips; everyone in the room can smell his reaction, of course, but she is the only one to be so blatant about it. She glances over to where Kurt is sitting, then back to Blaine, and licks her lips with a wicked expression on her face.
Ashamed of the hardness growing between his legs, Blaine turns back to Kurt. The slender boy has propped himself up on his elbows and appears to be deep in fervent conversation with Tina.
“- werewolf blood has so many mystical properties already, of course it would be overwhelming for a human being to ingest!” Tina exclaims excitedly, her book discarded.
“Which means that we’re definitely going to have to have someone sit in on us,” adds Kurt, wrinkling his nose. “Since I’m apparently going to be utterly incapable, and Blaine’s going to turn into some sort of raging sex fiend.”
“That’s not too unusual,” adds Tina comfortingly. “The, erm. The sitting in part, not the sex fiend part. Even when it’s just two of us doing the mating. There’s usually someone on hand, even if it’s only in case first night rights get invoked.”
“... wait, in case what gets invoked?”
“First night rights,” says Blaine. Kurt’s shirt has ridden up slightly at the back, and a small expanse of pale skin is exposed above the line of his jeans. Blaine leans over to absently smooth the fabric back down. “There’s a proper name for it, but you know. The fact that the alpha has the right to be with his pack member’s significant other during the mating ritual.” He leaves his hand in the small of Kurt’s back, thumb stroking softly through the shirt. Kurt’s waist is so tiny.
It takes Blaine far longer than it should to realize that his boyfriend is looking at him with an look of startled disbelief on his face.
“What?” asks Blaine, blinking.
“Seriously?” asks Kurt, raising himself into a sitting position and looking right at him. There is an expression on his face that Blaine is not very used to seeing. Something extremely... prim. Stiff. Blaine inhales, and smells the change in Kurt’s demeanour. There is something ever-so-slightly appalled twisted into his usual scent. “That actually happens and you didn’t tell me?”
Blaine can feel his brow furrowing into an expression of confusion. He can’t shake the feeling that Kurt is annoyed at him; as though he’s done something horribly wrong. “Of course I did. It was in that e-mail attachment I sent you.”
“Yes, I read that. And like any sane human being, I assumed it was some sort of weird ancient ritual that no one actually does anymore.” Kurt is definitely upset now, words coming quicker and harder. There is an edge of sharpness in them.
We aren’t human beings, Blaine wants to say, but stops himself. He may speak without thinking far more than advisable, but even he knows that this would not be a wise choice of words. Santana glances up from her laptop but quickly looks down again, uninterested.
“Nah, first night rights are standard stuff,” pipes up Sam, wrenching his eyes away from his computer screen and looking down at Kurt. “Not every pack leader does it, though. But in my old pack? It was actually mandatory if the union brought in new members.” He smiles, and promptly goes back to his game.
“But what’s the purpose?” asks Kurt. His voice is higher than usual, and there is a slightly desperate note in it. Blaine frowns. “Why would anyone choose to do that?”
“It’s actually fairly practical, you know,” chimes Quinn coolly from the couch, taking a moment to finish her paragraph before continuing. She looks up from the book and looks right at Kurt, expression neutral and even. “It keeps people in line, and the pack together. It’s a good way of showing authority over new members, too. Or acceptance. It can instinctually change the way the pack interacts with someone.”
“In Romania, it’s standard practice to invoke the rights every time a mating takes place,” says Tina matter-of-factly. She shrugs.
“... oh,” says Kurt, looking down at the floor. He looks so very small, so very deflated - and something twists painfully in the bit of Blaine’s stomach. It isn’t fair to expect Kurt to automatically be all right with every part of his - admittedly incredibly bizarre- life. Intellectually, Blaine knows this. But Kurt has taken so much in stride. He’s stood by his brother through so much, has become such an integral part of their life as a pack - and it’s easy to forget that he doesn’t actually belong in this world. That there might be a few things left that still unnerve him.
Blaine reaches over and brushes the backs of his fingers over Kurt’s cheek.
“Sorry I didn’t do a better job of letting you know,” murmurs Blaine, the incredible softness of Kurt’s skin almost making him shiver. He could tell it was half-way through the month even if he didn’t know the date; the way his body is starting to pine for Kurt is a sure sign that there are only two weeks left until the wolf will be set loose.
