KHBB Fic: Burn (pt.2)
Part 2 of 3 because of dumb LJ limits.
*
Santana snorts as he follows her into the back room of the armoury, flicking her braid over her shoulder and giving him a look. “And so Drin wants you to stay behind just so you can train Anderson? Wanky.”
“Santana,” Kurt huffs. “That is not wanky in any way, stop. And it’s a good reason to stay behind. Blaine learns quickly, but I can’t just abandon him to go off and protect the border. There’s no estimate to how long Lora’s going to be there.”
Santana perches on a table laden with leather scraps and raises and eyebrow at him. “That bad, huh?”
“I guess. I don’t know that much about what’s happening politically, but there are two destroyed villages already.”
Santana whistles through her teeth. “Shit. I thought the accords were supposed to bring peace, not more unrest.”
Kurt laughs dryly. “I don’t think there’ll ever be peace between us and Barros, to be honest.” He pauses. “How’s Blaine’s armour coming along?”
Santana perks up at that, pushing herself off the table and over to the metal workbench on the other side of the room. She picks up a pair of vambraces and hands them to Kurt. The armguards are leather, lined with steel and embossed with the crest of the kingdom.
“They’re beautiful,” says Kurt, turning them over in his hands.
“I’ve got Jena started on his chainmail, as well.” Jena is Santana’s apprentice of two years. She’s skilled at what she does, and Kurt suspects that soon Santana will appeal to have her made an official armourer.
“Good,” says Kurt, handing back the vambraces. “I’ll get him started training in it as soon as it’s finished. He needs to get used to the weight.” Santana nods. “Okay, I need to go. I’ll see you this evening, maybe?”
“Sure thing, Hummelina. Send my love to Blainers.”
“He’s only met you once, San, and I doubt the impression that you left really invites any desire for your love. But I’ll tell him you say hi.”
Santana laughs and waves him out the door.
*
Kurt pants heavily, shoving a hand across his brow to stop the sweat dripping in his eyes, and attacks again.
He never thought he would struggle to fight a seventeen year old, yet here he is, exhausted and losing focus, all because Blaine is better than him with a stick.
He manages to land a blow to his student’s calf, sending Blaine down onto one knee, knocks his staff out of the way and lunges forward. He swings his stick round and brings it right up to Blaine’s neck, stopping right when it’s touching the skin, perfectly poised.
[Link to main art]
The only sound is their heavy breathing, tinged with the exhaustion of exerting themselves for four consecutive hours, and the soft puffs of the dragons behind them. Something crackles between them, from the intense look in Blaine’s eyes to his own. For a second he almost forgets that this is his student and not an incredibly attractive rider he just had the pleasure to fight. Then Blaine breaks his gaze, looks down, blushing, and the moment is over.
Kurt drops his staff and sinks to the ground next to Blaine, immediately flopping onto his back with a heavy sigh.
“Damn,” he pants, eyes closed. “You’re good at that.”
Blaine laughs softly. “Thank you. My brother and I-we used to spar a bit, here and there. I guess it’s just engrained into my muscles or something.”
“Mm,” Kurt replies, stretching his legs out across the sand. “God, I could really go for a nap right now.”
They’ve been training for two weeks, and Blaine is getting better and better every day. He’s certainly got a knack for fighting, but he’s clever, too, and Kurt hears good things from his philosophy and alchemy teachers.
Tarron is growing, too, now taller than Blaine and big enough to start flying-but not yet big enough to ride. Kurt had forgotten how fast little dragons grew up. They haven’t had any new riders for at least a year, and the last hatchling had been big to start with.
He opens one eye and squints over to where their dragons are curled up together on the training field, watching them. Aera winks at him fondly, and he rolls his eyes back at her.
Next to him, Blaine has also flopped to the ground in exhaustion, arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Kurt’s gaze trails over his bicep and down the long, lean line of his chest, jerking with his panting, to the waistband of his leather leggings and-
He mentally slaps himself, turning his head quickly and getting an eyeful of bright sunshine. He cannot be having thoughts like that.
He heaves himself off the ground and brushes his back and ass off, then nudges Blaine’s thigh with his toe and picks up both their training staffs. “Come on,” he says. “Up. I’m hungry.”
Blaine groans and slides his arm off his face, eyes still closed. “Can’t I just lie here until tomorrow?”
Kurt snorts and reaches down to grab Blaine’s arm, pulling him into a sitting position. Blaine blinks at him in surprise, then Kurt tugs again and yanks him to his feet, causing him to stumble and fall against Kurt’s chest.
Kurt goes rigid, the proximity of Blaine’s compact body sending a wave through his nervous system. Blaine hurries to straighten up, removing his hand from Kurt’s waist and stepping a respectable foot away.
“Sorry,” he says, dipping his head. Kurt nods and doesn’t meet his gaze. They’ve been physically close before-the training requires it quite often-but it’s never been quite like that.
“So,” Kurt says a little too brightly. “Lunch?”
“Of course.”
They walk back through the training rooms in awkward silence. Kurt drops the practice poles off with the rest of their equipment before they head to the dining hall.
It’s a hubbub inside, knights and academics and students and pages all seated round to eat, and the awkwardness level drops a little. They sit down opposite one another at the end of a table, right in front of a large joint of pork. Kurt watches with amusement as Blaine gladly helps himself.
“You’re getting on very well, you know,” he says as Blaine saws away at the pork now on his plate. “I expect you will be able to to start riding Tarron next week, and then we can move on to some more advanced techniques. Stuff like archery whilst riding, and how to stay on when he’s doing barrel rolls. Don’t worry, it’s not as hard as it sounds.”
“I’m not worried,” Blaine says easily. “Excited, more like. I had no idea Tarron would grow so fast.”
Kurt laughs. “Well, male dragons do often grow more quickly. And Tarron is being very well looked after, thanks to you, so I’m not at all surprised. Give it another month and he’ll be Aera’s size.”
Blaine nods and spears a piece of meat. Kurt watches his brand glimmer in the light streaming in through the high windows, bronze and black. “Blaine?”
Blaine stops with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Yes?”
