Tremble, Little Lion Man for WEYRDCHIC
Title: Tremble, Little Lion Man
Recipient: weyrdchic
Author/Artist: awoken
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3500
Summary: i don't know what i should do with my hands when i talk to you / you don't know where you should look, so you look at my hands / saying, "hey, well, maybe you should stay" (pamphleteer, the weakerthans)
Notes: First Glee fic! weyrdchic, I really hope it's good enough! the a capella songs mentioned in the fic: http://www.youtube.com/embed/4pmsOHc4keM (hallelujah), http://www.youtube.com/embed/d0Z71_qeqpg (little lion man), and http://www.youtube.com/embed/x2Xm-RFANp4 (the book of love). Story is not told in chronological order!
After fan favorites like a cheeky turn on Destiny's Child's 'Bills, Bills, Bills', 'Hey Soul Sister' by Train, a hauntingly beautiful rendition of the Magnetic Fields' 'The Book Of Love', and a crisp medley of songs by the Beatles ('Come Together', 'Eleanor Rigby', 'Let It Be', 'Here Comes the Sun', 'All You Need is Love', and 'I Will') and The Who ('Who Are You', 'Pinball Wizard', 'See Me Feel Me', 'My Generation' and 'Teenage Wasteland'), the Dalton Academy Warblers slowed things down with the sweeping and solemn opening strains of Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah'.
The lead soloist, a powerful performer with a mischievous sparkle in his eye, stood at the farthest left edge of the group and opened his mouth to sing. In comparison to his previous performances, the boy's voice and overall demeanor seemed wry and subdued, almost resigned. It was heartbreaking to watch, after such bright and cheerful songs.
And love is not a victory march, the boy sang, stepping away from the group. The spotlight followed him, and he had his face upturned toward it. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Another boy on the soloist's far right moved up the stage, leading the chorus of hallelujahs in harmony. This second soloist's voice soared above the rest, mingling with the first soloist's hallelujahs. His voice was pure and high, as angelic as his face.
As the song continued, the first soloist kept shooting looks at the other boy, but the second soloist kept his face towards the audience, impassive and seemingly unaffected.
Maybe there's a god above, but all I ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you, the Warblers sang. And it's not a cry that you hear at night, the second soloist took the lead with a lower tone than before, it's not somebody who's seen the light. The first soloist sang with the second, It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
With a haunting harmony that resonated in the still auditorium, the song ended with the first soloist turned almost completely toward the second. The second singer remained facing the audience, his eyes shut against the spotlight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Absolute silence hung in the air, save for the fading echo-then,
the spell broke. The audience swarmed to their feet almost as a single entity, clapping and cheering.
The first singer turned back to the audience, a broad smile spread across his face and a minute tremble to his hands.
The Warblers reassembled and prepared for their next song.
---
Kurt got the news via a text message Facebook update half-way through Warblers practice. By the end of the hour, he could barely sit still from the overwhelming, delirious joy he felt. He caught Blaine by the elbow and held him back as the other members filed out of the room, slinging bags over their shoulders and chatting amongst themselves.
Blaine waited without speaking, eying Kurt in that infuriatingly polite, indulgent way he adopted during school hours. When the heel of the last Warblers' shoe had crossed the threshold of the room, Kurt all but thrust his cell phone into Blaine's face."Karofsky got expelled!" he crowed.
Blaine batted the phone away from his nose. "What happened?"
Gripping his phone tight and clutching it to his chest, Kurt answered, "He pushed Artie down a flight of stairs- he's okay, though," he added hastily, as he saw the concern flash across Blaine's face. "He's pretty badly bruised, but Artie was the one who posted it on my wall-he isn't even in hospital."
"Okay," Blaine said. "That's great! What's going to happen to Karofsky?"
Kurt snorted incredulously. "Who cares? Blaine-don't you understand what this means? I can go home."
Something-a series of expressions Kurt couldn't identify-flashed across Blaine's face, before he settled into an easy smile. The fake one he used for performances, Kurt noted. "Yeah, and that's great, Kurt." He pulled his watch from his pocket. "Look, I've got to go meet David in the library for tutoring. We'll hang out later, okay? At dinner?" Blaine didn't wait for an affirmative, and was out the door before Kurt could even open his mouth to respond.
Kurt stared down at his phone and bit his lip. "I'm going home," he whispered.
---
"Hey, boy," came Mercedes' voice, as if from very far away. Her immaculately manicured fingers snapped in front of Kurt's voice, further jerking him out of his reverie. "Are you even listening to me?"
