Your Steady Hands - 5/? (Pre Kurt/Blaine)
Title: Your Steady Hands
Pairing: Pre-Kurt/Blaine
Rating: R
Word count: 3,400/???
Disclaimer: They so don't belong to me, loves. I think they might be grateful for that.
Summary:
grief
-noun
1. keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.
2. a cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow.
What do you do after you lose absolutely everything? Blaine would really like to know.
Warnings: This story deals with the aftermath of rape. While there are no really graphic details, there are a few flashbacks that could be triggering, so please read this with caution.
Author's note: This is the sequel to Number Not The Voices. You'll probably want to read that one first. Also, this was started waaaay back during the winter hiatus. That being said, it goes completely AU after 'The Sue Sylvester Shuffle'. Parts of later episodes are mentioned, but the events therein have changed to reflect the situation in the story. So keep that in mind if things seem off from current canon.
Prologue
Denial, Part One ::: Part Two
Bargaining, Part One ::: Bargaining, Part Two
Interlude - A Mending of the Tears
Your Steady Hands - Depression, Part One
Blaine woke, warm and still a little sleepy, on the first official day of their spring break. It was the first Saturday in April and it was supposed to be sunny all weekend. He had demanded that Kurt leave the alarm clock off; it was the first time he had ever been allowed to sleep in on a vacation and he wasn't going to miss out on it.
Blaine snuggled back into the blankets and the soft press of Kurt’s body behind him, not even bothering to look at the clock. If Kurt wasn't awake it couldn't be very late in the morning.
If he could admit it to himself, and he could easily on a day like today, he loved waking up like this, with Kurt sleeping softly beside him and enough time to just lay there and exist for a little while. On those rare occasions it felt like they lived in a world all their own, just the two of them with no worries or pressures. When it was like this it was easier to just forget.
It still amazed him sometimes, how thoroughly Kurt had changed his life. Not even counting the last two months, Kurt’s presence had been like a gift he hadn't even known he wanted. They had bonded the day they met over shared pain, two lost boys in the middle of Ohio, and after that it was like they didn't know how to be without each other any more. He had needed Kurt just as much as Kurt needed him and now Kurt was like a lifeline; sometimes he was the only reason Blaine got out of bed every morning.
Sunlight was just starting to peek through the basement windows, the outside world brightening with spring warmth and turning the monochromatic room to a sea of gold. Blaine smiled when he felt Kurt snuggle up closer to him, his nose brushing the hair at the nape of Blaine’s neck, the arm slung across his waist pulling him closer.
Kurt was definitely a snuggler. Blaine had found that out quickly when had had woken up the morning after their confrontation with Grant with Kurt wrapped around him like he was a giant teddy bear.
It hadn't bothered him even then, with his body still hurting and his brain feeling like shattered glass, to have Kurt so close. He had felt safe, being in Kurt’s room, in his bed, with Kurt wrapped all around him.
And now they woke up like this most mornings, invading each others space, holding on tightly to each other. Sometimes they would be facing each other, hands curled tightly in sleep clothes or clutched together between them, Blaine’s head tucked up under Kurt’s chin or Kurt using Blaine’s shoulder for a pillow, their feet tangling beneath the blankets.
But usually they were like this, slotted in beside each other like puzzle pieces, chest to back, their heartbeats making counter rhythms to each other. Blaine was usually the little spoon, but that was okay because he liked it. He liked the feeling of Kurt’s chest pressed strong and warm against his back, his long arms holding him tightly. He liked the warmth of Kurt’s breath on his neck and the way they just seemed to fit.
The light in the room grew steadily brighter, and Blaine was just starting to wonder if he should get up now or if he could try and fall back asleep again, when Kurt moved behind him. One long thigh pressed up against the back of Blaine’s legs and Kurt’s hips shifted until...oh.
Blaine’s eyes widened in shock and he bit his lips to hold back a startled gasp. That was...oh.
Kurt’s hard cock was suddenly, obtrusively, pressed against Blaine’s ass.
This had never happened before. In all the time they had been sharing a bed, invading each others space, ignoring lines and boundaries as if they had never been there at all, this hadn't been a problem.
For one brief moment Blaine wanted to like it, to press back against Kurt and see what would happen. He had thought about it before; being with Kurt in that way. Before all of this had happened, before his world had been shaken like a snow globe, before...