“I was wondering… do you, um, how would you feel about spending some time with me this evening, after training? I just think it would really help if we got to know each other better, you know, so that I can determine-“
“I would love to, Sir Hummel.”
Kurt takes a deep breath, nods. “Good. I’ll come and find you in your room after dinner.”
Blaine smiles, light in his eyes, and gets back to eating.
*
Kurt stares at himself in the polished silver of his mirror, hair neater than usual, chainmail and rider’s tunic abandoned for his green doublet. Blaine is right next door, probably waiting-it’s been a while since dinner ended-and he is still standing here, staring at himself.
What is he doing?
Drin had never spent time with him outside of lessons. As far as he’s heard, none of the other tutor/student pairs has done it, either. He knows that in the eyes of the authorities, it’s probably a little strange and somewhat questionable that he wants to be with Blaine in their own time and, to be honest, try to be his friend.
But there’s something about Blaine that has Kurt stuck, and he is not going to change his plans for anything. He doesn’t know if it’s Blaine’s easy laugh or the magnetism of his eyes or the way he acts so affably with everyone he meets, but Kurt is drawn to him. Although he will outwardly deny that his desire for better acquaintance is motivated by anything but friendship, he knows that there’s a deeper reason.
God, could someone have warned him that he was going to end up with a crush on his student?
Who is also ten years younger than him?
He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly and smoothing down the front of his doublet. Blaine has waited long enough.
He knocks on Blaine’s door, waiting for an answer, but hears none. Cautiously, he pushes it open, peering into his little living area. A cloak is thrown across the back of a chair and a fire is crackling in the chimney, casting a soft glow over the wooden floorboards. He steps forward slowly, hoping that Blaine’s here. What if he decided he didn’t want to see Kurt, after all? What if he’s out doing something else instead? The thought sends a cold shiver down Kurt’s spine, but he ignores it, moves towards the door to Blaine’s room.
He’s just about to knock and open it when he hears-panting noises, from the other side of the door. He listens for a few seconds, confused, and then hears a loud groan and steps back, face flushing. Shit. He tries to ignore the sting that Blaine would abandon him in order to mess around with someone else, and turns to go, giving them their privacy. He had no idea Blaine even had anyone to be having sex with, but hey, he must have been wrong. They’re obviously enjoying themselves.
He’s about to go when he hears it-loud but low, drawn-out-his name. “Kuuuuurt.”
Blaine just cried out his name.
Kurt stops in his tracks, heart beating a lot faster than usual, and slowly rotates to face the door. Maybe Blaine doesn’t have anyone else in there. Maybe it’s just him and his-fantasies about Kurt. Oh God.
He tiptoes forward, careful not to make the floorboards creak. The door to the room is slightly ajar, light from inside spilling out into the dimly-lit living room. He approaches slowly, ignoring the voices in his head telling him to stop, go back and let him have his privacy, and peeks through the crack in the door.
Blaine’s bed is pushed against the adjoining wall, setting him perfectly in Kurt’s line of sight. Kurt gulps.
Blaine is spread out, knees bent, pants pushed all the way down to his ankles and tunic scrunched up around his chest. He’s-God, he’s beautiful, all hard lean lines except for a slight softness around his tummy, skin flushed and sweaty, muscles rippling as he writhes on the bed.
He’s fisting his cock, thick and hard and purpling at the tip. He is jerking himself off with a steady hand while the other-the other is dipped between his spread legs, moving back and forth. Kurt has to silence a choke. He’s fingering himself.
His student is fingering himself while calling out Kurt’s name, and he suddenly finds it very hard to breathe.
Blaine’s eyes are squeezed shut in pleasure, mouth hanging open, lips wet, hair all over the place. He looks like something Kurt has only ever dreamed of. Slowly, quietly, he slides his hand down over his own crotch, gripping himself through his pants, eyelids fluttering as he watches.
Blaine speeds up, both hands working faster, until he’s arching his back and curling his toes and lets out one last shout of “Kurt!” before coming all over his hand and belly and chest.
Kurt lets out a soft moan at the sight, Blaine’s blissful expression, and squeezes his cock harder. Blaine sighs, rolls over so Kurt can see his face. He looks absolutely content.
Then his eyes flick open and land directly on Kurt.
Kurt gasps, stumbles back from the door, trips over his feet and nearly falls over in his haste to escape the room. He can hear Blaine calling after him as he runs out into the corridor and slams the door to his chambers behind him.
He lets himself sag against them, eyes closed.
What has he done?
No self-respecting knight would watch their student masturbate and take pleasure from it. No self-respecting knight would watch their student masturbate period.
But Kurt, whispers a voice a the back of his head, he was calling out your name. He wanted you, Kurt…
Kurt slams his head back against the door to shut it up. He feels absolutely awful. His knees buckle and his sinks to the ground.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, head hanging between his knees, feeling sick to the stomach. But after an indeterminate amount of time, there’s a soft knock on the door behind him. “Sir Hummel?”
Blaine’s tone is quiet, careful. Kurt lifts his head and stares unseeingly across the room to a chest against the opposite wall. He doesn’t know what to do.
“Sir Hummel? Please.”
Shaking his head-he shouldn’t be doing this-he stands up, and touches the handle of the door. His fingers hesitate on the cool metal, brushing over the curve of the handle.
“Kurt?”
It’s that that does it, Blaine’s quiet, innocent tone, so different to how he had said his name before. He opens the door.
“Blaine.”
They stare at each other for a moment, and Kurt can’t help but think that the last time he saw Blaine’s face it was still loose with pleasure. He looks a lot more put together now, but there’s still a red tinge to the tips of his ears.
“Sir Hummel, I can expl-“
“No, I’m sorry, Blaine. I shouldn’t have-shouldn’t have watched you like that. It was an invasion of your privacy, and entirely inappropriate behaviour on my part. I’ll ask Drin if someone else can be your tutor, I’m sure you don’t want me after-“
“No.” Blaine’s voice is firm, assertive. “I don’t want anyone else.”
“Oh.”
Blaine nods, then glances up and down the corridor. It’s deserted.