Kurt shook his head, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly. "Sorry," he said, "what?"
Mercedes was smiling, but concern shone in her eyes. Wisely, perhaps, she did not inquire after what Kurt had been distracted by. She was probably used to it by now, and must know she would have only been snapped at if she'd tried. "I was wondering if you wanted to watch season two of Project Runway," she said, the DVD case clutched in her other hand. "I was going to make popcorn."
Running his tongue over his back molars as if he could already feel stray kernel casings trapped under his gums, Kurt shook his head again. I "Empty calories," he murmured. "Project Runway sounds good, though." He leaned back against the couch cushions and cast his gaze about his (new, considerably smaller, less private) bedroom.
The air conditioning was on full blast, airflow ruffling the slate grey curtains that framed his window. It was dark out, reflecting the room back at him. His eyes settled on the empty walls. A blank canvas, empty save for the cork board he'd brought home with him from school. Pictures of his friends from McKinley, and of the few friends he'd made at Dalton: Blaine, David, Alex, Christopher, Matthew.
"Did you catch the finale episode last weekend?" he inquired, tilting his head back on the cushion and looking at Mercedes side-long.
Mercedes snorted. "It was an absolute train wreck," she answered, and just like that, she was off on a rant about how the quality of the show had been dropping more and more each season.
Kurt let her, trying to focus on her words and not on reflecting his final days at Dalton. McKinley and Dalton had finished the school year a week apart, leaving Kurt time to get reacclimatize himself to living at home full time. It also left him time to dwell on how he'd left things at Dalton-unfinished and aching.
The reason Kurt had left Dalton was as much for the Karofsky situation finally finding resolution, as it was Kurt's guilt of the Dalton tuition costing his father so much. Kurt and his father had never particularly been want for money; Hummel's Tire and Lube was a profitable business respected in the Lima community. All the same, ten grand a semester was nothing to sneeze at.
Not to mention, of course, that he missed his family and friends dearly. Kurt leaving Dalton Academy had nothing to do with unfinished business or painful experiences he was resolutely not thinking about anymore. From this moment onward.
Kurt listened to Mercedes talk with a faint smile on his face, and watched her wave her hands around to emphasize her argument. Mercedes had always been a bit of a hand-talker, and it was one of the many quirks that Kurt adored about her. Even when she nearly took his eye out while expressing the points she was particularly passionate about-but Kurt had known Mercedes so long that he knew precisely when to avoid her hand by reflex.
---
During their end of the year performance, the Warblers arranged themselves into a semi-circle on the stage and sang the chorus as I really messed it up, this time, didn't I, my dear? Later, as an impromptu last hurrah in the senior commons before the students left for the summer, Blaine Anderson sang 'Little Lion Man' with the correct lyrics, I really fucked it up this time, with such vehemence that several of his classmates, who had never even see Blaine angry before in their years of knowing him, were stunned into silence. Kurt Hummel, the original soloist for the number, was not in attendance.
---
Had Kurt not been spending all his time in the library, studying for his final exams, Kurt probably would have noticed faster that he and Blaine were drastically spending less and less time together over the weeks that followed Karofsky's expulsion. As it was, it wasn't until he was mid-way through his French notes when he looked up and saw Blaine on the other side of the library, laughing quietly with Wes and David, that Kurt realized what he'd been missing.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a message to Mercedes. It was a Friday, and he wanted a sleep-over with his favourite girl. His French exam was on Monday, so he would study on Sunday. Mercedes' response was rapid: Of course! she had written. But Rachel's staying over, too.
Kurt could deal with that.
---
It was half-past ten in the last week of summer when Blaine was pushed through Kurt's bedroom door with little more announcement than, "Your boyfriend's here," from a bemused-sounding Finn.
"He's not my boyfriend," Kurt snapped, without looking up from his book; it was just starting to get good. Slowly, Finn's words registered, and Kurt looked up to see a shy-looking Blaine standing in his bedroom, hands in his jeans pockets. Kurt set his book down carefully on his bedside table. "Hello."
Blaine waved awkwardly. "Hi."
Kurt sat up on his bed and pulled his legs toward his chest. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to apologize for my behaviour," Blaine said. Kurt narrowed his eyes at this meagre explanation, and Blaine pulled a face. "Rachel Berry told me I had to come and try to fix things between us," he amended. "Mercedes was in on the call, too. She was fierce. I got in the call and started driving right after I hung up."
Kurt fought the urge to smile. "Oh," he said, picking absently at the fraying hem of his jeans. "And what are you here to say?"