Kurt was gorgeous and Blaine was seventeen, of course he had thought about it, he couldn't help it. He had wondered, often, what Kurt looked like beneath all those layers, if the rest of his skin was as baby soft as his hands. He had wondered what Kurt’s mouth would taste like (probably coffee most of the time) and how his big hands would feel on Blaine’s face, on his chest, his hips.
But his wonderings had usually stopped there, too embarrassed to think of much beyond that. It had always felt like a betrayal of Kurt’s much desired privacy. There was a reason he dressed in so many layers and Blaine had always felt kind of perverted when he thought about taking them all off.
He had never gone so far as to think about Kurt’s dick, but now it was there, pressed up snugly against Blaine’s ass and he suddenly couldn't think about anything else.
It sent a shiver down Blaine’s spine and not in a good way. His brief thought of 'what if' dissolved under the reality of what actually could happen and he suddenly felt disgusted.
He still didn't remember much about that night; most of what he knew had come to him in dreams so he had no way of knowing if it was real or not. But the knowledge of what had happened in that motel room, what must have happened, was enough. The bruises that had been left behind, the blood that just wouldn't stop no matter how hard Blaine had tried...those things told him enough and it made him sick. Made him want to hide away and never be touched again.
Blaine took a deep breath and tried to will his rapidly beating heart to slow. Kurt was his best friend and he trusted him implicitly, more than anyone in his life except maybe Gregory, and he knew that Kurt’s erection had nothing to do with him. It wasn't even a sexual thing, it was just...something that happened.
He should get up now, go upstairs and wait for Kurt to wake up on his own and pretend like it never happened. He should-
“Blaine?”
Kurt’s sleepy mumble from behind him stopped Blaine cold. Maybe if he didn't move Kurt wouldn't realize-
“Oh my god!” Kurt sprang from the bed as if burned and Blaine sat up quickly, turned to see Kurt backpedaling across the room, apologies spilling from his mouth like a waterfall. “I'm sorry. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Blaine! I didn't...I wouldn't...Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with me? I'm so sorry!”
Whatever feelings Blaine may have had on the situation changed unequivocally into humor at Kurt’s horrified response. It was probably the wrong reaction, but Blaine didn't care. The look on Kurt’s face was priceless and Blaine started to laugh.
Kurt’s rambling apologies trailed off and he just stood there staring as Blaine laughed and laughed, doubling over with the force of it. He laughed until his stomach hurt, until the look on Kurt’s face went from horrified to annoyed and slightly worried.
“I'm s-sorry,” Blaine wheezed out between laughs as he reached up to wipe the tears from his face. “You're just... oh god.” He fell backwards onto the bed, still giggling as he blinked up at the white ceiling.
“I'm glad you find this humorous,” Kurt huffed, slipping into self-preservation mode, which Blaine knew for Kurt meant bitchy and aloof. “I wake up to realize I've been molesting you in my sleep and you get struck with the giggles. Wonderful.”
It suddenly wasn't funny anymore. The laughter stopped abruptly and Blaine sat back up to face Kurt, that familiar pounding in his heart starting up again.
“Hey, no. No. Kurt, you didn't.” How could Kurt say that? How could he even think that? Blaine needed to fix this, now. “Kurt, you didn't do anything wrong.”
“But I-”
“You got an erection in your sleep. It happens. It's normal, Kurt,” Blaine implored, trying to reassure him. And he truly believed those words. Whatever moment of panic he had was just that, panic, a gut reaction. What had happened didn't mean anything, it certainly wasn't something he needed to fear. This was Kurt after all. Kurt’s own horror and guilt over it was enough to make Blaine remember that.
“I mean, seriously, Kurt, we're teenage boys, it's...practically a requirement.”
Kurt’s pale face flushed a delicate pink and his hands twisted together in front of him. Blaine didn't know what Kurt knew about sex, but he was almost certain that Kurt was a virgin. Even the thought of sex to Kurt had always seemed about as taboo as the idea of Lady Gaga suddenly retiring.
“No, Blaine,” Kurt hissed, every line in his body taught with tension, his mouth twisted in anguish still. “It's...sick. And disgusting and...and wrong! I shouldn't have...I can't believe I-”
“Kurt, if you think having an erection is sick and disgusting and wrong we have bigger problems on our hands here,” Blaine said, attempting to lighten the situation. It didn't work.
Kurt gave him a withering look and Blaine bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again. “I mean-”
“I know what you mean,” Blaine sighed. He moved until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, patting the place beside him. Kurt took a few hesitant steps, the look on his face a strange mixture of embarrassment and irritation. When he moved within arm's length Blaine reached out and tugged him closer until he sat reluctantly.
