But I Will Only Love You More 6/?
A/N: Wow, I'm sorry it took so long to update!
Thanks for all the amazing reviews, I'm so glad you all like it! =D Reviews are very welcome as always! Suggestions for improvements are one of my cravings ^-^
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my minor OC just to help roll the storyline on a bit. The title comes from the song At Your Door by Alexi Murdoch, and Glee and its characters belong to FOX and Ryan Murphy.
Warnings: Angst and swearing, but not too much.
September 2022
"Hey."
Again, they let a tranquillity settle over them, order their coffees and remain at their table, carefully sipping the hot beverages. Neither boy talks, both too shy to even know where to begin. The extent of their exchange are stolen glances, the soft puffs of air that cool their respective cups of coffee as they try to find common ground, try to come up with a topic of conversation that has absolutely no chance of ending in disaster, until-
"This is ridiculous."
Blaine's head snaps up, his eyes meet Kurt's, which have that ferocious glance in them that he recognises from too long ago.
"Kurt?" he murmurs, questioningly.
"We both know we're not going to get anywhere… catching up-wise, with this."
"What do you suggest?"
And so, they end up walking the streets of Manhattan, Blaine pointing out points of interest every now and then, carefully containing any enthusiasm from entering his tone, until they reach a bar Blaine has frequented a few times in the last years. Incidentally, it's the best one this close to his apartment.
It hurts, only a little, not knowing what to order for Kurt. But they only knew each other before the legal age. So he orders his cosmopolitan with a weary smile at the waiter and steps back, his eyes trained on the lips of the countertenor, ears pricked to listen to the order, just in case this occurrence repeats itself.
"Appletini, please."
He could have guessed. It seems the appropriate drink for Kurt. Sweet, colourful and yet strongenough to leave you with a pleasant buzz.
The seats glow green in the stark neon lights of the bar, welcoming them into the flamboyancy that promises no unpleasant disturbances while they talk. It's the sort of place Lima, Ohio would cower from, run to the hills in fear of that tiny small world of acceptance.
They work through the silence, let their minds fog with the bittersweet taste of alcohol that burns their throat in that familiar manner, lets them know it's okay, you can talk now, before either tries to think of even a word to say.
Their conversation moves slowly, edging onto topics they label as taboo, hedging on subjects neither is interested in, simply to keep talking. The familiar taste of the alcohol dims down as they grow accustomed to it, their minds start feeling foggy and hazy, eyelids dropping slightly to give them that tired air the alcohol induces.
"Where are you staying then? I stayed in Park Central once, nice place."
"If only. You do know how much pay a teacher gets, much less a substitute?"
And there it is, that uncomfortable line, breached, alcohol taking away inhibitions, pride and Kurt bites his lip, regrets his answer, looks at Blaine to discern whether the boy will make a comment.
"Hmm, I can imagine how you feel. Kate constantly complains about journalism being an 'underpaid, underappreciated art very few people can master'"
"Kate?"
"My room-mate." Blaine nods. They don't realise how easily they talk, how much timidity the alcohol stole from them, how their bodies angle towards each other now, rather than away.
Neither of the two is entirely sure at what point they decide to go to Blaine's apartment. Somewhere in-between their third drink and the fifth time someone hits on one of them and from it stems the "Maybe we should just leave… I can barely hear you over the music anyway!" and the "How far away do you live?"
The apartment is dark, clearly a sign Kate either met someone and will be back sometime mid-afternoon the next day, or her interview is absolutely riveting. Blaine suspects the first.
"It's nice." Kurt comments, his feet tapping on the floor lightly, carefully treading as though to find a boundary he can't cross.
Blaine turns to the kitchen, switching on the light and making a sliver of light illuminate the living room, his jacket hitting the couch, where he threw it.
"Can I, um, get you something?"
"I don't know…" Kurt says, his voice unsure. His feet edge back to the door, his posture slumps slightly. He seems suddenly unnerved by being here. In his ex-boyfriend's apartment. Alone with his ex-boyfriend. The thought causes his heart rate to speed up, he isn't sure whether because of nervousness or another feeling.
