crush
Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
R // 5,400 words
Summary:
crush * v.
1. a: to suppress or overwhelm as if by pressure or weight.
b: to oppress or burden grievously.
AU. Blaine Anderson is 18 years old with two semesterss of college courses out of the way and a few thousand dollars saved up. He heads to the nearest station and takes the first train to New York with no intention of looking back. But then he meets the mysterious Kurt Hummel, a quiet boy who doesn't let anyone touch him
Things are different once Blaine has Kurt tucked by his side, sitting together in his suite.
Kurt’s hand is resting on Blaine’s knee, warm and unassuming in the dim moonlight. Blaine hasn’t even bothered to turn on the lamps in his suite yet, which is essentially a mini hotel room that leads off of the normal train car: sliding doors and uncomfortable seats that face each other just like any normal train, but with an extra sliding door in place of a window. They made a stop on the way to grab Kurt’s luggage from the car he shared with an older woma, an unspoken agreement that he would be spending the final ten hours of the trip with Blaine.
Blaine looks at Kurt, sitting close enough together on the bed for their thighs to be pressed up close and tilts his head up. Leaning forward, bracing one hand on the bed by Kurt’s hip, Blaine is all but begging Kurt to kiss him. The thought of it makes him want to retreat back into his own skin, press Kurt’s luggage back into his own hands and send him back down the corridor to his own car. Blaine pours himself into molds others have set out for him, knowing full well that he is only clay wishing for a good potter’s hands to shape him into something beautiful; an elegant vase, a swirl of vines with intricate leaves, their veins painstakingly etched out, one by one.
“The moon is watching us,” Kurt whispers, turning his own face up to catch the light. Blaine had opened the shutters to watch the trees as nerves tried to get the best of him that morning, and now he marvels at the moonlight splattered against his bed and walls. He holds out his arms and watches the light paint constellations across his skin, mottled and indistinct as it passes through the trees outside to fall upon his hands.
“A raven’s-eye moon,” Blaine says, guessing at its shape from the short glimpses of it through gaps in the woods.
Kurt looks at him, then. His face shows nothing, bathed in moonlight and glowing bright as a star in the darkness.
He brushes a soft hand down Blaine’s cheek, speaks softly to him as if whispering a lullaby. “It’s a traitor’s moon.”
***
Later, they undress each other.
They’re laying on the bed now, touching just enough to remove each other’s pants and shirts, kicking off their own shoes and socks. Their eyes meet in the low light and Blaine is suddenly restless, itching to run away. There’s a burn in him, an ache under his skin as he settles himself over Kurt’s warm body. Kurt’s fingers grip around Blaine’s forearms and then slide up to wrap around his shoulders. At each point that Kurt’s fingertips press into warm skin, Blaine swears he can feel something trying to push out of it, a feather bursting out into the night. Their chests almost touching, Blaine feels Kurt’s hands on him like brands, searing him in swirls and dips around the curves of his skin.
He hopes they scar.
He hopes that in the morning he can look at himself in the mirror and see the patterns of Kurt’s touch, remember how it felt to have him warm and willing and his, if only for a night.
“You don’t let people touch you,” Blaine says, only a breath of space keeping his lips from grazing Kurt’s clavicle. The bones are pressed up tight under Kurt’s skin, proud and firm and Blaine wants to run his fingertips over them and feel their dips and curves.
“No,” Kurt answers, lifting his arms to frame his head in a fractured halo, “But you aren’t other people.”
That makes Blaine pause, sit up from where he’d been leaning over Kurt’s body and frown at him.
“You don’t know that,” Blaine says. The phantoms of Kurt’s touch suddenly burn in an unpleasant way and Blaine wonders if keeping his own hands away did any good at all.
“I do, though.” Kurt sits up and wraps long arms around his knees, folding in like swan’s wings as he sits up to be eye-level with Blaine on the bed. “Other people wouldn’t have talked to me in the dining car. They would have watched me that entire time and written me off as a drifter, or a run-away, and never seen the me that’s running towards something.”
Blaine is shaking, his hands and head and heart.
“You talked to me first,” Blaine argues, “and how do you know that I don’t think you’re just some lonely boy with his guard down?”
The words are meant to slice, but Kurt only smiles in a way that makes Blaine even more nervous, as if he sees Blaine’s attempts to deny him to be endearing rather than a last-ditch effort at self-preservation.
“I know because you still haven’t put a hand on me.” Kurt smiles in that secret way once more and Blaine knows he has been caught.