"I'm sorry for acting like a dick and avoiding you all the time," Blaine said immediately, as if reciting a script Mercedes had written for him. He scratched the back of his head and sighed. "I panicked when you said you were leaving. I thought it might make it easier if it we weren't friends when you left."
"And was it?" Kurt asked. He got up off the bed. "Did it make it any easier?" He could feel his anger and the keen sting of rejection bubbling up in the back of throat. "It didn't for me." His voice was much sharper than he'd intended.
Blaine flinched. "I'm sorry," he repeated, and it sounded more genuine this time. "I was just- I got scared, okay?" Kurt moved closer and Blaine flinched away again, back hitting the door. "I just got scared, alright. I'm sorry."
"Scared of what, Blaine?" Kurt asked quietly, stepping still closer. He hoped his voice had lost enough of its edge, hoped it would encourage Blaine to open up and talk. Just this once.
Blaine edged away from the door, around Kurt. He looked around the room, his hands back in his pockets. He glanced back over his shoulder when he reached the open window and stopped moving when he saw Kurt's eyes trained on him. "I was scared of you," he said tonelessly. "Scared of how much I like you, okay?"
Kurt walked over to his bed and dropped heavily down onto it, arms crossing over his chest. "And how much do you like me, exactly?" Blaine leaned against the windowsill and just looked at Kurt, his eyes plaintive. "Oh," Kurt said, very quietly.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and both boys jumped.
---
"-Sorry for interrupting, boys," Carole began, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Kurt was sitting on his bed, arms crossed tightly across his chest. The other boy, Blaine, was leaning against the windowsill, his elbows hanging out into the cool night air. Carole hefted her basket of laundry by way of explanation. "Just finished folding these for you, Kurt," she said. "Make sure you put them away quickly, or else they'll wrinkle."
Kurt looked like he would want nothing better than to roll his eyes. He refrained. "Thank you, Carole," he said, polite, if a bit stiff. "Make sure you close the door on your way out."
Carole glanced between the two boys, then over at the clock on Kurt's bedside table.
"It's nearly midnight, Blaine, you shouldn't be driving back to Westerville so late. You won't get home until two," she said, smiling at Blaine in her usual warm way. The look in her eyes was a strange blend of kindness and amusement as her gaze flickered between Kurt's flushed face and Blaine's pale one.
"Call your parents and stay the night," she went on, setting the basket of fresh laundry down beside Kurt's closet and backing out of the room. "You can drive home in the morning." The look Kurt shot his stepmother was so ferocious that Carole was surprised she was still breathing. Her smile was sweet as she winked at him before closing the door quietly behind her.
---
"The couch is only marginally more comfortable than the floor," Kurt said out of the blue, distracting Blaine as looked around the room. Kurt remained still, staring up at the ceiling.
"What?" Blaine asked, distracted from his inspection of the photographs of himself on Kurt's cork board by the non sequitur.
"The couch is uncomfortable. The floor is uncomfortable. You can sleep on my bed. It's big enough for both of us."
Blaine perched awkwardly on the bed, hesitating and watching Kurt out the corner of his eye. Blaine's fingers smoothed wrinkles in the sheets, head bowed. Blaine did not want to make this more awkward than it already was; he was scared of making everything worse, somehow, so he stayed with the raised edge of the mattress digging into his thighs, just to this side of painful. Kurt was lying on his back beside the wall, studying Blaine with the same intensity he would apply to a new piece of sheet music.
Outside Kurt's bedroom, Blaine could hear the telltale clinks of dishes being packed away from a dishwasher in the kitchen; faint strains of whatever Burt was watching on television in the living room; and loud, thumping music coming from Finn's bedroom two rooms over.
The silence dragged on, broken only by the sounds of their breathing and the low hum of the air conditioning. Blaine smoothed his hand across the sheets in a broad arc, and stopped with his fingers mere inches away from Kurt's arm. Kurt shifted, restless. He said quietly,
"You can touch me if you want to, you know." Blaine wasn't expecting that. He jerked his hand away from Kurt's vicinity as if he'd been burned. Kurt shifted again, wet his lips with a swipe of his tongue. "If you want to."
Blaine exhaled, a harsh rush of breath that was surprise and relief but also a tension, a bright, hot tension coiled low in his stomach. He heard, rather than felt, Kurt sit up next to him, and inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes as Kurt's scent wafted over him, stale hairspray and that Dior cologne Blaine'd gotten him for his birthday and lingering remnants of dinner lurking beneath fading mints. He smelled faintly of sweat and boy, and, oddly, fresh-baked cookies.