There is a pause, and then the tension leaves Kurt’s body. His boyfriend sighs, leaning into the touch. “It’s okay. Sometimes I get culture shock, even now. It’s just... unexpected.”
“I know. But having that actually happen, here? With this group? Not very likely,” says Blaine, and a small smile curls at the edges of Kurt’s mouth. Then a curious expression falls over his face. Kurt turns toward Quinn, still tucked comfortably into the couch.
“Wouldn’t it make you angry?” asks Kurt. He doesn’t sound upset anymore; just curious.
“Why would it?” She raises a delicate blonde eyebrow. “It’s just another responsibility. I knew what I signed up for.”
Kurt nods, and a look of understanding hardens his features.
There is a creak, and the whole room turns as the front door opens. At this time of night, the weather outside would be uncomfortably cool for an ordinary man. Puck steps inside wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, and he rubs most of the dirt off his bare feet on the welcome mat as he closes the door. Puck turns to face the group and grins.
“Hey, guys!” he says, shutting the door with a lazy slam. At the noise, Finn snuffles softly in his sleep. He snuggles into his chair, and Kurt sends him a look filled with unmistakable affection.
Puck walks over to join them, and the relaxation in his posture and the calm in his scent lets Blaine know that Puck has discovered no threats during tonight’s patrol. He walks briskly toward Quinn on the couch. “Hey, babe,” he whispers, once he is close enough for the words to be considered private, and leans over to kiss his mate on the lips. It’s chaste, but Quinn responds enthusiastically. Puck pulls back after a few seconds, his hand trailing over her bump before pulling away.
“Hey, yourself,” she whispers back, voice breathier than usual. They smell of love and dedication - of belonging, and rightness, and Blaine cannot help but smile.
That’ll be us in two weeks.
“How goes the bookworming?” asks Puck, turning away from his mate to face the wider room. “Got anything good?”
“I think this is all looking very promising,” admits Blaine slowly, and Tina nods in agreement. The two of them have spent the past few weeks neck-deep in lore, and the impact of werewolf blood on Kurt’s system had been one of the final unknown variables. It feels so good to be getting anywhere near prepared; Blaine has become less and less gut-twistingly nervous about the upcoming ritual with every answer they’ve found. “We’ve got a fairly good idea of what to expect for the ritual itself, now, and we already had fairly decent grasp on what the side effects are going to be.”
“I admit, I am rather looking forward to the whole ‘slightly stronger, slightly heartier’ thing,” says Kurt, gaining back some of his typical pomp. “You fellas sure do know how to make a man jealous.”
“Dude, you’re going to be like Wolverine!” enthuses Sam, looking up briefly from his game. His very full mouth is open wide in excitement. “Except, you know. A less hairy, skinny, really shitty version of Wolverine.”
Kurt turns and looks at Sam. His expression resembles that of staring at a child who has just said something entirely inane. “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”
“Actually, Kurt? I have a favour to ask you,” says Puck, and Blaine tenses. A small strain of anxiety is mingling in Puck’s scent. “It’s about the baby.”
Kurt blinks.
“Me?” asks Kurt, turning to face Puck. “What on earth could you need me to do?”
“What’re you going to call that brat, anyways?” asks Santana vaguely, never taking her eyes off her laptop screen. “You’re not actually going with Jackie Daniels, are you? Because that would be dumb.”
Puck sends her a warning look, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.
“We’re thinking of Beth,” admits Quinn, and in that moment her glow is unmistakable. It hits Blaine, then, hearing the child’s future name. Hits him in a way seeing Quinn’s stomach get slowly larger and larger simply hasn’t: Quinn is going to have a baby. In a few months’ time, there is going to be an infant in the motel with them. Giggling and gurgling, looking for love and attention. Probably crying for half the night, and all of them so inexperienced. So young, in all the ways that matter.
Uncle Blaine, he thinks, and the thought fills him with a strange giddiness. He’ll have to ask Kurt to bring over a couple of Disney movies once the child is born.
“Yep,” agrees Puck, leaning in to kiss his mate on the cheek. Quinn preens. He turns to look at Kurt, then, and he smells... like authority, of course, but something else as well. Excitement. And a hint of nervousness. “Beth won’t start to turn for a few years, Kurt. I know that you’ve got big plans for the future, but just for now: once you two are mated, would you be able to come out here and watch her during the full moon?”