“You weren't molesting me. Please don't ever say that. I...it's okay.”
“Blaine-”
“It's okay, Kurt.”
Kurt turned those beautiful, heartbroken eyes to him and Blaine wanted desperately to reach out and brush his fingers against the perfect golden eyelashes that had turned dark with dampness.
“You know,” he said, his voice shaking just slightly as he tried for brevity; his hands clenched into fists in his lap to keep him from doing something stupid. “If I slept in my own bed we wouldn't have to worry about it. I could move if you want.”
“No! I mean...” Kurt blushed as his sudden outburst and looked away from Blaine. “I like having you in my bed. Oh my god!”
Blaine bit back another laugh as Kurt’s eyes widened and his blush spread across his whole face and down his neck when he realized what he had said. “I didn't mean that! I didn't...I mean...oh my god.” Kurt buried his red face in his hands, his shoulders slumping in sudden defeat.
Blaine smiled and reached out for one of Kurt’s hands, pulling it away from his face and into his lap, forcing Kurt to turn toward him again. “I know what you mean,” he said softly. He linked their fingers together and bumped Kurt's shoulder gently. “I...I like being with you too.”
This earned him a genuine smile and for a minute they sat in silence, just the two of them, happy to be lost together.
After a few minutes Blaine sighed and squeezed Kurt’s hand before releasing it. “We should go upstairs,” he said quietly, as if reluctant to break the silence. “Before your dad adds too many unhealthy things to the shopping list.”
They had a barbeque scheduled for that afternoon and Blaine was somewhat ridiculously excited about it. Burt had required that the first weekend they had off belonged to the family and then they could do whatever they wanted after that (excepting of course the trip to Atlantic City that Puck had proposed). Blaine couldn't remember the last time he had a 'family weekend', if there had ever been one.
Kurt shrugged, but stood up anyway and headed toward the closet. “We can buy that stuff for Finn and I'll just take it off dad's plate when he's not looking.”
As Kurt disappeared into the closet to seek out today’s ensemble Blaine lay back down against the softness of Kurt’s bed, breathing in their mingled smell, and smiled. Today would be a good day after all.
******
“That's disgusting.”
Kurt ignored the roll of his father's eyes and continued to look with trepidation at the thing lying on one of his hand-painted Marie Claire serving dishes.
“You eat fish all the time, Kurt,” Burt sighed, smearing a pre-made marinade onto the trout he had bought at the market. “If I recall, you seem to tell me I need to eat more of it because it's healthy.”
Kurt wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “I eat fish that has been de-boned, fileted, and lightly marinated in a garlic basil sauce. That...is gross.” The thing still had eyes for crying out loud, and a wide, gaping mouth complete with little teeth. He never liked to think about what his food looked like before it was dead.
“You should try it. It was fresh caught this morning; that's the best way to eat fish. You'd know that if you had ever gone fishing with me again.”
“I thought we were never speaking of that.”
The one fishing trip that they had attempted, just a few months after his mother's death, had been the biggest disaster of a family vacation ever. He had been traumatized by the poor little worm that his father had stuffed onto the hook, fallen in the water and ruined his new clothes, and ended up with a case of poison ivy all over his hands and face. They had gone home without any fish and their next vacation had been spent at his aunt's house in Seattle where she had a heated pool and been within walking distance of the theater district.
“It's not going to bite you,” Burt sighed, rolling his eyes again.
“It smells,” Kurt defended himself.
Finn looked up from where he had been arranging the table on the other end of the deck, eyebrows creased in confusion. “It smells like fish,” he said. “What do you want it to smell like?”
Carole walked out of the kitchen where she and Blaine had been preparing the potato salad, a platter containing hamburger patties in her hands. “Something that doesn't stink up my kitchen,” she complained, coming to Kurt’s rescue. “Whole fish smells much worse than a nice cod steak from the seafood department.”
Burt threw his hands in the air and glared at his wife for throwing him beneath the bus. “It's just a fish, Kurt. You see them at the aquarium, they swim in the ocean. Here, look at it.”
“Gross, get it away from me.” His father had picked up the fish and was now wielding it at Kurt’s person like a sword. Kurt hopped backwards away from it, glaring.
“Just touch it,” Burt insisted, stepping closer to Kurt as he backed away. “It's just a fish.”