“So are we still…”
“Going out?”
“Yes.”
Kurt sighs, measuring up the boy in front of him. Blaine looks embarrassed, nervous; his fingers are twitching where they’re clasped together.
“Alright,” says Kurt. “But we will not speak of what just happened again. Ever.”
“No,” Blaine hastens to agree. “Of course not.”
“Okay. Good. Why don’t you get your cloak and we’ll go?”
Blaine returns quickly, fastening the clasp of his cloak, and Kurt pulls his door shut behind him. He gestures for Blaine to follow him, leading him up through the stairways and passages of the Academy.
“Where are we going?” Blaine asks as they pass the archway to the Rafters.
“You’ll see.”
They climb up a long spiral staircase, up to a door of metal bars. Kurt fishes the key out of his pocket and swings the door open with a loud grating sound.
They step out onto a stone parapet high above the city lights twinkling in the night sky. It’s breezy, but there’s not too much wind. Kurt gestures for Blaine to follow him and jumps to grab onto the roof of the tower, wedging a foot into the metal bars and heaving himself up.
Blaine needs a hand over the top (he’s shorter than Kurt, and he won’t lie and say it doesn’t do anything for him, because it does) and then they’re both seated on the shingles, high enough to see all the way across the countryside to the southern sea.
“This is the highest tower in the city,” says Kurt. He sits up straighter so that he can see directly over the edge, and points. “The big, weirdly-shaped building below us is the Rafters. Its name is misleading, because it’s not really in the rafters. This is the highest you can get without being on the back of a dragon.”
“Wow,” breathes Blaine, crouching and gripping the edge of the roof to look over. “Everything looks so small.”
Kurt laughs. “You’ve ridden a dragon four times already, Blaine. It shouldn’t really be that much of a surprise.”
“No, but.” Blaine turns to face him. “It’s different when you’re still joined to the ground, you know?”
“I guess.”
They sit in silence for a little while, looking out over the city. It’s a little awkward, given what happened earlier, but it’s peaceful enough up here that Kurt can distance himself from that.
A dragon swoops by, a black shadow against the sky, and Blaine watches it reverently, eyes wide. “I still can’t quite believe I’m here,” he says quietly. “Just a month ago I was just a farm boy, and now I’m…”
“One of the best students I’ve seen.”
Blaine turns to look at him, surprised. “You really think that?”
Kurt hesitates a little-he knows the dangers of Blaine getting too big-headed, too arrogant, but he also knows that Blaine is responsible and intelligent enough not to let it get to his head.
“I’m serious,” he says. “You’re learning so much faster than anyone else I’ve seen. I mean, not that I’ve taught anyone before, but from what I’ve heard. Maybe it’s because you’re older than most beginners.”
Blaine scoffs. “Well, I. thanks. I guess.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Drin asked you to join the order at the end of the year.”
“Wha-really?”
“Mm. I trained for six years before I joined. And that was fast. But you’re-you’re pretty amazing, Blaine.”
“Thank you, sir, that’s-thank you. But you know, maybe it’s just that I have the best teacher.”
Kurt throws his head back and laughs freely, voice echoing in the night sky. “Oh, shut up, Blaine.”
“No, no, I mean it. You’re really good.”
Kurt looks at Blaine, the eagerness and sincerity in his eyes, and knows that he’s not making fun of him. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
They drop into silence again, more comfortable this time. After a little while, Kurt lies back against the roof, looking up at the stars. He feels Blaine lie down next to him and they stare up at the sky together.
“It’s so huge,” Blaine says, wonder in his voice. “Do you think they look down on us just like we look up at them?”
Kurt turns his head to look at Blaine, eyebrow raised. “What, the stars?” He pauses. “I don’t know. I want to think so. That my mother’s up there, keeping an eye on me.”
He hears Blaine’s breath catch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No, don’t worry. It was years ago, I-I’m used to her absence now. Just sometimes there are moments when I feel-like she’s there, guiding me, you know?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Kurt sighs and drifts his gaze over the heavens. All the legends tell of the dead becoming stars, and watching their families left behind on Earth, but he-he doesn’t quite know if he agrees or not. It’s been nineteen years since the day she fell, and he’s missed her every one of them. The thought of her being there, watching him, guiding him… it warms him, even if he’s not sure he believes it.
“What about you?” he asks quietly.
Blaine shrugs. “I’ve never had anyone close to me die, so I guess there isn’t anyone to look down on me. But I like the idea, yeah. I think I believe it.”
It’s quiet; the only sounds breaking the silence are the flutter of the wind in the flag at the top of the tower and their own breathing. Kurt tries not to, but his mind drifts back to what he had seen earlier, to Blaine, so beautiful and needy and desperate, calling out his name. He tenses, glancing sideways at his student, who is still gazing up at the stars. He tries to imagine what it would be like if they weren’t bound together in this way-would he reach over and take Blaine’s hand, tug him towards him, lay a gentle kiss upon his lips? Or would he have already kissed him, rushed into his room when he had been crying out his name, helped him reach his climax?
Whatever he would have done, the fact still remains that Blaine is his student and ten years his junior. Nothing like that can ever happen between them.
After a while, he sits up and gets ready to leave. Blaine seems hesitant-it is, after all, incredibly peaceful up here-but it’s getting late and they have to make an early start tomorrow. He swings down from the rooftop, gives Blaine a hand to the ground, and leads them back to their rooms.
As soon as the door to his chambers swings shut behind him, he falls into one of the deep chairs in front of the fire, hand over his face. He had never expected this to happen when he had been officially knighted.
He wonders idly if he should go and talk to Aera about it-what he usually does when he has problems he can’t discuss with Santana-but decides it’s best to leave her out of this. She and Tarron are getting along so well, it would just bring awkwardness to their relationship that he doesn’t want to be the source of.
So instead he just goes to bed, does his best to ignore the images of Blaine, spread naked and arching underneath him, and falls asleep.
*
They hear the first news from the North the following day. The Barrosse army is a lot bigger than they had thought, and things aren’t going well. Lora is doing her best to keep things under control, but even she and her dragon are no match for the thousand or so men they’re up against. So Drin gathers all the qualified riders together, all thirty four of them, and asks who is willing to fly up and assist with the defence.