“What?” Kurt exclaims, eyes as wide as saucers. And Blaine just can’t help it: he starts to laugh. Partly at the horrified expression on Kurt’s face. And partly at the idea of this family - this insane, absurd, often confrontation family - banding together to help raise a child.
Uncle Kurt and Uncle Blaine, Blaine thinks, unable to stop the peals of laughter from breaking out of his throat. There are tears in his eyes, now, and his chest is starting to ache. That child is going to have the upbringing of a million Jerry Springer episodes.
“Oh, don’t you start,” snarls Kurt in Blaine’s direction, waggling a threatening finger, before turning back toward Puck. “Puck, I am terrible with kids. Terrible. I’d probably get frustrated after five minutes and - and run off in a huff and leave her lying in her crib or something. Seriously. ” The desperation in Kurt’s voice sets Blaine off again, and Kurt sends a glare in his direction.
“C’mon, Kurt,” wheedles Puck playfully, but there is something earnest in his expression. “Just until we can find someone else we know is safe. It would mean the world to me - to both of us - to have someone we trust looking after our Beth.”
And Blaine can tell, even before Kurt, that this statement is all it is going to take. Kurt tenses, opens his mouth - and crumbles. His boyfriend closes his eyes in apparent pain, raises a hand to his temple, and nods stiffly.
“Fine,” exhales Kurt, defeated. Puck whoops, Quinn smiles, and Tina squeals like schoolgirl. And even though there is a pained expression on Kurt’s face, Blaine can tell - can sense - that this exchange has made his boyfriend incredibly happy. It makes Blaine ecstatic, too, to know Puck and Quinn are so utterly prepared to accept Kurt as one of their own. That they love him.
Kurt loves them, too, Blaine realizes. Somewhere along the line - amid the danger, and the strangeness, and the constant moving from home to home - Kurt has fallen in love with the pack. In a very different way, Kurt needs the pack as desperately as Blaine does.
Without a word Blaine turns and leans in, kissing Kurt firmly on the mouth. Kurt makes a small noise of surprise, but it only takes a moment before he is kissing back. His lips are soft, willing, and his body feels so delicate pressed up against Blaine’s own. Ignoring a catcall from Santana, Blaine places a hand on the back of Kurt’s neck and pulls him closer. The tiny noises Kurt makes against his lips are so good they make him shiver.
When he finally pulls away, Kurt is staring at him.
“What was that for?” Kurt asks, a perplexed but pleased look on his face. Blaine leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose.
“For being you. For being amazing.”
Kurt smiles and lets Blaine pull him into an embrace.
--
Of course, Kurt can’t always be around.
“Ugh,” Blaine groans, allowing himself to fall backwards onto his own bed with a thump. He scowls at the off-white of the ceiling, willing it to provide him with some sort of entertainment. The ceiling remains insentient and uninteresting in response.
However much Blaine may know that this kind of behaviour is sulky, melodramatic, and unattractive in the extreme, it’s difficult to care when there is no one around to impress.
As a whole, the pack does fairly well for itself in terms of keeping a large group of isolated adolescents entertained and busy. There are always chores to do: dinner needs to be cooked, dishes washed, and shared areas kept neat. They order and download books, movies, television programs, magazines, and comics in absurdly large quantities. Artie and Sam both have online games they’re heavily involved in, and Halo tournaments are a weekly event. Brittany has her art projects. He and Puck both enjoy playing the guitar, and Mercedes even runs her own anonymous blog.
Generally speaking, the pack tends to gravitate towards outdoor activities as well. Camping trips, hiking, play-tracking and chasing each other down amid the trees. But the fact remains that their current location is simply not very good for any of these activities.
Blaine is given to understand that Missouri boasts many beautiful forests.
Theirs is not one of them.
The wooded area that surrounds the motel is unexceptionable, and not particularly big. There is no large amount of land to explore; certainly not enough to be able to pick a direction and walk without hitting human habitation after half a day. There is nothing majestic or exciting about the forest, either: the trees are thin and reedy, the soil oddly dry for the climate. There are no sparkling pools awaiting discovery; only slightly rank-smelling puddles surrounded by mosquitoes. Their current home was definitely chosen for the motel’s easy housing, not for the beauty of the woods it lies in.
