[fic] Other Half of My Heart (But Baby, It's a Little Broken)
Title: Other Half of My Heart (But Baby, It's A Little Broken)
Summary: Post-ep reaction fic. Hearts spoilers. “But Blaine's not stupid, and Blaine knows your soul better than you do, sometimes.” Kurt suffers a relapse after learning who his secret admirer really is, and gets over it by dominating Blaine in bed. Alternatively, the story of why Blaine and Kurt don’t kiss during Love Shack.
Genre: Angst, then smut, then fluff, then angst, in that order.
Rating: R/light NC-17. There is one porny scene and the rest is feelings.
A/N: I started writing a small drabble about why Kurt and Blaine didn’t kiss during Love Shack, but then it turned porny, and then I dumped feelings on it. Oops. Hope you enjoy it.
Special thanks to M for betaing for me! Thank you so much! Without her, this fic would have been up last night, but it probably would have been a million times more terrible, so thank you again!
Warning: This is not a Karofsky-friendly story. If you are looking for a woobie!Karofsky, you won’t find him here. I don’t bash him, but I don’t cut him any slack, either.
Enjoy! Reviews are lovely.
It's not that you don't want to kiss Blaine in the Sugar Shack.
You do. God, you do.
It's just that - well, kissing your boyfriend after you just spent twenty minutes vomiting in the men's room because your (bully, abuser, stalker) acquaintance thinks he loves you and he (followed you around in a gorilla suit, put things in your locker, said things like be mine forever and meant them) made you feel uncomfortable isn't very polite.
And Blaine would probably be able to taste the vomit in your mouth, because one of the things you love about him is how he gently (sometimes not so gently, but you love those times too, for different reasons) slides his tongue into your mouth each time you kiss. And that--that wouldn't be pleasant, you don't think, wouldn't taste nice; you put a peppermint in your mouth before he got here but you think he'd still be able to taste it.
And then he'd--he'd want to know why you just threw up, and you'd have to--you'd have to either lie to him, the boy you love more than anything, the one you've always been honest with; or you'd break down and cry, right there in the middle of the dance floor, and you don't want that. Not today, not ever, really, but especially not today, your first Valentine's Day as part of a couple, the one you've wanted since you first learned about Valentine's Day and wanted to marry the Red Power Ranger because he was the prettiest.
So you don't kiss your boyfriend in the Sugar Shack, and you don't kiss him in the car, and you don't kiss him against the door to his room even though you really, really want to. Instead, you kiss his cheek and tell him you have to pee and excuse yourself to the restroom, where Blaine keeps an extra toothbrush just for you.
The only time you've ever brushed harder was the day Karofsky stole your first kiss, the one that should've been yours to give to Blaine.
But you are trying really hard not to think about that right now.
When you leave the bathroom, you tackle him against the bed. You kiss him, hard, and neither of you are new to sex but this feels different, somehow. It's rough. It's hard.
It's exactly what you need right now.
Blaine keeps trying to talk to you, but you keep shutting him up, preferably with your tongue in his mouth, because you can't listen to him right now. You can't hear how beautiful he thinks you are, how much he loves you, right now. You can't. You can't.
So instead you suck bruises into his neck and listen to him moan your name like a prayer. You take his cock--hard and beautiful and waiting for you, only you--into your mouth and suck like you need it to breathe, because even though you can't stand to hear the words right now, you love this boy, love him, love him, love only him, from now until the end of time.
(I think I love you.)
(You think?)
You're a little rough when you go to finger him, and he cries out in a mix of pain and pleasure. You suck another hickey into his thigh as you add another finger, and when you pull away, you notice it looks a little bit like a heart, even though you weren't trying. He sounds so wanton right now, thrusting himself against your fingers, begging for your cock, please Kurt, please, he needs you to fuck him, God Kurt, please, just fuck me, fuck me.
You press a feather light kiss to the tip of his cock.
God, you love him.
You don't know when you got to be so good at putting on a condom with one hand, but it’s pretty damn impressive. You almost wish Blaine was paying attention rather than fucking himself against your hand, because that one ought to be committed to memory. You can't get mad at him for it, though, because he's beautiful like this, and it’s been too long for you both. Neither of you are going to last very long at this rate, but that's okay.
