Fic: In the Wake of His Dreams - Chapter 4
Title: In the Wake of His Dreams - Chapter 4
rating: PG-13 (will increase in later chapters)
word count: ~1,400 for this chapter / ~6,800 total
summary: It's the summer of 1926. The Hummels, wealthy heirs of a family that found their fortune in steamships, are vacationing at their mansion in Newport, Rhode Island. Kurt longs for a summer romance, just like in the books he spends his days reading. It's summer and anything is possible.
author's note: So I live in Rhode Island and have always loved the mansions. So I do what I always do with things I love: shove Klaine in there and make an AU. Forever thankful to Liz and Alana. I suppose beta is the correct word, but they're so much more than that. So thank you! Title stolen from a passage in The Great Gatsby. Come visit on Tumblr for snippets and what not.
Also, I'm aware that this takes place during prohibition. While it was illegal for bars to serve alcohol, it was not illegal to drink alcohol in your own home (and besides, these people were so rich that the rules didn't really apply to them).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The sun is just setting, pinks and reds and oranges dipping into the ocean, when the first guests start arriving, furs and top hats and masks covering their faces. Kurt watches from across the lawn as his step mother greets them one by one, her head thrown back in laughter and her hand tucked into his father's arm. His father's face is blank, a simple black mask covering only his eyes, having no interest in parties or mingling with neighbors. He shakes the hands of the men, though, dipping his head slightly to welcome the women.
Most of the men are wearing masks like his father's, black and simple. But Kurt's mask is a deep blue satin and adorned with peacock feathers on one side, the blues and greens matching perfectly with his thin tie. He readjusts the ribbon on the back of his head, making sure the knot is tight.
He's on the far side of the lawn, held up right against the white fence that separates the grass from the steps down to the ocean. He keeps his eyes on the party, watching to make sure everyone is in good spirits and that their glasses are full. The tables are settled around the lawn, covered in simple white linen and gold trim around the bottom. There's twinkling lights overhead, small and glittering and they remind Kurt of fireflies.
He doesn't know what Blaine's mask looks like, but he still spots him the moment he steps out onto the grass, his mother and father at his side. His mask is a deep red, just like the pocket square Kurt lent him, with bits of white and black. Their eyes meet and Kurt smiles, he can't help it, and Blaine grins back. He sees Blaine introduce himself before grabbing a glass on champagne off of one of the waiter's trays and excusing himself. He makes his way through the grass and the closer he gets, the better Kurt can see just how perfectly his tuxedo is tailored to his body.
"Ritzy party," Blaine says by way of introduction, taking a long sip from his champagne glass. Kurt watches the long line of his neck, the bits of champagne sticking to Blaine's upper lip when he takes the glass down.
"Thank you," Kurt says, his eyes darting quickly from Blaine's lips over to the dance floor, some of the younger guests dancing along to the loud jazz music, short skirts kicking up with every twirl.
"What do you think of the mask?" Blaine asks. Kurt leans closer and can see music notes painted along the edge.
"It's gorgeous," Kurt replies. "It looks lovely with the pocket square."
Blaine taps the fabric tucked into the pocket on his chest. "Ah, well. That I can't take credit for."
"It can be our secret," Kurt says, grateful that his mask is covering the blush on his cheeks at the memory of being up against his dresser, Blaine all around him.
They're quiet for a few moments, the sounds of conversation and laughter and music all around them. Blaine finishes his champagne, placing it down on a silver tray when a server passes by.
"Follow me," Blaine says suddenly. He pulls onto the sleeve of Kurt's suit, tugging until Kurt's feet start moving along with him.
"Where are we going?" Kurt whispers, although it's unnecessary. The jazz band is loud and booming and there's no way anyone can hear their conversation. Blaine doesn't answer him though, just pulls him along until they're on the side of the house. The party is going on just a few yards away, drinking and laughing and dancing, but no one can see them. They're in the shadows, the twinkling lights from the candles and small lamps on each table not reaching over to their darkened corner.
Blaine presses Kurt back into the side of the house, his elbows digging into the brick and marking his white suit jacket.
"See, Kurt?" Blaine says, moving just a little closer. "We're wearing masks. We can be whoever we want to be."
And Kurt could pretend that Blaine is a lot of things. He could pretend that Blaine is his girlfriend, or the daughter of one of the rich families at the party tonight, or the tall girl with long blonde hair that lives across the street from him in Philadelphia.
Kurt takes his mask off, unties the knot of ribbon on the back on his head, and lets it fall to the ground. He reaches out, hand shaking, and pushes Blaine's mask up his face, passed his eyes, until it rests on the top of his head. Blaine's eyes are wide and Kurt feels a lump lodged in his throat.
"Is it okay if I just want it to be us?" Kurt asks. He's not sure what Blaine's thinking, if Blaine has been pretending Kurt is someone else all along.