With Kurt gone back to spend the last week and a half before the full moon in Lima, Blaine feels as though he has lost his last defence against boredom. He knows that it is a very good thing indeed for Kurt to return home to visit his parents, and that there are only so many dance and vocal classes he can miss before his instructors begin to get suspicious. He also knows that once either of their locations change -when Kurt heads to New York to pursue his career, or Puck decides to take the pack out West - there will be even longer breaks between their being able to see one another.
But really. Blaine is bored.
Blaine sighs and rubs his eyes, internally acknowledging that he is acting like a spoiled child. Tina and Mike are hosting a movie night in the room in only an hour, after all. And at least he isn’t on the run for his life, or hurting innocent people. Or with the Warville pack, where there was never any modern technology allowed in order to reduce the threat of discovery.
Generally, Blaine is quite good at keeping to himself. But today...
He reaches over and grabs his cell phone off his bedside table - he’s one of the only members of the pack to own one, since most do not have anyone to contact who isn’t within shouting distance - and texts Kurt.
Walls are coming down around me. Cannot see through veil of tediousness and monotony. Come at once to put me out of misery. :/ - Blaine
A few minutes later, he gets a response:
Oh my GOD. You are such a drama queen. And since I’m currently in a room full of dancers, that is really saying something. Now don’t text me for at least an hour, our ten minute break is just ending. - Kurt
And another one seconds later:
I love you, you weirdo. - K
Both messages make Blaine laugh out loud, and some of the mind-numbing tedium seems to lift from his shoulders. He knows, too, that Kurt loves his classes. It isn’t just that the dance and vocal training is necessary if his boyfriend ever wants to have a hope in hell of performing on Broadway; Kurt genuinely loves them, even if he does have to drive for half an hour in order to get to his vocal instructor. He’s probably gossiping away with the girls in his dance class right now, in between learning some complicated routine.
An image of Kurt wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a tight t-shirt, sweat pouring down his neck and his face screwed up in concentration as he rolls his hips to some dance move, drifts unbidden into Blaine’s mind. He hums appreciatively at the idea, beginning to build up the daydream in his mind.
Kurt would have his hair styled to within an inch of its life, even just for practice. Blaine knows he always does whenever he isn’t visiting the pack - perhaps in some sort of protest at the their inability to deal with the stench of hairspray. Coiffed and gorgeous, with a bright flush in those pale cheeks from the exertion. Eyes fixed on some far-off point in the distance as he tries to remember the choreography, twisting himself into complicated positions.
There is a delicious heat growing between his legs, and Blaine can feel himself getting hard at the fantasy. He glances at the bedside clock and sees that he has forty-five minutes before he has to head up to Tina and Mike’s room; plenty of time to release some of his pent-up energy.
In this moment, he feels so completely normal. He can feel the wolf beginning to throw itself against the edges of his mind - the full moon is less than a week away - but he’s still capable of pushing it down for now. Of just being a normal kid who misses his boyfriend.
A slow, lazy smile begins to curl at Blaine’s lips. He reaches down and unbuttons his pants, unzips the fly, and takes himself in hand.
He starts off slow, not wanting to rush himself. Palms at his cock idly as he remembers one of the videos Kurt has on his laptop; someone with a handheld camera had taped a few of the class’s routines in order for people to be able to see their mistakes. Kurt had complained about how sloppy he was in it, but Blaine had only seen his gorgeous boyfriend writhing to the music. There had been one moment, near the end of the clip, where Kurt had looked right at the camera while simultaneously twisting his hips in the most rampantly sexualized way imaginable. Blue eyes dark with something intense and exhibitionistic before the clip cut off. Seeming to look right at Blaine through the screen.
And oh, that makes the heat flare up. Makes his fingers wrap tight around his now fully-hard cock and begin to stroke in earnest as the pleasure gradually begins to build. Blaine trails his free hand down his own neck, shivering at the touch. He lets out a little hiss when he reaches his nipple, gently rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It makes tiny sparks of heat flare in him at the touch, and he can feel his breath beginning to grow heavier.
A memory nudges at the back of Blaine’s consciousness, and it’s so good it makes him groan out loud into the silence of the room. His hand speeds up as he remembers -
Kurt, on his knees with his legs spread wide, breath catching as he ever-so-slowly lowers himself onto Blaine’s cock. Taking Blaine deeper little by little, Kurt’s body pale and long and stretched out in front of him. Muscles strung so tight as he impales himself, making the hottest little noises until finally, finally Blaine is fully seated inside of him. Hair a complete mess and biting his bottom lip, shuddering and breathing deeply as he adjusts to Blaine’s cock.