Pushing into him feels like coming home. You don't stay still for long--you can't, you’re literally going to come in two seconds--but it feels good to be with him again, like this. You've missed everything about him these past two weeks, but this closeness, this intimacy--you've missed that more than anything else.
You breathe out, your breath hot on his neck - and then you thrust.
You hit that spot, and he cries out your name. Your hips buckle because you need this, need to be inside of him again, hot and tight and good, so good. You thrust, and he pushes his hips up, trying to pull you in deeper. All it really makes you do is thrust harder, and harder, and harder.
You don't last long - maybe two minutes, if you're being generous. But that's okay, because with your orgasm finished, you're able to coax Blaine into his, and when Blaine comes he screams, and you love how loud he is, like he wants the whole world to know how good you make him feel.
In hindsight, he's not really the secret admirer type. Blaine really is more of a “sing it from the rooftops so everyone can hear and we get banned from yet another part of the North Hills Mall” kind of guy, and it was sort of stupid of you to think he would be, anyway.
When has Blaine ever wanted to keep any part of your relationship a secret?
You pull out of him slowly and collapse next to him, breathless and limbless, like you never want to move again. Your thighs are going to be sore tomorrow, but it was worth it.
He rolls over and drops his head down on your shoulder, his body curled up next to yours. "I love you," he murmurs, and you can stand to hear it now, can stand the soft little kisses he presses against your collarbone.
"I love you, too," you whisper, and you wrap your arm around his waist and pull him closer, until he's wrapped around your body like the other half of your heart, your missing puzzle piece.
(You love how there is no think there. You love him. He loves you. What is there to think about?)
But Blaine's not stupid, and Blaine knows your soul better than you do, sometimes. He kisses your cheek softly.
"In the morning, will you be able to tell me what's wrong?"
You nod. In the morning, you might be able come up with the words you want to say. But even if you can't, you'll try anyway, because you love this boy and the way he loves you back. For him, you'll try anything.
--
You don't go to school in the morning; you don't have to, really. Your parents really are awesome, sometimes - when Finn got to stay the night at Rachel's house, you asked your parents if you would be allowed to do the same at Blaine's. And your Dad had looked at you sadly, like maybe he realized you weren't his innocent child anymore, but actually an almost-grown man. And he said that if you wanted to sleep over at someone else's house, you were eighteen, and you could do what you wanted to, really.
(A part of you doesn't wonder if maybe he's just happy you aren't the one engaged right now, and this is his way of rewarding you.)
Blaine's parents aren't here, either. You don't know where they are, but you know they won't be back for a couple of days, and you've just stopped asking because the answer doesn't really matter. They aren't here, but you are, and that's the important thing.
You both weren't really learning anything at McKinley today, anyway.
Which means you wake up to a dozen roses and a stack of pancakes, a Blaine with curls rebelling in his hair and a cup of coffee in his hands. You wake up kissed, softly against a grin that tastes like toothpaste and coffee, and you think that you have never been happier than you are in this moment.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Valentine," he says, his smile cheesy and warm as he sets the breakfast tray across your lap.
You kiss him slowly. "A day late, but I'll take it." You smell the roses and the pancakes and smile. "Je vous remercie. Vous devez vraiment m'aimer." (Thank you. You must really love me.)
He kisses you deeper. "Je fais." (I do.)
He crawls in bed beside you, and together you make short work of the pancakes, and when you kiss, all you can taste is syrup and coffee, which makes you smile. When you send a text to Finn (cover for me-I’ve done it for you!), Blaine braids one of the smaller roses into your sex-mussed hair, and you smile because you love this boy so very much, more than you have ever loved anything before in your life.
He kisses your cheek softly. “So last night was fun.”
You wiggle your eyebrow suggestively. “Want round two already?”
He laughs. You put the breakfast tray on the ground beside you and pull him into your lap. He melts against you as you kiss the back of his neck, and smiles when you pull another small flower out of your vase to braid into his hair.
(This is what you love about Blaine and you, together: you are both just each other, and sometimes that includes being feminine. People think he’s the more traditionally masculine of the two of you, but that’s not really true. He cries more than you do, and paints his toenails, and remembers anniversaries more than you do. The only complaint he’s ever stated outright when you wore a kilt is that it clashed with his bowtie that day.