He stares Kurt down as he speaks, and Kurt knows that he doesn’t mean that he wants to him to go. He wants him to stay and it’s frustrating as hell.
Eventually, five knights are picked, and Drin sends them off to Santana and the Rafters to get prepared. Kurt is relieved to see that Sebastian is among them.
He returns to where Blaine is warming up in one of the training rooms, shakes his head when he asks what’s going on, and gets them started on some simple close combat shield moves.
*
His unfortunate crush on his student and the problems in the North aren’t the only things he has on his plate. Aera’s coming of age ceremony is getting closer and closer, and as her rider he is in charge of organising everything.
As there are usually only between thirty and forty dragons at the Academy at any given time, new arrivals are rare and coming of age ceremonies are even less frequent. It’s an important moment, not just for the order and the Academy, but for the kingdom as well. The ceremony will be hosted in the castle, with music and festivities and an open invitation to the nearby nobility. Kurt is expected to make a speech and assist the king in donning Aera’s ceremonial harness.
He has about two weeks to make sure everything is running smoothly, and while the king’s master of staff and marshall have been helping by finding musicians and sending out the invitations, he still has a lot to do. It doesn’t help that all the preparations are cutting into his training time with Blaine.
He’s drooped over the desk in his room, eyes blurring over the four-and-a-half foot long menu for the event. The sound of birds waking up and starting their song brushes at his ears, heralding the arrival of dawn. He groans, rubs a hand over his eyes, and sits up properly. Forget sleep, he needs to get ready for the day.
He grabs breakfast from the kitchens before it’s even been served in the dining hall, and eats his crust of bread on the way up to the Rafters. He needs to start early; they’ve got a long day ahead of them. Blaine is going to ride Tarron for the first time.
Aera must have sensed him coming because she’s already waiting down on the floor, cleaning the scales of her front leg with a sharp tooth. He flops against her flank, pushing away the tendrils of exhaustion threatening to send him off to sleep. Aera blows a breath of warm air through his hair in greeting and he pats her side gently.
Tarron peeks his head out his room-a new, bigger one a few feet up-after a little while. He perks up when he sees Kurt and Aera and trots out to them. He’s taller than Kurt now, and finally big enough to be ridden.
“Hey, buddy,” Kurt says, stroking over the tip of his wing. “You ready to carry Blaine today?”
Tarron snorts happily and jumps around like an excited puppy. Kurt laughs.
Blaine arrives just as the sun is touching the very top of the room, casting a soft warm light down to the floor. “Today’s the day,” he says in greeting, and Kurt inclines his head.
“Indeed it is. And seeing as you’re going to be riding him, you should come and help me carry Tarron’s tack.”
“I-yes, of course.”
Tarron’s saddle is sitting on a block in the big adjourning tack room, shiny and new. Kurt shows Blaine how to hoist it onto his back to carry it over to his dragon, and grabs the various assorted straps and a pair of stirrups. They shuffle the equipment over to Tarron and Aera and he drops it to the ground to help Blaine.
After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, Blaine finally manages to saddle Tarron by himself, and watches as Kurt shows him how to tighten the girth properly and attach the stirrups. Once Tarron is ready to go, he stands gleaming in the morning light, tall and bronze and looking very proud of himself.
Aera puffs a little cloud of smoke at him affectionately, but he just shakes it off and struts over to the mounting block. Kurt glances at Blaine in amusement, sees that he too is trying to contain his laughter.
After their few times riding Aera, Blaine can now get onto Tarron’s back on his own-and it probably helps that his withers are a bit lower than hers, too. He swings his leg over, only overshooting it a little bit, and settles into position.
“Well done,” praises Kurt, coming round to climb onto the mounting block so that he can see Blaine properly. “Are you comfortable?”
“Uh-yeah, I think so.” Blaine glances down at his feet in the stirrups, shuffles a little. “He’s smaller than Aera, easier to ride.”
“Yep,” agrees Kurt. “So.”
“So.”
“When you’re ready, just tell him, and he’ll go. Not too far, okay, Tarron?”
The dragon, who had been watching Kurt with a black beady eye, inclines his head obediently.
“Good. Whenever you feel like it, then.”
Blaine nods and Tarron steps away from the block a little, muscles rippling under his scales as he prepares to leap into the air. He watches with baited breath, hoping that Blaine really is okay up there on his own-he had said over and over again that he would be fine, that he was ready, but Kurt is the kind to worry about people he cares about, and he really doesn’t want Blaine to get-
Tarron springs into the air, a deep wing beat, and then they’re up, up to the top of the room, and out through the ceiling.
Kurt’s pretty sure that the last thing he hears is Blaine’s cry of delight.
He sits down on the block. Aera walks over to him and drops the tip of her snout into his lap with a huff, sending a stream of hot air flowing into his face. He grins at her and scratches the smooth scales between her eyes.
“You want to join them, huh, girl?”
She perks up in excitement.
“Okay, okay. We’ll wait until they get back and then ask them if they don’t mind going out again.”
Aera looks satisfied and makes to curl up on the floor in front of him. “Hey hey hey, I’m not done with you yet!” She shoots him an unimpressed glance. “We need to talk about your ceremony.”
He jumps off the block and goes back over to the tack room, rummaging around in Aera’s chest until he lays hand on the decorative rope he had bought her a few weeks ago. He needs to take it down to Jena to have her work it into the ceremonial harness Aera will be wearing on the day.
Aera grins when he brings it out, the tips of her wings twitching with excitement. He lets her sniff it a little before he holds it up against her side. The interwoven blue and gold strands in the rope make a beautiful contrast against the silver of her scales.
They talk a little about the ceremony-what’s going to happen and how Aera needs to prepare-or at least, Kurt talks and Aera nods. They’re so wrapped up in it that Kurt is surprised when he hears the sound of heavy wings beating through the air; he looks up, and sure enough, Blaine and Tarron are returning.