But Blaine pushes forward until their lips are touching, Kurt's eyes fluttering shut on contact. He's read about this in all of his books, read the way his favorite authors have captured first kisses. Long paragraphs and brilliant words, details about sight and sound and the weather.
But Kurt realizes, as Blaine presses in closer, that none of those details matter. He's not aware of anything around him; not the people, not the music and not the cool breeze. Blaine pulls back just a little, parts his lips and leans in again. Their lips stick together, dry in the summer heat, and Kurt can taste the champagne on Blaine's tongue when he licks lightly on their lips to wet them.
Kurt feels his stomach drop to his knees and now he understands. He understands what could make men write hundreds of words, paragraphs, entire books. It's like nothing he's ever felt before; the pressure of Blaine's hand along his jaw, the warmth of Blaine's lips, the way Blaine's breath punches out of him and brushes over Kurt's cheek. His head is spinning and it feels like he's had too much wine, unsteady on his feet and wavering back and forth if he didn't have the wall of his house holding him upright.
Blaine pulls back, just a bit, their foreheads pressing together. Kurt can feel the blush high on his cheeks and he tries to calm his racing heart.
"I've been wanting to do that since you first walked up my driveway," Blaine confesses, smiling at the memory, his thumb stroking lightly along Kurt's cheek.
"So that explains the unconventional swim wear," Kurt jokes, hand reaching out and cupping at Blaine's side.
"You'll just have to join me next time," Blaine teases back, leans in and presses a single kiss right beneath Kurt's ear.
There's a loud crash off in the distance and Kurt doesn't even have to look up to know that it's father's business partner, drunk already and falling into tables. Kurt sighs and drops his head back against the wall. "I don't know who let him get into the brandy."
Blaine laughs and tugs at Kurt's hands until he's off of the wall and standing upright. They slowly walk back through the grass and to the party, not wanting the moment to be over quite so soon.
"Can I ask for a dance later?" Blaine asks, reaching out at the last moment to straighten Kurt's tie. They both know that it can't be on the dance floor, out in the open and in front of everyone. But they could sneak off, back into the shadows and press their bodies together and move along with the music.
"Yes you may," Kurt says softly, loud enough for Blaine's ears only.
Blaine squeezes Kurt's hand just once and presses his lips together in a small air kiss before going over to his parents, sticking out his hand while his mother rambles through introductions.
Kurt watches him for a moment, his easy smile and perfect posture, before making his way over to the band leader and requesting a few slow songs to be played later in the evening.
rating: PG-13 (will increase in later chapters)
word count: ~1,400 for this chapter / ~6,800 total
summary: It's the summer of 1926. The Hummels, wealthy heirs of a family that found their fortune in steamships, are vacationing at their mansion in Newport, Rhode Island. Kurt longs for a summer romance, just like in the books he spends his days reading. It's summer and anything is possible.
author's note: So I live in Rhode Island and have always loved the mansions. So I do what I always do with things I love: shove Klaine in there and make an AU. Forever thankful to Liz and Alana. I suppose beta is the correct word, but they're so much more than that. So thank you! Title stolen from a passage in The Great Gatsby. Come visit on Tumblr for snippets and what not.
Also, I'm aware that this takes place during prohibition. While it was illegal for bars to serve alcohol, it was not illegal to drink alcohol in your own home (and besides, these people were so rich that the rules didn't really apply to them).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The sun is just setting, pinks and reds and oranges dipping into the ocean, when the first guests start arriving, furs and top hats and masks covering their faces. Kurt watches from across the lawn as his step mother greets them one by one, her head thrown back in laughter and her hand tucked into his father's arm. His father's face is blank, a simple black mask covering only his eyes, having no interest in parties or mingling with neighbors. He shakes the hands of the men, though, dipping his head slightly to welcome the women.
Most of the men are wearing masks like his father's, black and simple. But Kurt's mask is a deep blue satin and adorned with peacock feathers on one side, the blues and greens matching perfectly with his thin tie. He readjusts the ribbon on the back of his head, making sure the knot is tight.
He's on the far side of the lawn, held up right against the white fence that separates the grass from the steps down to the ocean. He keeps his eyes on the party, watching to make sure everyone is in good spirits and that their glasses are full. The tables are settled around the lawn, covered in simple white linen and gold trim around the bottom. There's twinkling lights overhead, small and glittering and they remind Kurt of fireflies.
He doesn't know what Blaine's mask looks like, but he still spots him the moment he steps out onto the grass, his mother and father at his side. His mask is a deep red, just like the pocket square Kurt lent him, with bits of white and black. Their eyes meet and Kurt smiles, he can't help it, and Blaine grins back. He sees Blaine introduce himself before grabbing a glass on champagne off of one of the waiter's trays and excusing himself. He makes his way through the grass and the closer he gets, the better Kurt can see just how perfectly his tuxedo is tailored to his body.