“No, I'm not touching it. Put it on the grill. You shouldn't be playing with your food anyway, dad,” Kurt sneered, backing even farther away as his dad advanced on him.
Suddenly the look in Burt's eyes turned from insistent to mischievously determined. The last time Kurt had seen that look was when his father had insisted he learn how to take apart an engine when he was thirteen. He was now an excellent mechanic; he would never be a fisherman.
He turned and ran, completely unsurprised when he heard his father's heavy footsteps follow after him across the deck. He dodged around the table and over the potted plants he and Carole had been working on that morning and was just about to make a dash for the back yard when his father blocked his path down the stairs. The smile on Burt's face was so joyously happy it made Kurt’s eyes water as he turned back around, his own smile stretching wide as he made his way back toward the table and Finn.
“Finn, help me!” Kurt begged, trying to hide behind his brother's hulking form. But Finn, the traitor, raised his hands and moved out of the way, sitting down at the table and laughing (he was so going to pay for this later) as Kurt felt his dad's arms wrap around his waist and lift him up off the the ground.
Kurt most certainly did not shriek as his feet left the ground and he found himself being twirled around like he was six again. The fish was gone, forgotten in the chase and presumably on the grill where it belonged, and Burt's laughter rang out across the yard as they spun.
“Take the fish!” his father demanded.
“No! It's disgusting!” Kurt wailed, feet kicking uselessly in the air. “Stop it! Put me down!”
“Take it!”
“Dad, please! I'm gonna throw up! Stop it!”
“You know you want it!”
“No!”
Over the sound of their argument Kurt heard something shatter and his dad suddenly dropped him back to his feet, both of them turning around to see Blaine standing halfway out of the backdoor with the dish of potato salad broken on the deck. Kurt smiled and stepped forward to help clean it up when he noticed that Blaine wasn't moving.
His hands still hung in mid-air, as if he were still holding the bowl, and his eyes were staring straight ahead, his face slack and almost vacant. “Blaine?” Kurt asked quietly, slowly walking over to where Blaine was standing.
His dad walked with him, eyes full of concern as they stopped in front of the unmoving boy. Carole was at the grill and Finn was still sitting at the table, both of them casting glances at each other then back to the door. Blaine’s sudden stillness was unnerving.
“Blaine, are you alright?” Burt asked, one hand reaching out toward him.
Too late Kurt remembered where he had seen that look on Blaine’s face before - in the boys locker room, when Sam had pushed him. Before Kurt could stop him, Burt's hand came down heavy on Blaine’s shoulder and Blaine’s eyes snapped back to life.
******
His head feels thick and his body won't move. He tries to sit up but someone pushes him back down, climbs onto the bed. Who-
'So beautiful like this.' He knows that voice.
Grant. His french teacher. Why is his teacher in his bed? He can't think. He can't breath.
A hand in his hair, stroking down his cheek. He doesn't want to be touched, he feels sick.
'You're such a fucking tease, aren't you, Blaine?' A voice in his ear, hissing, breath hot on his skin and he feels like he's burning. 'And a dirty little slut.'
Blaine cringes, tries to pull away from the hands and the breath in his ear but he can't.
He's not a slut. He had cared about Adam. He was the only one-
There are hands on his arms, pushing, moving them up. He feels something wrap around his wrists and now he's scared. Can't move, can't think. What's going on? This shouldn't be happening.
A hand slides down his chest, over his hips. This isn't right. He hears a zipper being pulled, far away like an echo. His pants are yanked open and he feels tears start in his eyes. This isn't right.
'Stop.'
'Don't give me that, you little slut. You know you want it.'
His pants are pulled down and he starts to cry. No. He doesn't want this. He doesn't.
But the words are stuck, he can't get them out. Don't do this. Don't-
*****
“-touch him!”
Blaine’s shout rang out across the backyard like a gunshot and Kurt watched in horror as Blaine, who just moments ago had been nearly catatonic as Burt tried to get his attention, was suddenly lunging out of the doorway, his hands seizing Burt's shirt as he propelled them both towards the stairs at the back of the deck.
To Be Continued
What? You thought I was going to let them be happy? Have you been paying attention? ;D
I'm so so so sorry this chapter is so late! The last few weeks have been crazy around my house. I hope this was worth the wait, and I PROMISE not to make you wait so long for the next part.