He coils up the rope and leaves it on the edge of the mounting block, wiping his hands and walking over to where the bronze dragon is crouched on the floor. Blaine slides off his back a lot more gracefully than on previous dismounts, only stumbling a little when his feet hit the ground.
“So?” Kurt asks eagerly.
“That was amazing,” replies Blaine, excitement evident in the lilt of his voice and gleam in his eyes. “I’ve never felt so close to Tarron, and it’s so different when you’re alone, you know?”
Kurt smiles at him and nods. He remembers the first time he had ridden Aera-Drin hadn’t allowed him to ride Pertha, his dragon, beforehand-the thrill of feeling the wind on his face and seeing the Earth so far below, that sense of closeness he had felt to her-there was nothing quite like it, nothing he had experienced with any human.
“So… do you want to go up again?”
“Really? I mean, yes! I would love to, are you sure Tarron-“
“Tarron will be fine, won’t you?” Tarron breathes a small puff of fire in reply, nearly catching the back of Blaine’s head. Blaine ducks, laughing.
“Well then,” says Kurt. “Help me get Aera saddled up and we’ll head out?”
“Of course, sir.”
*
Kurt thinks to bring some food with them (he catches Sir Byran on his way back in from a morning excursion and asks him to send someone up from the kitchen), so they stop for lunch on a rocky outcrop to the west of the city. Aera and Tarron, who usually eat the carcasses specially prepared for the dragons, fly off together in search of food. They’ve been spending a lot of time together, recently, as Aera is helping Tarron with his flight-he suspects there may be something more there, too, but hasn’t been nosy enough to look into it. Kurt gives them strict instructions not to eat anything tame and to return soon.
He unclasps his cloak and lays it out on the sparse grass, dropping down with a heavy sigh. Blaine sits down beside him, pulling off his leather gloves and pushing his fingers through his hair.
They’ve spent the morning mostly flying around the castle and its surrounding landscape, practising simple moves and turns. Blaine has a good control over Tarron; flying, much like every other topic covered during their lessons, is something that comes naturally to Blaine. If they continue this afternoon, he’s sure that Blaine will be able to move on to dragonback-fighting during the week.
“So how are you finding it?” he asks, pulling his pack towards him and taking out some bread and dried lamb. “Flying on your own.”
Blaine sighs happily and leans back on his hands, his neck stretching golden over his Adam’s apple. Kurt swallows and turns his eyes back to the food, dismissing the images of Blaine on his bed a few days ago flashing through his mind.
“I love this,” Blaine says, grinning. “I just really feel like… like I was born for this, or something. Other people might find their calling in working the land or running a province but-I’m just so glad Tarron picked me.”
Kurt nods and hands him a dried lamb sandwich. I’m glad he picked you too.
*
By the end of the day, they’re both spent but happy, and Blaine won’t stop talking about how amazing everything is and how much he loves it here. If Kurt hadn’t been watching him all day, he would have thought him a little drunk. But maybe he’s just drunk on happiness.
It makes him feel good, too, to see Blaine so settled. He sends him off to dinner with a final wave and laugh, and stares after him down the corridor for far too long.
He’s on his way to see Santana when Sir Flanaghan stops him.
“Hummel,” he says, pulling him down a smaller corridor where they won’t be seen or overhead by people on their way to dinner. “I’ve just seen Drin. There’s news from the North.”
“Uh-“
“Smythe is missing.”
“What?”
“Sir Sebastian Smythe, he’s missing. They arrived safely but there was a run-in with some of the Barosse army and he disappeared. Not dead, just gone.”
“He deserted?” God, Kurt knew he was lousy, but never believed him cowardly enough to desert a mission.
“No, no, they think-they think he might have been taken.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“What about his dragon?”
“Disappeared too.”
“Huh. Well, that’s interesting. Thanks, Rory.”
Sir Flanaghan nods respectfully and leaves Kurt standing alone in the corridor. Very interesting indeed.
He doesn’t particularly care for Sebastian-after their brief affair and the subsequent fallout that had nearly escalated into a full-blown fight, he has tried to keep as far away from him as possible. But the thought that one of their best knights could have been taken by the enemy? Even one he despised as much as Smythe?
The Barrosse army must be a lot stronger than they had anticipated.
With that daunting thought in mind, he makes his way to Santana’s room-she’ll have finished work by now, and she prefers a later dinner, so that’s where she’s most likely to be. It’s lower down than the knights’ rooms, near the ground floor. He bangs on the firm wooden door a couple of times until he hears a shout from within.
Santana opens the door wrapped in a large robe and not much else. She raises an eyebrow at him expectantly.
“Spill, Hummel. I do not appreciate being taken from my bath.”
“Sorry,” he’s quick to say, ducking his head. “Can I come in?”
Santana sighs, but nods her head anyway and opens the door for him.
Her room isn’t quite as luxurious as his, but still comfortable and relatively clean. A large wooden tub rests on the scrubbed wooden floorboards in front of the fire. Santana walks over and drops the robe-Kurt looks away quickly-before climbing back in and disappearing beneath the soapy bubbles. Kurt deems it safe to look again.
“So what do you have to tell me that’s so important that you come when you know I’ll be bathing? I know you don’t like titties, Kurt, so that can’t be the reason.”
“I didn’t know you would be-“ He sighs and sits down on the end of her bed. “It’s, um. It’s about Blaine.”
Santana’s eyes fly open and she turns to him, smirk dancing on her lips. “Really?”
“Oh, shut up. I’m not going to talk to you if you just tease me and constantly make comments about how ‘wanky’ everything is.”
“Just ‘cause you can’t face the truth doesn’t mean I won’t say it. But go on. I’ll try not to interrupt.”
Kurt doesn’t speak immediately, looks down at his hands and ponders if he should really be having this conversation. But Santana’s the only other person at the Academy he’s really comfortable confiding in, apart from Drin, and there’s no way he can talk about this with him. He swallows and looks up.
“I think I like him, San. I mean-I know I like him. Um, romantically.”
“Aww, Kurtie has a crush,” she coos, leaning on the side of the bathtub. “Does he know?”
“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so. But that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you.”
“Go on.”