"Please" Blaine whispers, voice hoarse, pleading almost, "Stay, just for a bit."
The younger boy bites his lip, contemplates, his glance flickering between the dark, brown eyes and the door, before he takes a tentative step forward again, the thoughts coursing through his mind taking a momentary detour from being logical when he sees Blaine's face brighten up momentarily, a relieved smile tugging on his lips.
Ten o'clock approaches and passes and their sense of delirium only increases, as they sit on the floor, their backs against the couch, talking about their lives, about where they went and what they did. Both parties being completely aware that they will probably regret revealing so much, the next morning, but not being able to bring themselves to care, the words flowing without much prompting.
When Kurt asks about the encircled date on Blaine's calendar, he will lie; tell Kurt that March 15th is the birthday of a distant cousin.
And Kurt is barely even aware of their bodies inching closer, their legs becoming numb as both boys use them as support from the hard floor. Their knees brush as they laugh, their heads move forward and back and suddenly closer to each other and all Kurt can see is brown, impossibly light and yet warm brown that penetrates his vision, clears his thoughts and every single no his mind tells him is drowned by the feel of cool, bitter air hitting his lips. They stay impossibly still, impossibly close, for a second.
"Blaine…" Kurt murmurs, the name falling off his lips with a slight slur, a slight hesitation and the trace of need and want.
But when Blaine stays silent, simply nears his lips to Kurt's, making the younger boy's breath hitch and his heart beat a little faster again, Kurt draws away, leans toward the far end of the couch, casts his eyes on the gloomy floor, his cheeks glowing with a slight sheen of pink and he whispers "No." because it seems the only word his mind can conjure up. "No. I - I can't - we can't."
"Why?" Blaine's indignant tone makes Kurt want to hit him just as much as he wants to give in, agree with him and just follow his heart.
"You're drunk; I'm drunk and - no. I - I'm sorry, but… I should - I should go."
Cool air hits Blaine and then he's alone. His back sags against the couch, his muscles tense and relax in a syncopated rhythm and when did he and Kurt go back to the point where every move around each other was awkward, every touch a possible mistake and - yes. That's when. The day Kurt ended them on the wet, green lawn before Dalton, before the place that had made them.
The memory brings Blaine's forgotten glass back to his lips, follows the searing alcohol down his throat, follows the intoxicating scent to his brain, where it settles, uneasily and heavily.
Because with Kurt's simple sentence so long ago, it shattered everything they had built for them, around them. Every achievement, every memory stopped making sense to them and suddenly their lives were divided, beginning before they met, continuing after any trace of the other was gone.
The low 'thump' emanating from the hallway isn't lost on Blaine, no matter how drunk he may be. Except that rather than walk away from it, like he normally would, thinking it's just some neighbour, he is caught in a sudden web that falls toward the door and he can't help but make his way toward the blurred rectangle, because maybe he will manage to run after Kurt, to say sorry, to fix -
"Kurt?"
And suddenly, that's the only word his vocabulary comprises of. He sees the younger boy, with his slightly dishevelled hair, his somewhat crumpled clothes and porcelain skin, tainted by a single tear running down his cheek as Kurt's head is thrown back against the wall, his body almost slumping, his thoughts rotating with the simple wish that Blaine doesn't come out here, because if he sees him again, Kurt knows he is drunk enough to regret his actions later.
And that voice, that syllable falling from the other's lips does it for Kurt, does it for his coherency because all he can imagine right now is how simply amazing it would feel if he could hear Blaine say his name again and again and again.
So their lips crash together in a desperate fury, teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance, exploring each other, reacquainting themselves with each other after far too long. The taste of apple and vodka lingers on their tongues, brushes away conscious thoughts and small logistics that would tell them that this isn't right. Kurt's fingers wind themselves into Blaine's hair, tug at the un-gelled locks and elicit a soft moan from Blaine's mouth that makes Kurt shudder delicately against him, his back pressing against Blaine's splayed fingers as they try to get closer, closer, closer. A shiver tingles over his back, and there's a sudden tightness in his stomach, warmth that spreads throughout his body like a crashing wave.