And Kurt so tight around him; so good that Blaine can barely restrain himself from grabbing Kurt’s slim waist and thrusting up into him. Smelling so fucking good, too, the hot smell of want and need and sex making his usual scent even more mouth-wateringly intoxicating. Blaine breathes deeply, letting the smell fill his nostrils as Kurt adjusts. Blood and bone and flesh and desire, and his boyfriend squeezing his cock so tight and making Blaine’s whole body quiver with anticipation.
And then Kurt begins to move. And fuck, it feels so amazing Blaine can’t stop himself from growling low in the back of his throat and gripping Kurt’s hips so hard he knows there will be bruises the next day; little dark circles standing out against the perfect skin. Kurt cries out - a high, clear noise of desperate need -and speeds up, long dancers’ legs straining to keep up a quick pace. Blaine helps him along, guiding Kurt as he rides his cock, the slide of lube and the squeeze of Kurt’s muscles around him and pulling him closer and closer to the edge. He’s so aware of Kurt around him, of every tiny move and noise and clench of muscles.
Kurt reaches down to frantically stroke himself before throwing his head back and letting out a blissful wail as he comes. Blaine moans in appreciation, the white heat of his own orgasm building at the base of his spine, still gripping Kurt’s hips tight and dragging him up and down through his orgasm.
The spasms of Kurt’s muscles pull him over the edge, shouting as he slams his hips up into Kurt’s spent body and -
Blaine comes, hard, into his own frantic hand. He rides it out, the waves of pleasure crashing through him and making him arch up into his own touch. Until he is left shuddering and panting on the bed as he rides out the aftershocks, the echo of Kurt’s wanton moans still lingering in his ears.
It takes Blaine a few long, breathless moments to realize that his hair is in his eyes - sweat-slicked curls having snuck down at some point. He chuckles, breathing heavily, and uses his clean hand to swipe the hair aside. There is a sticky heat over his right hand and stomach, and his whole body thrums with the shock and delight of release.
When his phone unexpectedly buzzes on the table, it startles him out of his post-coital lull. Blaine carefully manoeuvres his way over, wipes at his hand and stomach with a tissue from the box, and checks his phone.
Getting water and risking beheading to text you. Cannot believe what’s going to happen in a few days. Doesn’t feel real at all; every part of me excited to see you, to make this happen. I’m nervous, Blaine - but I’m so ready. Call me tonight. <3 - Kurt
Sometimes, Blaine cannot believe how incredibly lucky he is.
He lies back happily on the bed, deciding to enjoy the afterglow for just a few more minutes before getting ready to head to Tina and Mike’s room. The phone lies on the space in the bed next to him as his body hums in pleasure and his eyelids flutter closed.
--
It is Blaine’s own fault, in the end, for going to Mike and Tina’s movie night literally stinking of satisfaction. It’s an accepted courtesy to clean up after anything like this in order to avoid rubbing the smell of sex in other peoples’ faces, but Blaine’s impromptu nap had made him have to rush in order to even arrive on time.
He walks in the open door to the room with a not a minute to spare, only having had time for a quick clean with a washcloth. Watching a movie with his family had sounded fun, after all, and it would be disrespectful to be late. He is still rubbing at his eyes, mouth still fuzzy with sleep, when he walks in.
The room’s furniture has been pushed together in order to accommodate the large numbers, shoved to create a rough semi-circle around the television set. Puck sits in one of the chairs with Quinn perched gracefully on his lap. Another chair is occupied by Mercedes, and Finn and Rachel - who have apparently made up - are curled up together on the uncomfortable-looking couch. They are physically close, but there is a tension still lingering between them that is clear even across the room. Karofsky and Sam are sitting at the foot of the bed, having some sort of excited conversation about time travel in film. Brittany is laughing, sprawled in the middle of the carpet with her head in Artie’s lap. He is smiling down at her as he tickles the sides of her neck. Santana is sitting cross-legged by herself on the bed, looking and smelling inexplicably irritated. Tina is sorting through an enormous pile of DVDs; Mike has apparently been put onto refreshment duty as he sorts through the mini fridge with a stack of cups at his side, ready to dole out beverages.