“So the other night, I decided to take him up to the top of the tower on the hill-you know, the highest one? Just to spend some time together outside of lessons. I want him to feel like he has a friend here. I know how scary it is being on your own.” Santana nods. “But anyway, that’s not what this is about. Before we went out, I, um.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I walked in on him jerking off.”
“Kurt!” Santana’s expression is one of pure delight.
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you-“
“Hey, don’t stop! I want details, Hummel. Did he look hot? What was his face like when he-“
“My God, Santana, just can it in, would you?! I’m not here to talk about how hot Blaine looked. I can’t talk about how hot he looked. It’ll just make it worse.” He grits his teeth and doesn’t meet her eyes. “It was me,” he says softly. “It was my name he called out when…”
Santana is silent for a moment. “Oh my God,” she mutters. “Oh my God, Kurt, your student is having fantasies about you! That’s-“
“That shouldn’t have happened! None of this should have happened! Because I’m his tutor and he’s ten years younger than me, Santana! My entering into an intimate relationship with him would totally ruin his training. Not to mention be completely inappropriate.”
He sighs, standing up. “I just-wanted your advice. On what to do. I wasn’t even sure if I should tell you, because I knew how you would react, but… Maybe I should just go.”
“Wait, wait, Kurt,” she says, climbing out of the tub. Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he turns around. “I won’t-I’m sorry.” She comes round to face him, wrapped in the long robe again, and looks at him seriously. “So you want my advice on how to keep it in your pants and away from your gifted little dragon boy, who himself is desperate for it?”
“Er-yes?”
“Not easy, babe. You’re just going to have to distract yourself as much as possible until you get over your crush. Not that I would mind hearing that it had come to fruition, but… Aera’s ceremony is coming up, right?”
Kurt nods.
“Concentrate on that. Then when that’s over… you’ll find something else to concentrate on, ‘kay?”
He inhales deeply and lets it out on a nod. “Okay.”
*
It would be easier to distract himself from Blaine if training didn’t require them to frequently occupy one another’s space.
They’re sparring in one of the training rooms. (Although they would normally use the field outside for more space, it’s windy and rainy and downright horrible out there. Kurt made the executive decision to train inside with some gentle prompting from his student.) They’ve moved on to using real-albeit blunted-swords, the loud clashes of metal against metal ringing around the room. It’s been two-and-a-half hours already. Kurt is gross and sweaty, stripped down to his light shirt and pants. Blaine, as usual, is barefoot to help improve his balance and footwork, and he has his pants rolled up to mid-calf to reveal the tan skin of his ankles.
Kurt lunges towards him gracefully, not nearly as fast as he would were he fighting versus a real opponent, but quick enough for Blaine to have to leap back and bring his sword down across his chest to block. Kurt grunts and parries forward again, faking to one side then quickly swinging his blade around to the other where it catches Blaine’s loose shirt and tears a gash in it.
Blaine darts back, swearing, his shirt hanging open. Kurt forces himself not to look, to focus on the battle at hand. But his eyes slip and-soft golden skin, tainted with sweat, muscles moving easily under the smooth expanse-
Suddenly he feels the tip of a blade at his side, and glances up just in time to see Blaine’s outstretched arm before there’s another rrrip and his lovely soft cotton shirt has a huge tear down the side.
“Dead,” says Blaine simply, dropping his sword and swiping a hand across his forehead. “Got you.”
Kurt sighs and gives up on his shirt. It’s irreparable. “Well done,” he says, tapping the tip of his sword against Blaine’s. “That’s-you moved in when your opponent was distracted. Well done.”
Blaine nods, panting a little, and slides a hand up to the tear in his own shirt. He glances at it for a moment, then shrugs and pulls it off over his head.
Oh.
“It’s too hot for it anyway,” explains Blaine, and Kurt nods absently, forcing his eyes away from Blaine’s chest to his face. He’s met with a firm gaze, and there’s something-challenging? Yes, definitely something challenging underneath.
He drops his sword to the ground with a clatter and pulls off his own shirt.
The room is silent except for their heavy breathing, and he can feel the tension laced through the air. Blaine is definitely staring at his chest, and he internally prides himself at the matter-he keeps himself well toned and fit. Blaine glances up at his face, and Kurt can’t mistake the desire in his eyes.
He’s your seventeen-year-old student, says the voice in his head.
“Shall we have another round?” he hears his voice say out loud.
They pick up their swords and circle each other slowly, footsteps careful and steady. Kurt’s gaze is locked with Blaine’s, his weapon tight in his grip, his muscles ready to spring. Any moment now.
Blaine leaps forwards, one big step across the invisible circle they’ve created, and stabs towards his neck. Kurt deflects the blow easily and glances his blade off Blaine’s, moving forward quickly and fluidly. They exchange a quick series of strikes, one after the other, until Kurt gets the upper hand and locks his sword around the hilt of Blaine’s. A simple flick of the wrist and he sends it clattering to the ground.
Blaine’s left unarmed, panting, and Kurt strides forwards, sword outstretched. Blaine retreats across the floor until he’s pressed against the wall, trapped and unable to retrieve his weapon. Kurt smirks at him and moves closer, pressing the edge of his blade against Blaine’s neck and crowding him up against the wall.
They’re both panting and sweating heavily, chests heaving. Kurt presses forward a little further and his torso touches Blaine’s, sending a wave of heat down his spine and to his cock.
Blaine’s eyes are hooded, dark with lust, his mouth slightly parted. Kurt realises that he can feel where Blaine is hard against his thigh. The thought only makes his cock swell up faster.
He can’t tear his eyes away from Blaine’s, from the seemingly innocent yet so seductive look on his face. He’s trapped, he can’t tear himself away, can’t even move to let the blade drop. Blaine is right here, caught underneath his weapon, open and willing and downright sinful.
He feels the lightest touch on his waist as Blaine’s fingers brush over his skin, barely pressing down. It sends shivers down his spine.