He doesn’t try to feminize you, either, and that’s equally important. You are never one of the girls and you are always his boyfriend, and he gets angry when Finn or Sam or Puck implies that you’re a lady. He loves the way you smell when you sweat, and when he convinced you to go horseback riding with him this summer, you swear he had never been more turned on.
Mostly, though, he doesn’t try to change you, and you love that about him.)
“You were unhappy yesterday,” he says as you tug gently at a dark curl.
“Hm.” You bite your lip. “You noticed?”
You feel him nod against your hands. “You were hiding it well, but yeah, I noticed. What’s wrong?”
You twist his curls around the rose stem. He probably needs a haircut; his hair’s actually almost long enough to put braids in. “I have a secret admirer.”
“Oh?” Blaine asks, coy and flirty. “Is he cute?”
(This is another thing you love about Blaine: he doesn’t get jealous. He’s so completely and utterly secure in your relationship that the idea of you cheating never occurs to him. You can admit you are attracted to other boys, and the most he’ll do is joke about a threesome.)
There are a lot of words you would use to describe David Karofsky. ‘Cute’ has never been one of them.
You shrug. “To some, I think. Not my type.”
Blaine leans his head back against your chest so he can meet your eyes. “Too tall?”
You pinch him gently, and he shrieks, causing the rose to fall out of his hair onto the bed. You decide tickling him works better and follow him when he collapses on top of tangled sheets.
He squished the rose when he fell, but it looks better this way, rose petals spread across Blaine’s bed like they planned it that way. There are a couple of petals still stuck in his hair, and you can’t help it, you have to kiss him. He is your only addiction, your very best vice, and you would trade him for nothing in this world.
He pushes you away gently. “Stop trying to distract me. Who’s your secret admirer? What made you so upset?”
You wrap your arms around him, and breathe. “I thought it was you.”
He blinks at you. “Oh. Kurt, I didn’t-I mean, I just had surgery and I-“
“I’m not mad at you,” you clarify quickly, because you really, really aren’t. “I just thought it was from you. And I got all excited, and” - you try to breathe - “I was happy because it was sweet and romantic, because h-he left notes in my locker and f-followed me around-“
“Oh God.”
“-and I thought it was you, and I thought it was sweet, and I just-“
“Oh God.”
“It was him.” You’re trying not the cry, you don’t want to cry; how many times are you going to have to cry over David Karofsky? “It was Karofsky. He was my secret admirer.”
Blaine wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. “Did he hurt you?”
You shake your head. “No. God, he didn’t even scare me at first, when we were talking. He thinks he loves me.”
Blaine blinks. “He-what?”
You have to laugh, because otherwise you’d cry. “Yeah. One conversation and years of bullying equals true love, in his head.”
Blaine rests his hand against your cheek. “But he scared you?”
You close your eyes and nod, resting against his hand. “After he left, I started thinking about the messages he left me, and it-it wasn’t sweet anymore. It was terrifying.”
You didn’t think it would hurt this much, having your privacy violated and your feelings manipulated.
You were wrong:
It hurts so much more.
The worst part is - you actually thought you’d forgiven him. You thought you were able to get over it. Yes, he took your first kiss, but it’s not like he raped you. Yes, he threatened to kill you, but it’s not like he ever made good on that threat. Yes, he scared you away from McKinley, but it’s not like you never came back.
You cry into Blaine’s t-shirt. “I thought I was over this. I thought I was done. I thought-“
He’s only human. People make mistakes. You thought you could forgive him. Maybe he didn’t realize how terrifying he was
And maybe, someday, you’ll forgive him again, because maybe he just didn’t know.
Until then, though, you cry into your boyfriend’s t-shirt, because Karofsky might think he’s in love with you, but you know you love Blaine, and Blaine loves you.
It makes you feel better, but then again, you’ve always felt braver whenever you are around Blaine.
Courage, you think, and trace the word in circles into Blaine’s arm, and it’s… better, you think. Not perfect, and maybe it never will be, maybe you’ll never be completely whole, but with Blaine at your side, you come close, and it’s enough.
END