A quick glance around the room shows Blaine few seating options, so he picks his way across the crowded floor and crawls on the bed next to Santana. He shoots her a grin. She responds by glancing his way, rolling her eyes, and continuing to scowl at the room at large.
Odd, thinks Blaine. He and Santana usually get on fairly well.
“Titanic?” asks Tina.
“Too sad,” responds Rachel immediately.
“Ghostbusters?”
“Ugh, really?” says Quinn, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“How about Moulin Rouge?”
“A musical?” asks Karofsky, looking up at the room. He raises a thick eyebrow. “Those things are so unrealistic.” He then turns back to Sam, and they continue their discussion about something called the ‘Grandfather Paradox’.
“I like musicals,” Blaine adds cheerfully, but the only response is another irritated glance from Santana. Which, okay, there is definitely something off with this situation. Santana can be a fairly negative and confrontational individual, it’s true - a trait that is only exacerbated by the approach of the full moon. But she has never directed her anger specifically toward Blaine, as far as he can remember. He attempts to stealthily follow her gaze, but only finds the inoffensive sight of Artie playing with strands of Brittany’s hair. Nothing to be upset about.
“I don’t know why we always do this right before our time of the month, guys,” adds Puck with a roll of his eyes. He adjusts in the seat, moving so that Quinn is sitting more solidly on his lap. “We can all barely agree on a movie at the best of times.”
“Does anyone want beer? Cider? Coke?” asks Mike, and several people raise their hands.
“I’m up for anything without guns or explosions,” adds Mercedes. “I get enough bloody violence once a month, thank you very much.”
“Aw, man,” moans Finn, looking disappointed. Rachel pats him on the arm.
“I’m okay with anything,” says Blaine, and for some reason this makes Santana spin around and glare at him full-on. She inhales deeply, dark brown eyes dragging up and down over his body with a look of disdain.
“Yeah, well,” she snaps, tilting her head to one side. “Maybe we can all be chipper like you if we had our own personal human to fuck.”
It is as though someone has poured a bucket of ice cold water over his head. Blaine blinks and opens his mouth, too shocked to speak for a moment. Santana’s words feel like a physical blow.
“What?” he finally manages to get out, looking uneasily around the room. A few people are turning to look at them. “Santana, Kurt isn’t even here. And he’s not -”
“Whatever, Blanderson.” Santana is pulling herself up now, a mask of contempt pulling her stunning features into something ugly. Uncalled for.
This isn’t about me at all, it occurs to Blaine at the back of his mind. Before her next statement drives the thought right out of his head.
“Just because you have a human ass to bury your dick in doesn’t mean you get to rub it in all of our faces. I mean,” she continues, gesturing toward the room at large, “who wouldn’t want a little fuck-toy at their beck and call?”
“Hey,” says Finn, glowering at her. “Don’t say that about Kurt.”
“Why not? Because it’s true?” Santana sneers, standing up. She is in her element now; digging her claws in, drawing blood. “Dave, what about you? Tell me you wouldn’t piss your pants with joy if you had a human around to pound whenever the tension gets to be too much.”
Karofsky turns beet red and looks down at his lap. But he doesn’t disagree. Horrified, Blaine surveys the faces in the room - and sees more than a few people looking guiltily away, refusing to meet his eyes. Rage starts to twist inside his stomach, hot and sharp and animal.
“Santana,” he growls, narrowing his eyes and pulling his lips back. Show some teeth, show he’s serious. “You’re out of line.”
“The hell I am.” She leans in, speaking quickly and looking Blaine right in the eyes. He has seen her this fierce, this cruel before - but never toward him. And never toward Kurt. “You need a reality check, Anderson. This gong-show you’re planning at the end of the month? It doesn’t make you equals: it makes him your thing.”
“Stop it,” hisses Blaine, on his feet before he realizes he has begun to move.
“Maybe I’ll go out and claim the first hot guy I find for myself, huh?” she taunts, getting closer. Up in his face. “Get in on some of that action. Use him ‘til he’s raw and have a nice meal waiting for me when the moon comes out -”
“Lopez, you’re going to want to shut your mouth right now,” barks Puck, and Blaine is distantly aware that the alpha is on his feet. It hardly matters, though, because Blaine is so furious that he can barely see straight. His whole body is pumping with rage, hands curled into fists at his sides and shaking from the effort of striking out and clawing her fucking eyes out.