"I want- I want you to," Kurt said, starting out confident but turning terrified in 2.37 seconds flat. "Blaine." His voice broke.
He wanted to-God, he'd wanted to since he met Kurt, at the beginning of the school year. Wanted to kiss that icy, protective mask from Kurt's face, to chase away the fears with his tongue, to hold Kurt until he knew what it felt like to really, truly be loved by another boy. Blaine moved his hand across the small distance between them and rested two fingertips, middle and pointer, against Kurt's thigh, the smallest, most innocent concession he could make.
He knew he shouldn't have; knew he should've said fuck it and left anyway-there were cafes open late, and he could have gotten home on a latte with a triple shot of espresso.
Blaine peeked through his eyelashes at Kurt's face.
Kurt was looking at him like he'd done something surprising-though whether it was a good or bad surprise, Blaine was unsure-and the corner of his mouth had begun to twitch. Blaine heaved a sigh, hanging his head just as Kurt started to shake with silent laughter.
"Shut up," Blaine said helplessly, and Kurt fell forward to lean heavily against Blaine's side. "You just said to touch, you didn't specify where, or-or how-" His indignant voice was wavering.
He moved to elbow Kurt in the ribs but his nose was suddenly pressed tight against Kurt's collar bone. Kurt stopped laughing at once. He slid his arms up between them, fingers curling over Blaine's shoulders. Blaine leaned back, just enough to press their foreheads together. "That wasn't supposed to happen," he said.
"Blaine," whispered Kurt. "Can you just- will you." He took a deep, shuddering breath and then closed the distance between their mouths. Only the barest brush of his lips and Kurt was moving away again, his eyes wide and impossibly bright. He looked terrified again, and Blaine was holding his breath. The silence stretched uncomfortable increment by uncomfortable increment, and they stared at each other, dumbly. "Say something," Kurt said. Ordered.
But Blaine had no words, no words at all, just a noise that was nothing but breath and shivery fear and nervousness. It was a sound that dragged him forward against his will and brought their mouths back together, fleetingly. Kurt was holding his breath, and again it occurred to Blaine that he should have left an hour ago and tried again another day.
Kurt made a soft sound of longing in the back of his throat, hands slipping up Blaine's shoulders to the back of his neck, fingertips catching in the tangled curls at his nape. Like he expected Blaine to run away, now. Blaine cupped the sides of Kurt's face in his palms and kissed him properly, gentle and soft and slow. Kissed him the way Kurt deserved to be kissed, just for being so brave and inspiring so much awe in Blaine simply by existing and standing up for the things he believed in as easily as breathing.
He tilted his head to deepen the kiss. There was one startled pause, and then Kurt let him in. Blaine tongued at Kurt's bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth to nibble and suck, and Kurt made another noise, broken and aggressive, hands sliding up into Blaine's hair. He scooted forward onto the bed, thighs falling apart until he had almost climbed up onto Blaine's lap, and it felt as if it could just go on forever, tangled together there, and Blaine didn't think he could stop now that he'd started-there wasn't any good reason to.
Until an over zealous grope Blaine made for Kurt's ass made them both lose their balance and tip over the edge of the mattress to fall in an even more tangled heap on the floor of Kurt's bedroom with a loud thump that everyone in the house must have heard.
Kurt, curled in half over Blaine's chest, began to laugh again. Blaine tucked his face into the crook of Kurt's shoulder and smiled.
Burt made Blaine sleep on the couch that night, even threatening to stand watch all night long to ensure he stayed right where he was supposed to. Carole, Finn, and Kurt all protested this, citing various health problems. Burt eventually gave in and went back to bed-but not before pointing two fingers at his eyes and then pointing them at Blaine.
Had Mr. Hummel not been utterly terrifying, Blaine would have been amused. As it stood, it was enough to keep Blaine rooted to the sofa for the rest of the night. It was not enough, however, to keep Kurt in his bedroom, and he sneaked downstairs after a few hours and waited hesitantly in the living room doorway for nearly a minute before Blaine raised the blankets in invitation. Kurt slid onto the couch beside him.
Since it was nearing three in the morning, they did not speak for fear of waking the household, nor did they kiss much beyond gentle nuzzles and reassurance. Just before dawn, Blaine stirred as Kurt left him with a soft kiss against his temple.
---
The Warblers finished their year-end concert with a rousing number of Katy Perry's 'Teenage Dream' that had the whole house on their feet. So take a chance and don't ever look back.