And to everyone who commented on the interlude, thank you so much. It was a piece I really loved and I'm so glad you all liked it to. I'm sorry for not making individual comments. I kind of suck this week. :/
- Meagan
Pairing: Pre-Kurt/Blaine
Rating: R
Word count: 3,400/???
Disclaimer: They so don't belong to me, loves. I think they might be grateful for that.
Summary:
grief
-noun
1. keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.
2. a cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow.
What do you do after you lose absolutely everything? Blaine would really like to know.
Warnings: This story deals with the aftermath of rape. While there are no really graphic details, there are a few flashbacks that could be triggering, so please read this with caution.
Author's note: This is the sequel to Number Not The Voices. You'll probably want to read that one first. Also, this was started waaaay back during the winter hiatus. That being said, it goes completely AU after 'The Sue Sylvester Shuffle'. Parts of later episodes are mentioned, but the events therein have changed to reflect the situation in the story. So keep that in mind if things seem off from current canon.
Prologue
Denial, Part One ::: Part Two
Bargaining, Part One ::: Bargaining, Part Two
Interlude - A Mending of the Tears
Your Steady Hands - Depression, Part One
Blaine woke, warm and still a little sleepy, on the first official day of their spring break. It was the first Saturday in April and it was supposed to be sunny all weekend. He had demanded that Kurt leave the alarm clock off; it was the first time he had ever been allowed to sleep in on a vacation and he wasn't going to miss out on it.
Blaine snuggled back into the blankets and the soft press of Kurt’s body behind him, not even bothering to look at the clock. If Kurt wasn't awake it couldn't be very late in the morning.
If he could admit it to himself, and he could easily on a day like today, he loved waking up like this, with Kurt sleeping softly beside him and enough time to just lay there and exist for a little while. On those rare occasions it felt like they lived in a world all their own, just the two of them with no worries or pressures. When it was like this it was easier to just forget.
It still amazed him sometimes, how thoroughly Kurt had changed his life. Not even counting the last two months, Kurt’s presence had been like a gift he hadn't even known he wanted. They had bonded the day they met over shared pain, two lost boys in the middle of Ohio, and after that it was like they didn't know how to be without each other any more. He had needed Kurt just as much as Kurt needed him and now Kurt was like a lifeline; sometimes he was the only reason Blaine got out of bed every morning.
Sunlight was just starting to peek through the basement windows, the outside world brightening with spring warmth and turning the monochromatic room to a sea of gold. Blaine smiled when he felt Kurt snuggle up closer to him, his nose brushing the hair at the nape of Blaine’s neck, the arm slung across his waist pulling him closer.
Kurt was definitely a snuggler. Blaine had found that out quickly when had had woken up the morning after their confrontation with Grant with Kurt wrapped around him like he was a giant teddy bear.
It hadn't bothered him even then, with his body still hurting and his brain feeling like shattered glass, to have Kurt so close. He had felt safe, being in Kurt’s room, in his bed, with Kurt wrapped all around him.
And now they woke up like this most mornings, invading each others space, holding on tightly to each other. Sometimes they would be facing each other, hands curled tightly in sleep clothes or clutched together between them, Blaine’s head tucked up under Kurt’s chin or Kurt using Blaine’s shoulder for a pillow, their feet tangling beneath the blankets.
But usually they were like this, slotted in beside each other like puzzle pieces, chest to back, their heartbeats making counter rhythms to each other. Blaine was usually the little spoon, but that was okay because he liked it. He liked the feeling of Kurt’s chest pressed strong and warm against his back, his long arms holding him tightly. He liked the warmth of Kurt’s breath on his neck and the way they just seemed to fit.
The light in the room grew steadily brighter, and Blaine was just starting to wonder if he should get up now or if he could try and fall back asleep again, when Kurt moved behind him. One long thigh pressed up against the back of Blaine’s legs and Kurt’s hips shifted until...oh.
Blaine’s eyes widened in shock and he bit his lips to hold back a startled gasp. That was...oh.
Kurt’s hard cock was suddenly, obtrusively, pressed against Blaine’s ass.
This had never happened before. In all the time they had been sharing a bed, invading each others space, ignoring lines and boundaries as if they had never been there at all, this hadn't been a problem.
For one brief moment Blaine wanted to like it, to press back against Kurt and see what would happen. He had thought about it before; being with Kurt in that way. Before all of this had happened, before his world had been shaken like a snow globe, before...