They stumble, then. Through the hallway back to the apartment and Blaine feels the door crash against his back as Kurt pushes him, soft, strong lips never leaving his, fingers grasping the shirt desperately, finding the buttons, tracing them harshly, impatiently trying to pry them open and god it's so difficult to open the door right now.
From the other side of the paper thin walls of the apartment, the crescendo of a soft hum, a neighbour returning home, turning the key in the lock with its crackling noise, opening the creaking door, shutting it with a soft sound that bounces through the walls, only audible to them because of heightened senses of the situation.
Blaine's shirt hits the couch, buttons visibly loosened from their stitching to it and Kurt marvels as he lets his fingers skim across his naked chest, absorbs the feeling of the smooth skin and traces absent patterns into it, until Blaine leans away, pulls Kurt's t-shirt over his head, throws it away in a manner that would usually have Kurt in a frenzy, make him check it wasn't wrinkled and fold it properly, but his attention remains on what fabric still separates them as they move uncoordinatedly through the apartment, hit walls and only just make it through Blaine's bedroom door before the older boy pushes his back against a wall in retaliation to Kurt's earlier action, almost chuckling.
"There's - bed…" Kurt gasps, lips freed when Blaine starts lavishing his neck with heated kisses, bites the delicate skin covering his clavicle, making Kurt whimper and he feels like he is going to melt in the older boy's arms if Blaine keeps this up. And yet Blaine seems to have at least some sense of direction, even in his haze, when he backs Kurt up against the edge of the bed until the boy's knees hit the edge and his back connects with soft fibre, Blaine straddling his hips comfortably and continuing to kiss his neck before Kurt tugs his hair, hard, pulls their lips back together, clinging onto Blaine's body desperately.
In the end, it's sloppy and messy and completely unlike the romantic scenario Blaine might have mapped out in his mind for this, but it's new and exciting and filled with passion and love that overwhelms them; crashes into them with an intensity they never imagined or expected. And even the memories the intimacy brings get erased by the emotions that take over their minds.
A shattering of a glass within his dreams tears the countertenor's eyes open, blackness filling his vision immediately and then, the soft glow from the streetlights below, outlines of an unfamiliar set-out of a room that mixes in scents he recognises with those that convince him of the unlikelihood that he is back in the
hotel.
He doesn't remember falling asleep. Moreover, the feel of soft fingertips stroking the crook of his neck make it obvious that Blaine is not in that unconscious state of bliss that had taken over Kurt quite quickly. The older boy always did take liquor better.
"I never really managed to get over you."
Kurt can feel Blaine's hot breath tickle his ear and represses a pleasant shudder rolling over him. Because he needs Blaine to continue, knowing the older boy will only have the courage to do so, thinking Kurt fast asleep. So he closes his eyes and allows himself. Allows his mind to simply listen, to simply respond to the tender touch with the fluttering it creates in his chest.
"Whenever I tried- tried telling myself that you'd be over me by now, that you had probably moved on and- and then I remembered your face. The way it lit up, the way you smiled so beautifully when we first met, the way you smiled whenwe first kissed… every smile, every laugh, every expression would just…rocket through my mind and I found myself hoping that maybe- just… maybe…"
And then, the voice trails off, leaves the two boys in silent darkness of the night, only the sound of traffic and late night party-goers audible outside and only when Kurt can make out the even, peaceful breathing somewhere close by in the black canvas, does he allow a shallow breath to pass through his pursed lips, his body rippling with tension and he knows that a peaceful sleep is the last possible thing for him now.
But the voice is slowly lulling him into unwanted sleep, into depths he dares never conquer. Blaine's voice drifts into his mind with images and skin tight jeans and an empty land, and there is nothing Kurt could do because he is so, so tired and he is reminded once again of linearity, parallelism he had once applied to Blaine's and his lives.
TBC