"Ritzy party," Blaine says by way of introduction, taking a long sip from his champagne glass. Kurt watches the long line of his neck, the bits of champagne sticking to Blaine's upper lip when he takes the glass down.
"Thank you," Kurt says, his eyes darting quickly from Blaine's lips over to the dance floor, some of the younger guests dancing along to the loud jazz music, short skirts kicking up with every twirl.
"What do you think of the mask?" Blaine asks. Kurt leans closer and can see music notes painted along the edge.
"It's gorgeous," Kurt replies. "It looks lovely with the pocket square."
Blaine taps the fabric tucked into the pocket on his chest. "Ah, well. That I can't take credit for."
"It can be our secret," Kurt says, grateful that his mask is covering the blush on his cheeks at the memory of being up against his dresser, Blaine all around him.
They're quiet for a few moments, the sounds of conversation and laughter and music all around them. Blaine finishes his champagne, placing it down on a silver tray when a server passes by.
"Follow me," Blaine says suddenly. He pulls onto the sleeve of Kurt's suit, tugging until Kurt's feet start moving along with him.
"Where are we going?" Kurt whispers, although it's unnecessary. The jazz band is loud and booming and there's no way anyone can hear their conversation. Blaine doesn't answer him though, just pulls him along until they're on the side of the house. The party is going on just a few yards away, drinking and laughing and dancing, but no one can see them. They're in the shadows, the twinkling lights from the candles and small lamps on each table not reaching over to their darkened corner.
Blaine presses Kurt back into the side of the house, his elbows digging into the brick and marking his white suit jacket.
"See, Kurt?" Blaine says, moving just a little closer. "We're wearing masks. We can be whoever we want to be."
And Kurt could pretend that Blaine is a lot of things. He could pretend that Blaine is his girlfriend, or the daughter of one of the rich families at the party tonight, or the tall girl with long blonde hair that lives across the street from him in Philadelphia.
Kurt takes his mask off, unties the knot of ribbon on the back on his head, and lets it fall to the ground. He reaches out, hand shaking, and pushes Blaine's mask up his face, passed his eyes, until it rests on the top of his head. Blaine's eyes are wide and Kurt feels a lump lodged in his throat.
"Is it okay if I just want it to be us?" Kurt asks. He's not sure what Blaine's thinking, if Blaine has been pretending Kurt is someone else all along.
But Blaine pushes forward until their lips are touching, Kurt's eyes fluttering shut on contact. He's read about this in all of his books, read the way his favorite authors have captured first kisses. Long paragraphs and brilliant words, details about sight and sound and the weather.
But Kurt realizes, as Blaine presses in closer, that none of those details matter. He's not aware of anything around him; not the people, not the music and not the cool breeze. Blaine pulls back just a little, parts his lips and leans in again. Their lips stick together, dry in the summer heat, and Kurt can taste the champagne on Blaine's tongue when he licks lightly on their lips to wet them.
Kurt feels his stomach drop to his knees and now he understands. He understands what could make men write hundreds of words, paragraphs, entire books. It's like nothing he's ever felt before; the pressure of Blaine's hand along his jaw, the warmth of Blaine's lips, the way Blaine's breath punches out of him and brushes over Kurt's cheek. His head is spinning and it feels like he's had too much wine, unsteady on his feet and wavering back and forth if he didn't have the wall of his house holding him upright.
Blaine pulls back, just a bit, their foreheads pressing together. Kurt can feel the blush high on his cheeks and he tries to calm his racing heart.
"I've been wanting to do that since you first walked up my driveway," Blaine confesses, smiling at the memory, his thumb stroking lightly along Kurt's cheek.
"So that explains the unconventional swim wear," Kurt jokes, hand reaching out and cupping at Blaine's side.
"You'll just have to join me next time," Blaine teases back, leans in and presses a single kiss right beneath Kurt's ear.
There's a loud crash off in the distance and Kurt doesn't even have to look up to know that it's father's business partner, drunk already and falling into tables. Kurt sighs and drops his head back against the wall. "I don't know who let him get into the brandy."
Blaine laughs and tugs at Kurt's hands until he's off of the wall and standing upright. They slowly walk back through the grass and to the party, not wanting the moment to be over quite so soon.
"Can I ask for a dance later?" Blaine asks, reaching out at the last moment to straighten Kurt's tie. They both know that it can't be on the dance floor, out in the open and in front of everyone. But they could sneak off, back into the shadows and press their bodies together and move along with the music.
"Yes you may," Kurt says softly, loud enough for Blaine's ears only.
Blaine squeezes Kurt's hand just once and presses his lips together in a small air kiss before going over to his parents, sticking out his hand while his mother rambles through introductions.
Kurt watches him for a moment, his easy smile and perfect posture, before making his way over to the band leader and requesting a few slow songs to be played later in the evening.