Kurt was gorgeous and Blaine was seventeen, of course he had thought about it, he couldn't help it. He had wondered, often, what Kurt looked like beneath all those layers, if the rest of his skin was as baby soft as his hands. He had wondered what Kurt’s mouth would taste like (probably coffee most of the time) and how his big hands would feel on Blaine’s face, on his chest, his hips.
But his wonderings had usually stopped there, too embarrassed to think of much beyond that. It had always felt like a betrayal of Kurt’s much desired privacy. There was a reason he dressed in so many layers and Blaine had always felt kind of perverted when he thought about taking them all off.
He had never gone so far as to think about Kurt’s dick, but now it was there, pressed up snugly against Blaine’s ass and he suddenly couldn't think about anything else.
It sent a shiver down Blaine’s spine and not in a good way. His brief thought of 'what if' dissolved under the reality of what actually could happen and he suddenly felt disgusted.
He still didn't remember much about that night; most of what he knew had come to him in dreams so he had no way of knowing if it was real or not. But the knowledge of what had happened in that motel room, what must have happened, was enough. The bruises that had been left behind, the blood that just wouldn't stop no matter how hard Blaine had tried...those things told him enough and it made him sick. Made him want to hide away and never be touched again.
Blaine took a deep breath and tried to will his rapidly beating heart to slow. Kurt was his best friend and he trusted him implicitly, more than anyone in his life except maybe Gregory, and he knew that Kurt’s erection had nothing to do with him. It wasn't even a sexual thing, it was just...something that happened.
He should get up now, go upstairs and wait for Kurt to wake up on his own and pretend like it never happened. He should-
“Blaine?”
Kurt’s sleepy mumble from behind him stopped Blaine cold. Maybe if he didn't move Kurt wouldn't realize-
“Oh my god!” Kurt sprang from the bed as if burned and Blaine sat up quickly, turned to see Kurt backpedaling across the room, apologies spilling from his mouth like a waterfall. “I'm sorry. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Blaine! I didn't...I wouldn't...Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with me? I'm so sorry!”
Whatever feelings Blaine may have had on the situation changed unequivocally into humor at Kurt’s horrified response. It was probably the wrong reaction, but Blaine didn't care. The look on Kurt’s face was priceless and Blaine started to laugh.
Kurt’s rambling apologies trailed off and he just stood there staring as Blaine laughed and laughed, doubling over with the force of it. He laughed until his stomach hurt, until the look on Kurt’s face went from horrified to annoyed and slightly worried.
“I'm s-sorry,” Blaine wheezed out between laughs as he reached up to wipe the tears from his face. “You're just... oh god.” He fell backwards onto the bed, still giggling as he blinked up at the white ceiling.
“I'm glad you find this humorous,” Kurt huffed, slipping into self-preservation mode, which Blaine knew for Kurt meant bitchy and aloof. “I wake up to realize I've been molesting you in my sleep and you get struck with the giggles. Wonderful.”
It suddenly wasn't funny anymore. The laughter stopped abruptly and Blaine sat back up to face Kurt, that familiar pounding in his heart starting up again.
“Hey, no. No. Kurt, you didn't.” How could Kurt say that? How could he even think that? Blaine needed to fix this, now. “Kurt, you didn't do anything wrong.”
“But I-”
“You got an erection in your sleep. It happens. It's normal, Kurt,” Blaine implored, trying to reassure him. And he truly believed those words. Whatever moment of panic he had was just that, panic, a gut reaction. What had happened didn't mean anything, it certainly wasn't something he needed to fear. This was Kurt after all. Kurt’s own horror and guilt over it was enough to make Blaine remember that.
“I mean, seriously, Kurt, we're teenage boys, it's...practically a requirement.”
Kurt’s pale face flushed a delicate pink and his hands twisted together in front of him. Blaine didn't know what Kurt knew about sex, but he was almost certain that Kurt was a virgin. Even the thought of sex to Kurt had always seemed about as taboo as the idea of Lady Gaga suddenly retiring.
“No, Blaine,” Kurt hissed, every line in his body taught with tension, his mouth twisted in anguish still. “It's...sick. And disgusting and...and wrong! I shouldn't have...I can't believe I-”
“Kurt, if you think having an erection is sick and disgusting and wrong we have bigger problems on our hands here,” Blaine said, attempting to lighten the situation. It didn't work.
Kurt gave him a withering look and Blaine bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again. “I mean-”
“I know what you mean,” Blaine sighed. He moved until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, patting the place beside him. Kurt took a few hesitant steps, the look on his face a strange mixture of embarrassment and irritation. When he moved within arm's length Blaine reached out and tugged him closer until he sat reluctantly.