Highest rating preferred: NC-17
Prompt(s) used: 1) Integrity, 2) Little Lion Man
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Recipient: weyrdchic
Author/Artist: awoken
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3500
Summary: i don't know what i should do with my hands when i talk to you / you don't know where you should look, so you look at my hands / saying, "hey, well, maybe you should stay" (pamphleteer, the weakerthans)
Notes: First Glee fic! weyrdchic, I really hope it's good enough! the a capella songs mentioned in the fic: http://www.youtube.com/embed/4pmsOHc4keM (hallelujah), http://www.youtube.com/embed/d0Z71_qeqpg (little lion man), and http://www.youtube.com/embed/x2Xm-RFANp4 (the book of love). Story is not told in chronological order!
After fan favorites like a cheeky turn on Destiny's Child's 'Bills, Bills, Bills', 'Hey Soul Sister' by Train, a hauntingly beautiful rendition of the Magnetic Fields' 'The Book Of Love', and a crisp medley of songs by the Beatles ('Come Together', 'Eleanor Rigby', 'Let It Be', 'Here Comes the Sun', 'All You Need is Love', and 'I Will') and The Who ('Who Are You', 'Pinball Wizard', 'See Me Feel Me', 'My Generation' and 'Teenage Wasteland'), the Dalton Academy Warblers slowed things down with the sweeping and solemn opening strains of Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah'.
The lead soloist, a powerful performer with a mischievous sparkle in his eye, stood at the farthest left edge of the group and opened his mouth to sing. In comparison to his previous performances, the boy's voice and overall demeanor seemed wry and subdued, almost resigned. It was heartbreaking to watch, after such bright and cheerful songs.
And love is not a victory march, the boy sang, stepping away from the group. The spotlight followed him, and he had his face upturned toward it. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Another boy on the soloist's far right moved up the stage, leading the chorus of hallelujahs in harmony. This second soloist's voice soared above the rest, mingling with the first soloist's hallelujahs. His voice was pure and high, as angelic as his face.
As the song continued, the first soloist kept shooting looks at the other boy, but the second soloist kept his face towards the audience, impassive and seemingly unaffected.
Maybe there's a god above, but all I ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you, the Warblers sang. And it's not a cry that you hear at night, the second soloist took the lead with a lower tone than before, it's not somebody who's seen the light. The first soloist sang with the second, It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
With a haunting harmony that resonated in the still auditorium, the song ended with the first soloist turned almost completely toward the second. The second singer remained facing the audience, his eyes shut against the spotlight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Absolute silence hung in the air, save for the fading echo-then,
the spell broke. The audience swarmed to their feet almost as a single entity, clapping and cheering.
The first singer turned back to the audience, a broad smile spread across his face and a minute tremble to his hands.
The Warblers reassembled and prepared for their next song.
---
Kurt got the news via a text message Facebook update half-way through Warblers practice. By the end of the hour, he could barely sit still from the overwhelming, delirious joy he felt. He caught Blaine by the elbow and held him back as the other members filed out of the room, slinging bags over their shoulders and chatting amongst themselves.
Blaine waited without speaking, eying Kurt in that infuriatingly polite, indulgent way he adopted during school hours. When the heel of the last Warblers' shoe had crossed the threshold of the room, Kurt all but thrust his cell phone into Blaine's face."Karofsky got expelled!" he crowed.
Blaine batted the phone away from his nose. "What happened?"
Gripping his phone tight and clutching it to his chest, Kurt answered, "He pushed Artie down a flight of stairs- he's okay, though," he added hastily, as he saw the concern flash across Blaine's face. "He's pretty badly bruised, but Artie was the one who posted it on my wall-he isn't even in hospital."
"Okay," Blaine said. "That's great! What's going to happen to Karofsky?"
Kurt snorted incredulously. "Who cares? Blaine-don't you understand what this means? I can go home."
Something-a series of expressions Kurt couldn't identify-flashed across Blaine's face, before he settled into an easy smile. The fake one he used for performances, Kurt noted. "Yeah, and that's great, Kurt." He pulled his watch from his pocket. "Look, I've got to go meet David in the library for tutoring. We'll hang out later, okay? At dinner?" Blaine didn't wait for an affirmative, and was out the door before Kurt could even open his mouth to respond.
Kurt stared down at his phone and bit his lip. "I'm going home," he whispered.
---
"Hey, boy," came Mercedes' voice, as if from very far away. Her immaculately manicured fingers snapped in front of Kurt's voice, further jerking him out of his reverie. "Are you even listening to me?"
Kurt shook his head, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly. "Sorry," he said, "what?"