“Kurt…” Blaine breathes, voice deep and eyes dark, and slides his fingers down towards the small of his back. He loosens his grip on his sword, lets it drag down across Blaine’s collarbone. Their faces are inches apart. It would be so easy-so very easy-to just lean forwards and-
With an enormous amount of willpower, he makes himself step back. Blaine’s expression sinks, the look of loss and disappointment on his face nearly enough to tempt him back in, but he shakes his head, and backs away.
“I’m sorry, Blaine. I can’t.”
“But-“
“No. This is the way it has to be. I’m sorry.” He tears his eyes away from Blaine’s stricken expression and turns to pick up his shirt, balling it up and squeezing it hard because he needs to squeeze something right now. He hears Blaine’s soft footsteps and walks towards the door, gathering up the rest of his gear and dropping his sword on top of the chest it lives in.
He turns one last time, doesn’t meet his student’s eyes. “That’ll be the end of lessons for today. I expect to see you at Aera’s coming of age ceremony tomorrow evening.”
“Wait! Please, Kur-Sir Hummel! Wait!”
But Kurt simply shakes his head at him again and hurries to leave the room.
The corridor is deserted, thank God, but he has to take the back way to save himself from passing any of the occupied training rooms. Wandering around shirtless is quite uncommon, running away shirtless and followed by your student even more so.
He finally makes it back to his room and slams the door behind him, letting the anger bubble and grow in his chest. He’s not sure what or who he’s angry with-himself, or Blaine, or the stupid system and society and everything that won’t let them be together-but he’s angry.
He throws his balled up shirt into the cold fireplace, dumps the rest of his things unceremoniously on the carpet, and goes to run a bath.
He had tried to follow Santana’s advice. He had tried, but it was impossible to be distracted from Blaine. And now he has officially fucked up.
*
Kurt fiddles with the buttons on his wrist, taking his time to slip them through the smooth silk fabric, brushing his fingers over them when he’s done. He does up the catch at his throat, sweeping his hands over the front of his shirt and staring at himself in the mirror.
Aera’s coming of age ceremony will start in an hour, and he can barely concentrate on it.
He takes a deep breath and picks up his embroidered doublet, deep blue of the Academy and edged in gold and silver. It fits beautifully (he had, after all, helped design it himself), following the expanse of his shoulders and the gentle curve of his waist. He reaches behind himself to tie the ribbon at his lower back, cinching it in and making his waist and hips trim.
He’s got on his best grey pants, made of finely-woven wool, tipped with long black boots. He picks up his belt, decorative sword already attached, and fastens it around his waist. His gloves are made of soft and supple leather; his cloak is edged with silver thread.
This is the most luxurious outfit he has ever worn.
He neatens his hair, twitching the few strands that have fallen out of the light wax product he uses to keep it up. He sighs, and looks at himself in the mirror.
His expression is guarded, tense-not the expression a rider should have on the biggest day of his dragon’s life. He tries smiling, a little, but it feels strange. Hopefully the party will distract him enough to cheer him up.
He pushes all thoughts of what he’s being distracted from out of his head and checks himself over one last time. He looks elegant and fine. He’s ready to go.
Aera is waiting for him in the Rafters, already beautifully decked out in her harness and saddle. The rope he purchased a month ago has been woven across the broad expanse of her chest, blue and gold glittering against the silver of her scales.
The sight alone makes his lips twitch, and he lays a gentle palm on her side. “Are you ready?” Kurt asks quietly.
Aera dips her wing in response, allowing him to grab onto the tip and swing himself into the saddle without needing the mounting block. It’s a little uncomfortable, due to the fact that the saddle is mostly for decorative purposes only, but he feels like he needs this, one last moment together before an evening that’s sure to be absolutely hectic.
He lies forward against Aera’s neck, lets his eyes drifts shut and rests there for a while. After all the preparations they’ve been doing for this evening, he’s exhausted.
After a few minutes, Aera starts to get restless underneath him, and he sits up, patting her neck. “Okay, girl. Let’s go.”
There’s bustle everywhere when they land in the castle courtyard, people hurrying to and fro carrying banners and food and decorations. The doors to the main hall have been thrown open, and a special area set up for Aera near the far end of the room. Kurt slides easily off her back and gestures for her to follow him, ducking his head at the cheers from the guards on the doors of the main hall.
He gets Aera settled in and spends a while standing with her, petting her neck and talking to her softly. She doesn’t seem particularly antsy, more excited, but he wants her to be as calm as possible for the ceremony.
People begin to arrive, filling up the hallway, mostly the rich and powerful from all around. The rest of the order-at least those who aren’t defending the kingdom in the North-line up near the front of the room. Kurt glimpses Blaine standing with the only other rider-in-training-Sam Evans, who has been at the Academy a couple of years now-and immediately looks away. He can’t afford to catch his eye, not at a time like this.
Finally, the hall is full, the crowd extending out into the courtyard and through the open front gates of the castle. The king, dressed in a long and heavy purple robe, enters from a door near Aera, and the hubbub settles down. He walks solemnly over to the dais set up at the front of the room, holds out his hands for silence, and the ceremony begins.
*
The party after the ceremony is busy and crowded, and Kurt and Aera are approached by countless lords and ladies and barons and non-rider knights, so many that after a while they all start to become a blur. Kurt nurses the drink of wine Santana had fetched him (she’s standing a little off to their side, looking beautiful in a deep red dress) and tries to keep up with the conversation he’s having with yet another nameless noble. Yes, Aera does look beautiful tonight. He’s been a knight for eight years. Yes, he enjoys it. No, he’s never been seriously injured.
The duke, or whatever he is, starts on a long tirade about how he believes the knights should only be chosen from the nobility, and Kurt finds his gaze drifting across the room. He spots Lord Drin standing with a couple of other riders, face serious and head bowed. They hardly look like they’re enjoying themselves. Other knights are milling around, some at the huge buffet table, some talking, some looking just as awkward as he feels. His catches a flash of dark curly hair out of the corner of his eye, and glances across to see Blaine sitting alone at one of the small tables that have been set up. He’s nursing a tankard of something and looks downright miserable. As much as Kurt doesn’t want to, he can’t stop feeling like he should just go over there and-
“Sir Hummel?”
His head snaps round. “Yes! Sorry?”