“You weren't molesting me. Please don't ever say that. I...it's okay.”
“Blaine-”
“It's okay, Kurt.”
Kurt turned those beautiful, heartbroken eyes to him and Blaine wanted desperately to reach out and brush his fingers against the perfect golden eyelashes that had turned dark with dampness.
“You know,” he said, his voice shaking just slightly as he tried for brevity; his hands clenched into fists in his lap to keep him from doing something stupid. “If I slept in my own bed we wouldn't have to worry about it. I could move if you want.”
“No! I mean...” Kurt blushed as his sudden outburst and looked away from Blaine. “I like having you in my bed. Oh my god!”
Blaine bit back another laugh as Kurt’s eyes widened and his blush spread across his whole face and down his neck when he realized what he had said. “I didn't mean that! I didn't...I mean...oh my god.” Kurt buried his red face in his hands, his shoulders slumping in sudden defeat.
Blaine smiled and reached out for one of Kurt’s hands, pulling it away from his face and into his lap, forcing Kurt to turn toward him again. “I know what you mean,” he said softly. He linked their fingers together and bumped Kurt's shoulder gently. “I...I like being with you too.”
This earned him a genuine smile and for a minute they sat in silence, just the two of them, happy to be lost together.
After a few minutes Blaine sighed and squeezed Kurt’s hand before releasing it. “We should go upstairs,” he said quietly, as if reluctant to break the silence. “Before your dad adds too many unhealthy things to the shopping list.”
They had a barbeque scheduled for that afternoon and Blaine was somewhat ridiculously excited about it. Burt had required that the first weekend they had off belonged to the family and then they could do whatever they wanted after that (excepting of course the trip to Atlantic City that Puck had proposed). Blaine couldn't remember the last time he had a 'family weekend', if there had ever been one.
Kurt shrugged, but stood up anyway and headed toward the closet. “We can buy that stuff for Finn and I'll just take it off dad's plate when he's not looking.”
As Kurt disappeared into the closet to seek out today’s ensemble Blaine lay back down against the softness of Kurt’s bed, breathing in their mingled smell, and smiled. Today would be a good day after all.
******
“That's disgusting.”
Kurt ignored the roll of his father's eyes and continued to look with trepidation at the thing lying on one of his hand-painted Marie Claire serving dishes.
“You eat fish all the time, Kurt,” Burt sighed, smearing a pre-made marinade onto the trout he had bought at the market. “If I recall, you seem to tell me I need to eat more of it because it's healthy.”
Kurt wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “I eat fish that has been de-boned, fileted, and lightly marinated in a garlic basil sauce. That...is gross.” The thing still had eyes for crying out loud, and a wide, gaping mouth complete with little teeth. He never liked to think about what his food looked like before it was dead.
“You should try it. It was fresh caught this morning; that's the best way to eat fish. You'd know that if you had ever gone fishing with me again.”
“I thought we were never speaking of that.”
The one fishing trip that they had attempted, just a few months after his mother's death, had been the biggest disaster of a family vacation ever. He had been traumatized by the poor little worm that his father had stuffed onto the hook, fallen in the water and ruined his new clothes, and ended up with a case of poison ivy all over his hands and face. They had gone home without any fish and their next vacation had been spent at his aunt's house in Seattle where she had a heated pool and been within walking distance of the theater district.
“It's not going to bite you,” Burt sighed, rolling his eyes again.
“It smells,” Kurt defended himself.
Finn looked up from where he had been arranging the table on the other end of the deck, eyebrows creased in confusion. “It smells like fish,” he said. “What do you want it to smell like?”
Carole walked out of the kitchen where she and Blaine had been preparing the potato salad, a platter containing hamburger patties in her hands. “Something that doesn't stink up my kitchen,” she complained, coming to Kurt’s rescue. “Whole fish smells much worse than a nice cod steak from the seafood department.”
Burt threw his hands in the air and glared at his wife for throwing him beneath the bus. “It's just a fish, Kurt. You see them at the aquarium, they swim in the ocean. Here, look at it.”
“Gross, get it away from me.” His father had picked up the fish and was now wielding it at Kurt’s person like a sword. Kurt hopped backwards away from it, glaring.
“Just touch it,” Burt insisted, stepping closer to Kurt as he backed away. “It's just a fish.”