Mercedes was smiling, but concern shone in her eyes. Wisely, perhaps, she did not inquire after what Kurt had been distracted by. She was probably used to it by now, and must know she would have only been snapped at if she'd tried. "I was wondering if you wanted to watch season two of Project Runway," she said, the DVD case clutched in her other hand. "I was going to make popcorn."
Running his tongue over his back molars as if he could already feel stray kernel casings trapped under his gums, Kurt shook his head again. I "Empty calories," he murmured. "Project Runway sounds good, though." He leaned back against the couch cushions and cast his gaze about his (new, considerably smaller, less private) bedroom.
The air conditioning was on full blast, airflow ruffling the slate grey curtains that framed his window. It was dark out, reflecting the room back at him. His eyes settled on the empty walls. A blank canvas, empty save for the cork board he'd brought home with him from school. Pictures of his friends from McKinley, and of the few friends he'd made at Dalton: Blaine, David, Alex, Christopher, Matthew.
"Did you catch the finale episode last weekend?" he inquired, tilting his head back on the cushion and looking at Mercedes side-long.
Mercedes snorted. "It was an absolute train wreck," she answered, and just like that, she was off on a rant about how the quality of the show had been dropping more and more each season.
Kurt let her, trying to focus on her words and not on reflecting his final days at Dalton. McKinley and Dalton had finished the school year a week apart, leaving Kurt time to get reacclimatize himself to living at home full time. It also left him time to dwell on how he'd left things at Dalton-unfinished and aching.
The reason Kurt had left Dalton was as much for the Karofsky situation finally finding resolution, as it was Kurt's guilt of the Dalton tuition costing his father so much. Kurt and his father had never particularly been want for money; Hummel's Tire and Lube was a profitable business respected in the Lima community. All the same, ten grand a semester was nothing to sneeze at.
Not to mention, of course, that he missed his family and friends dearly. Kurt leaving Dalton Academy had nothing to do with unfinished business or painful experiences he was resolutely not thinking about anymore. From this moment onward.
Kurt listened to Mercedes talk with a faint smile on his face, and watched her wave her hands around to emphasize her argument. Mercedes had always been a bit of a hand-talker, and it was one of the many quirks that Kurt adored about her. Even when she nearly took his eye out while expressing the points she was particularly passionate about-but Kurt had known Mercedes so long that he knew precisely when to avoid her hand by reflex.
---
During their end of the year performance, the Warblers arranged themselves into a semi-circle on the stage and sang the chorus as I really messed it up, this time, didn't I, my dear? Later, as an impromptu last hurrah in the senior commons before the students left for the summer, Blaine Anderson sang 'Little Lion Man' with the correct lyrics, I really fucked it up this time, with such vehemence that several of his classmates, who had never even see Blaine angry before in their years of knowing him, were stunned into silence. Kurt Hummel, the original soloist for the number, was not in attendance.
---
Had Kurt not been spending all his time in the library, studying for his final exams, Kurt probably would have noticed faster that he and Blaine were drastically spending less and less time together over the weeks that followed Karofsky's expulsion. As it was, it wasn't until he was mid-way through his French notes when he looked up and saw Blaine on the other side of the library, laughing quietly with Wes and David, that Kurt realized what he'd been missing.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a message to Mercedes. It was a Friday, and he wanted a sleep-over with his favourite girl. His French exam was on Monday, so he would study on Sunday. Mercedes' response was rapid: Of course! she had written. But Rachel's staying over, too.
Kurt could deal with that.
---
It was half-past ten in the last week of summer when Blaine was pushed through Kurt's bedroom door with little more announcement than, "Your boyfriend's here," from a bemused-sounding Finn.
"He's not my boyfriend," Kurt snapped, without looking up from his book; it was just starting to get good. Slowly, Finn's words registered, and Kurt looked up to see a shy-looking Blaine standing in his bedroom, hands in his jeans pockets. Kurt set his book down carefully on his bedside table. "Hello."
Blaine waved awkwardly. "Hi."
Kurt sat up on his bed and pulled his legs toward his chest. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to apologize for my behaviour," Blaine said. Kurt narrowed his eyes at this meagre explanation, and Blaine pulled a face. "Rachel Berry told me I had to come and try to fix things between us," he amended. "Mercedes was in on the call, too. She was fierce. I got in the call and started driving right after I hung up."
Kurt fought the urge to smile. "Oh," he said, picking absently at the fraying hem of his jeans. "And what are you here to say?"