“I was just asking whether you were planning on passing your skills on to anyone.”
“Oh, I-yes. I have a student.”
“Is he here?”
Kurt hopes he doesn’t blush when he looks over and catches Blaine’s eye. “Yes, he’s-here.” He inhales deeply, then gestures at Blaine to come over.
He’s very-present, by his side, all charm and smiles towards the old duke, earning himself all the man’s praise and compliments. Which he rightly deserves, obviously.
The duke shakes their hands, and finally wanders off to talk to someone else, leaving them in peace. Kurt sighs heavily and sags back against Aera’s warm chest.
“Too many people?” asks Blaine.
“Uh-huh,” Kurt replies, not meeting his eye. He watches Santana make her way over and hands her his glass of wine to finish. “How long is this thing supposed to go on for?”
She shrugs. “A few hours. I don’t know. You haven’t even done a ceremonial flight yet.”
“Shut up, San, you know we don’t have to do that.”
“Sir Hummel!” Another noble appears in front of them, and Kurt does he best to wipe the less-than-amused expression from his face. She’s got all her hair piled up in a huge do on top of her head, wrinkled bosom practically bursting out of her brown dress.
Kurt sighs internally and smiles at her.
He’s about to introduce himself and his dragon when he hears it-everyone hears it.
A loud scream echoes up through the room from the courtyard.
There’s a moment of silence, then more screams follow and everything descends into chaos.
The heavily-endowed lady in front of them picks up her skirts and runs out of his line of sight. All across the hall, people are frantic, pushing further towards him and the doors that lead deeper into the castle. The knights who have brought weapons draw them, pushing through the fray towards the doors and whatever lies in the courtyard.
After a few moments of staring in stupor, Kurt is shaken to attention by Santana thrusting a sword at him. He jumps, then realizes what she’s doing and discards the ceremonial sword from his belt, taking the proffered one and testing its weight. She tosses another sword to Blaine and pulls two long knives from somewhere-Kurt has no idea why she had brought so many weapons to the party or even where she was hiding them, but that doesn’t matter now.
“Come on!” he shouts, and sets off down the hallway.
They’re saved having to push through the frantic crowd by Aera leaping ahead of them, growling and clearing a way to the doors. Santana is the first to push through and into the evening sunshine, gasping and hesitating slightly before running out into the courtyard.
Kurt slides to a stop next to Aera’s front leg, and feels Blaine bump into his back.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
The courtyard is overrun with soldiers-not from their kingdom, but soldiers dressed in the black and yellow garb of-
“Barros,” says Blaine quietly. Kurt nods.
He has no idea how they got here, or even how they knew that the city and castle would be open tonight of all nights. That’s not important at the moment. What matters right now is that he must save as many people as possible.
He cries out and rushes forward into the fray, Aera at his side, snarling and growling at the Barrosse forces. He’s quick to stab the first one he comes across, one quick strike to the neck, and the soldier crumples to the ground with a weak cry. He sees Blaine moving out from behind him, sword raised, and sincerely hopes that he knows what he’s doing.
The soldiers aren’t especially tough or fast, but there are so many of them; when he kills one, three more appear to take his place. His movements are fast, precise, deadly-a lot more vicious than they had been when he was training with Blaine.
He swings his blade round and catches a soldier in the side, dodges back from the man’s flailing axe and kicks him in the stomach. He hits the ground with a solid thud. Kurt takes a moment to catch his breath.
He can just see Blaine on the far side of the courtyard, standing next to Aera, but far enough away to be safe from her sharp claws and gnashing teeth. He knows it’s too risky for her to breathe fire in an enclosed space like this; one wrong move and they could all go up in flames.
He hears a shout behind him and spins just in time to thrust his sword in under a soldier’s helmet, pulling it out wet with blood and leaving the man staggering. Another advances immediately, sword raised to strike, and Kurt lunges forwards to hit him first-
There’s a loud shriek from the sky above, and a dark shadow falls across the courtyard.
Kurt stumbles forward, luckily catching his opponent in the process. He rights himself and looks up.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
There’s an unfamiliar dragon perched on the wall above the castle gates. And it’s huge.
Kurt watches, stunned, as a man leaps of the neck of the enormous beast, dark cloak the same colour as its scales. He jumps easily off the wall, landing in a crouch on the stone courtyard among his men. Then he’s moving towards Aera, drawing a long, black sword from the sheath on his back.
Kurt cries out weakly and leaps over a body in front of him, running across the distance as fast as he can. He glances over to his dragon-she seems fine, standing on a fallen load of barrels and aggressively defending herself, but Blaine-Blaine isn’t doing quite as well.
He’s surrounded by at least five men, struggling to stay upright, and looking absolutely terrified. Kurt picks up his speed and promptly trips, his foot catching in a cloak splayed across the floor. He knocks his head on the ground and everything goes blurry.
It takes him a while to come back to himself and push himself to his feet, stumbling as he regains his proper vision. He staggers forward, but-it’s already too late.
Blaine is hanging limply over the black-clad man’s shoulder, arms swinging as the man leaps up the stairway to the parapet above the gate, slashing his sword at anyone between him and his dragon.
“No-“ Kurt says weakly, then shakes his head and runs faster, reaching the bottom of the steps just as the stranger reaches his dragon. “No! Blaine!”
The man swings Blaine up over the dragon’s back before he hoists himself up, easily and gracefully. Kurt feels a strange twang of recognition at the movement, but dismisses it. There’s no way he’s met this person before. And he can’t even see his face.
The rider kicks hard at his dragon, and Kurt leaps up the stairs, three, four at a time. “Blaine!” he cries, throwing a soldier off the wall to the hard ground below, running as fast as he physically can, leaping over a couple of corpses and he’s so close-
The dragon lifts into the air just as he reaches its talons.
“NO!” shouts Kurt, jumping into the air, trying to grab on. But they’re too high already. “No! Blaine! Please!”
But his cries are futile. Blaine is gone.
He turns quickly, eyes immediately falling on where Aera is proudly fighting her corner-and then there’s a sharp pain at the back of his head and everything goes black.
Part 3