“No, I'm not touching it. Put it on the grill. You shouldn't be playing with your food anyway, dad,” Kurt sneered, backing even farther away as his dad advanced on him.
Suddenly the look in Burt's eyes turned from insistent to mischievously determined. The last time Kurt had seen that look was when his father had insisted he learn how to take apart an engine when he was thirteen. He was now an excellent mechanic; he would never be a fisherman.
He turned and ran, completely unsurprised when he heard his father's heavy footsteps follow after him across the deck. He dodged around the table and over the potted plants he and Carole had been working on that morning and was just about to make a dash for the back yard when his father blocked his path down the stairs. The smile on Burt's face was so joyously happy it made Kurt’s eyes water as he turned back around, his own smile stretching wide as he made his way back toward the table and Finn.
“Finn, help me!” Kurt begged, trying to hide behind his brother's hulking form. But Finn, the traitor, raised his hands and moved out of the way, sitting down at the table and laughing (he was so going to pay for this later) as Kurt felt his dad's arms wrap around his waist and lift him up off the the ground.
Kurt most certainly did not shriek as his feet left the ground and he found himself being twirled around like he was six again. The fish was gone, forgotten in the chase and presumably on the grill where it belonged, and Burt's laughter rang out across the yard as they spun.
“Take the fish!” his father demanded.
“No! It's disgusting!” Kurt wailed, feet kicking uselessly in the air. “Stop it! Put me down!”
“Take it!”
“Dad, please! I'm gonna throw up! Stop it!”
“You know you want it!”
“No!”
Over the sound of their argument Kurt heard something shatter and his dad suddenly dropped him back to his feet, both of them turning around to see Blaine standing halfway out of the backdoor with the dish of potato salad broken on the deck. Kurt smiled and stepped forward to help clean it up when he noticed that Blaine wasn't moving.
His hands still hung in mid-air, as if he were still holding the bowl, and his eyes were staring straight ahead, his face slack and almost vacant. “Blaine?” Kurt asked quietly, slowly walking over to where Blaine was standing.
His dad walked with him, eyes full of concern as they stopped in front of the unmoving boy. Carole was at the grill and Finn was still sitting at the table, both of them casting glances at each other then back to the door. Blaine’s sudden stillness was unnerving.
“Blaine, are you alright?” Burt asked, one hand reaching out toward him.
Too late Kurt remembered where he had seen that look on Blaine’s face before - in the boys locker room, when Sam had pushed him. Before Kurt could stop him, Burt's hand came down heavy on Blaine’s shoulder and Blaine’s eyes snapped back to life.
******
His head feels thick and his body won't move. He tries to sit up but someone pushes him back down, climbs onto the bed. Who-
'So beautiful like this.' He knows that voice.
Grant. His french teacher. Why is his teacher in his bed? He can't think. He can't breath.
A hand in his hair, stroking down his cheek. He doesn't want to be touched, he feels sick.
'You're such a fucking tease, aren't you, Blaine?' A voice in his ear, hissing, breath hot on his skin and he feels like he's burning. 'And a dirty little slut.'
Blaine cringes, tries to pull away from the hands and the breath in his ear but he can't.
He's not a slut. He had cared about Adam. He was the only one-
There are hands on his arms, pushing, moving them up. He feels something wrap around his wrists and now he's scared. Can't move, can't think. What's going on? This shouldn't be happening.
A hand slides down his chest, over his hips. This isn't right. He hears a zipper being pulled, far away like an echo. His pants are yanked open and he feels tears start in his eyes. This isn't right.
'Stop.'
'Don't give me that, you little slut. You know you want it.'
His pants are pulled down and he starts to cry. No. He doesn't want this. He doesn't.
But the words are stuck, he can't get them out. Don't do this. Don't-
*****
“-touch him!”
Blaine’s shout rang out across the backyard like a gunshot and Kurt watched in horror as Blaine, who just moments ago had been nearly catatonic as Burt tried to get his attention, was suddenly lunging out of the doorway, his hands seizing Burt's shirt as he propelled them both towards the stairs at the back of the deck.
To Be Continued
What? You thought I was going to let them be happy? Have you been paying attention? ;D
I'm so so so sorry this chapter is so late! The last few weeks have been crazy around my house. I hope this was worth the wait, and I PROMISE not to make you wait so long for the next part.
And to everyone who commented on the interlude, thank you so much. It was a piece I really loved and I'm so glad you all liked it to. I'm sorry for not making individual comments. I kind of suck this week. :/
- Meagan