"I'm sorry for acting like a dick and avoiding you all the time," Blaine said immediately, as if reciting a script Mercedes had written for him. He scratched the back of his head and sighed. "I panicked when you said you were leaving. I thought it might make it easier if it we weren't friends when you left."
"And was it?" Kurt asked. He got up off the bed. "Did it make it any easier?" He could feel his anger and the keen sting of rejection bubbling up in the back of throat. "It didn't for me." His voice was much sharper than he'd intended.
Blaine flinched. "I'm sorry," he repeated, and it sounded more genuine this time. "I was just- I got scared, okay?" Kurt moved closer and Blaine flinched away again, back hitting the door. "I just got scared, alright. I'm sorry."
"Scared of what, Blaine?" Kurt asked quietly, stepping still closer. He hoped his voice had lost enough of its edge, hoped it would encourage Blaine to open up and talk. Just this once.
Blaine edged away from the door, around Kurt. He looked around the room, his hands back in his pockets. He glanced back over his shoulder when he reached the open window and stopped moving when he saw Kurt's eyes trained on him. "I was scared of you," he said tonelessly. "Scared of how much I like you, okay?"
Kurt walked over to his bed and dropped heavily down onto it, arms crossing over his chest. "And how much do you like me, exactly?" Blaine leaned against the windowsill and just looked at Kurt, his eyes plaintive. "Oh," Kurt said, very quietly.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and both boys jumped.
---
"-Sorry for interrupting, boys," Carole began, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Kurt was sitting on his bed, arms crossed tightly across his chest. The other boy, Blaine, was leaning against the windowsill, his elbows hanging out into the cool night air. Carole hefted her basket of laundry by way of explanation. "Just finished folding these for you, Kurt," she said. "Make sure you put them away quickly, or else they'll wrinkle."
Kurt looked like he would want nothing better than to roll his eyes. He refrained. "Thank you, Carole," he said, polite, if a bit stiff. "Make sure you close the door on your way out."
Carole glanced between the two boys, then over at the clock on Kurt's bedside table.
"It's nearly midnight, Blaine, you shouldn't be driving back to Westerville so late. You won't get home until two," she said, smiling at Blaine in her usual warm way. The look in her eyes was a strange blend of kindness and amusement as her gaze flickered between Kurt's flushed face and Blaine's pale one.
"Call your parents and stay the night," she went on, setting the basket of fresh laundry down beside Kurt's closet and backing out of the room. "You can drive home in the morning." The look Kurt shot his stepmother was so ferocious that Carole was surprised she was still breathing. Her smile was sweet as she winked at him before closing the door quietly behind her.
---
"The couch is only marginally more comfortable than the floor," Kurt said out of the blue, distracting Blaine as looked around the room. Kurt remained still, staring up at the ceiling.
"What?" Blaine asked, distracted from his inspection of the photographs of himself on Kurt's cork board by the non sequitur.
"The couch is uncomfortable. The floor is uncomfortable. You can sleep on my bed. It's big enough for both of us."
Blaine perched awkwardly on the bed, hesitating and watching Kurt out the corner of his eye. Blaine's fingers smoothed wrinkles in the sheets, head bowed. Blaine did not want to make this more awkward than it already was; he was scared of making everything worse, somehow, so he stayed with the raised edge of the mattress digging into his thighs, just to this side of painful. Kurt was lying on his back beside the wall, studying Blaine with the same intensity he would apply to a new piece of sheet music.
Outside Kurt's bedroom, Blaine could hear the telltale clinks of dishes being packed away from a dishwasher in the kitchen; faint strains of whatever Burt was watching on television in the living room; and loud, thumping music coming from Finn's bedroom two rooms over.
The silence dragged on, broken only by the sounds of their breathing and the low hum of the air conditioning. Blaine smoothed his hand across the sheets in a broad arc, and stopped with his fingers mere inches away from Kurt's arm. Kurt shifted, restless. He said quietly,
"You can touch me if you want to, you know." Blaine wasn't expecting that. He jerked his hand away from Kurt's vicinity as if he'd been burned. Kurt shifted again, wet his lips with a swipe of his tongue. "If you want to."
Blaine exhaled, a harsh rush of breath that was surprise and relief but also a tension, a bright, hot tension coiled low in his stomach. He heard, rather than felt, Kurt sit up next to him, and inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes as Kurt's scent wafted over him, stale hairspray and that Dior cologne Blaine'd gotten him for his birthday and lingering remnants of dinner lurking beneath fading mints. He smelled faintly of sweat and boy, and, oddly, fresh-baked cookies.