“And you,” Santana sneers, hair flying as she turns to face Puck. She’s on a roll, words coming without any time to think. “What the fuck is so special about that scrawny little weakling that makes you defend -”
“Santana,” Puck roars, loud and strong and holy shit, he looks so enormous in that moment that even Blaine can’t help but recoil. Santana looks shell-shocked, eyes wide and lips pressed tight together. “Take a walk. Now.”
She swallows, glances at Blaine - then turns on her heel and runs out of the room, jumping over outstretched legs and barrelling out the door, slamming it as she goes. Blaine wants to chase after her, make her apologize for those filthy things she said - but something other than Puck’s hard stare stops him. For a second, before she turned, it had almost looked as though Santana had been crying.
Santana slams the door behind her, and the silence that she leaves behind could not be more uncomfortable. Mike stands with his mouth open by the fridge, still clutching a can of beer and a glass. Karofsky is still looking determinedly down at his lap unblinkingly, reusing to look anyone in the eye. Finn looks about ready to punch someone in the face, and Blaine is still seething in the middle of the room.
“All right, I am going to say this one more time.” Puck’s voice is deadly quiet, but his tone makes it impossible for anyone to do more than remain still and listen. “Kurt stays. Anyone who wants otherwise can take it up with me in a one-on-one fight, because I am sick and tired of everyone’s shit about this. I know what’s best for this pack. Now sit the fuck down and watch your fucking movie.”
And with that he strides to the door, flings it open, and leaves.
There is another moment of complete silence. Then Quinn, standing off to one side, lets out an irritated sigh.
“Well done, everyone,” she mutters, absently rubbing her stomach. Tina scrambles to put the DVD on the top of the pile into the player as fast as possible, her fingers shaking.
Blaine hesitates - and then follows after Puck, heart still in his throat and the wolf pushing at the edge of his skin. Because this is too much to deal with; the pack’s underhanded disapproval, peoples’ need to contest his and Kurt’s decision that barely fucking involves them. He follows the scent of Puck’s anger and frustration, jogging down the stairs and finding the main door flung open.
There is a moment where Blaine considers turning back, attempting to salvage what is left of their ‘fun’ group evening - but a loud crack! from outside makes him put on an extra burst of speed instead.
He steps outside, and through the darkness he can both sense and see his pack leader. Puck is breathing heavily through his teeth, and the tree beside him is missing a large chunk of its trunk. The gaping hole is splintered, quivering, and without needing to ask Blaine knows that Puck had punched it away. He walks slowly up to the brawny boy. Slow steps. Non-threatening. He stops a few metres away, giving him space if he needs it.
Eventually, Puck’s breathing calms. His fist, bloody and with large chunks of wood gauging into it, relaxes. He wrenches the larger splinters out and wipes the blood on the leg of his pants.
Blaine wants to say something, ask something. Words are on the edge of his tongue, but before he can form them fully Puck begins to speak.
“Being alpha... being pack leader. It means I can tell when things are right with us.” Puck’s words are calm, measured. Completely incongruous with his still-bleeding hand, although it doesn’t look as though anything is broken.
He continues, looking down at the ground. “It’s who I am. It’s in my blood. We’ve had a lot of people coming and going in the past few years, but... it’s really starting to get close to something good. And Kurt belongs with us.” He growls out this last part. “Don’t ask me how I know that. I just do, and all these idiots second-guessing my instincts is getting me fucking pissed. He brings something unique and right to the pack. And I just don’t know how to make them realize that we’re stronger with him than without him.”
“Neither do I,” whispers Blaine, and Puck shakes out his bloodied hand absently. He looks out into the woods, and it seems to Blaine for a moment that he is seeing something far beyond the trees and the bushes, the leaves and the soil. Beyond the moon and the night sky.
“We’ll figure something out,” says Puck at last. He looks Blaine in the eye; attempts to smile. “Go back to the movie, Anderson. I have to go deal with Lopez.”
Blaine nods, and Puck darts into the night. Darting into the trees faster than any human could. Leaving Blaine standing in the dark, feeling empty and missing Kurt so much it hurts.
Continue on to Chapter Four (Part Two)