"I want- I want you to," Kurt said, starting out confident but turning terrified in 2.37 seconds flat. "Blaine." His voice broke.
He wanted to-God, he'd wanted to since he met Kurt, at the beginning of the school year. Wanted to kiss that icy, protective mask from Kurt's face, to chase away the fears with his tongue, to hold Kurt until he knew what it felt like to really, truly be loved by another boy. Blaine moved his hand across the small distance between them and rested two fingertips, middle and pointer, against Kurt's thigh, the smallest, most innocent concession he could make.
He knew he shouldn't have; knew he should've said fuck it and left anyway-there were cafes open late, and he could have gotten home on a latte with a triple shot of espresso.
Blaine peeked through his eyelashes at Kurt's face.
Kurt was looking at him like he'd done something surprising-though whether it was a good or bad surprise, Blaine was unsure-and the corner of his mouth had begun to twitch. Blaine heaved a sigh, hanging his head just as Kurt started to shake with silent laughter.
"Shut up," Blaine said helplessly, and Kurt fell forward to lean heavily against Blaine's side. "You just said to touch, you didn't specify where, or-or how-" His indignant voice was wavering.
He moved to elbow Kurt in the ribs but his nose was suddenly pressed tight against Kurt's collar bone. Kurt stopped laughing at once. He slid his arms up between them, fingers curling over Blaine's shoulders. Blaine leaned back, just enough to press their foreheads together. "That wasn't supposed to happen," he said.
"Blaine," whispered Kurt. "Can you just- will you." He took a deep, shuddering breath and then closed the distance between their mouths. Only the barest brush of his lips and Kurt was moving away again, his eyes wide and impossibly bright. He looked terrified again, and Blaine was holding his breath. The silence stretched uncomfortable increment by uncomfortable increment, and they stared at each other, dumbly. "Say something," Kurt said. Ordered.
But Blaine had no words, no words at all, just a noise that was nothing but breath and shivery fear and nervousness. It was a sound that dragged him forward against his will and brought their mouths back together, fleetingly. Kurt was holding his breath, and again it occurred to Blaine that he should have left an hour ago and tried again another day.
Kurt made a soft sound of longing in the back of his throat, hands slipping up Blaine's shoulders to the back of his neck, fingertips catching in the tangled curls at his nape. Like he expected Blaine to run away, now. Blaine cupped the sides of Kurt's face in his palms and kissed him properly, gentle and soft and slow. Kissed him the way Kurt deserved to be kissed, just for being so brave and inspiring so much awe in Blaine simply by existing and standing up for the things he believed in as easily as breathing.
He tilted his head to deepen the kiss. There was one startled pause, and then Kurt let him in. Blaine tongued at Kurt's bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth to nibble and suck, and Kurt made another noise, broken and aggressive, hands sliding up into Blaine's hair. He scooted forward onto the bed, thighs falling apart until he had almost climbed up onto Blaine's lap, and it felt as if it could just go on forever, tangled together there, and Blaine didn't think he could stop now that he'd started-there wasn't any good reason to.
Until an over zealous grope Blaine made for Kurt's ass made them both lose their balance and tip over the edge of the mattress to fall in an even more tangled heap on the floor of Kurt's bedroom with a loud thump that everyone in the house must have heard.
Kurt, curled in half over Blaine's chest, began to laugh again. Blaine tucked his face into the crook of Kurt's shoulder and smiled.
Burt made Blaine sleep on the couch that night, even threatening to stand watch all night long to ensure he stayed right where he was supposed to. Carole, Finn, and Kurt all protested this, citing various health problems. Burt eventually gave in and went back to bed-but not before pointing two fingers at his eyes and then pointing them at Blaine.
Had Mr. Hummel not been utterly terrifying, Blaine would have been amused. As it stood, it was enough to keep Blaine rooted to the sofa for the rest of the night. It was not enough, however, to keep Kurt in his bedroom, and he sneaked downstairs after a few hours and waited hesitantly in the living room doorway for nearly a minute before Blaine raised the blankets in invitation. Kurt slid onto the couch beside him.
Since it was nearing three in the morning, they did not speak for fear of waking the household, nor did they kiss much beyond gentle nuzzles and reassurance. Just before dawn, Blaine stirred as Kurt left him with a soft kiss against his temple.
---
The Warblers finished their year-end concert with a rousing number of Katy Perry's 'Teenage Dream' that had the whole house on their feet. So take a chance and don't ever look back.
Highest rating preferred: NC-17
Prompt(s) used: 1) Integrity, 2) Little Lion Man
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