Blaine noticed Kurt in the dining car and saw danger in the very shape of him, feigning confidence in the first words he spoke. Even from those first words, Blaine told himself not to get attached. Nothing good has ever come to him by letting his guard down.
But now he has Kurt under him, warm and pliant and wanting and something about that makes Blaine’s body remember what it feels like to want something that’s purelyhis, a feeling that maybe he’s never really understood. For as long as he can remember, Blaine has felt like a hand-me-down in his own life, as if he was lesser-than what his parents were expecting and they were forcing themselves to be happy with what they got stuck with. Kurt is looking at him now as though he is the very best thing, the free ice-cream on the hottest day of the year, the most unexpected and welcome of surprises.
“You can,” Kurt says, his voice warm and inviting to Blaine’s ears.
“Hm?”
“Touch me, that is. I want you to.” The words are quiet and Blaine pushes up onto the balls of his hands, wants to make sure before he crosses that line.
“Do you?” he asks, leaning down to whisper right against the shell of Kurt’s ear, “Where do you want me to touch you, Kurt?”
It’s a confidence that Blaine didn’t know he had in him, the sudden urge to make Kurt feel incredible and knowing that he can do that; it’s warm in this bed with the sounds of a rumbling train around them and Kurt’s soft skin just under Blaine’s hands. He sits up, thighs resting back on his calves and lets his hands hover just above the sides of Kurt’s ribcage, fingers splayed. Kurt takes a deep breath and his bones push up into Blaine’s waiting palms, slotted against the warm skin.
Blaine’s fingertips fit into the spaces between Kurt’s ribs and he loses a moment following the lines of soft skin as firm bone rises around them.
“You haven’t answered my question.” Blaine looks up into Kurt’s eyes and presses the heel of his hands against the topmost bone on each side of Kurt’s ribcage and slides his hands slowly down, pressing firmly as he goes. Kurt is letting out slow, stuttered breaths, his spine still curving up to meet Blaine’s touch.
“Everywhere,” Kurt gasps, eyes falling closed, “please, I want you to touch meeverywhere.”
For a moment, Blaine just pauses with his fingers spread across Kurt’s chest and takes in the sight of him: tousled hair and tightly closed eyes, fingers locked together above his own head. He is the holiest thing that Blaine has ever seen, and his body is a temple that Blaine plans to worship for as long as he is allowed.
“I will, I promise,” Blaine says, leans forward and slots his lips over Kurt’s. The spark is immediate, all-consuming, and suddenly his hands are running down to press his thumbs against the grooves of Kurt’s hipbones and then sliding up the curve of his side. Blaine’s fingers brush against the sparse, sweat-damp hair of Kurt’s armpits and then fan along his biceps, clutching against them to ground himself. He never knew that finally getting what he wants would feel like this, his complete inability to stop himself from touching as much of Kurt as he can.
Kurt’s lips are heated and firm against his own, giving as good as he gets and taking up all of Blaine’s focus. Which is fine, really, because Blaine’s hands seem to be moving of their own accord, gliding over every bit of skin that he can. He wants to learn Kurt’s body by feel and then map it out with his eyes later. He just wants them to have time.
The train hits a bump in its tracks and sends their car jostling, propels Kurt’s body up and into Blaine’s just enough that their hard lengths slide up against each other and Blaine’s breath feels like it’s pulled out of him with the way he heaves up a sob at the feel of it.
“God,” Kurt whispers, taking Blaine’s sound into his mouth and pushing back out in the form of incoherent babbling, a steaming mix of deities and Blaine’s name and then, tacked onto the very end, “I didn’t know it could be like this.”
“Hm? Like what?” Blaine says, regaining control of his hands to frame Kurt’s face, brush his knuckles against the skin wound tight over Kurt’s cheekbones.
Their cocks are resting side-by-side, pressed snug with the way Blaine has his hips titled. It feels overwhelmingly sexy, intimate in a way that Blaine wasn’t expecting it to be and he knows what Kurt means. He had always thought that having sex with a man like this, unashamed and devastating in its sincerity, would be quick and messy and scalding. Instead he finds a slow heat building within him, one that he wants to string out for as long as he can before it bursts.
“Like I’m being crushed under the weight of it,” Kurt breathes, “But I don’t want it to stop.”
Blaine nods and brushes the tips of his fingers in the hollows under Kurt’s eyes, trying to soothe the bruise-purple skin. He drops his hands, then, to settle on either side of Kurt’s ribs and pulls his hips back and then forward, a calculating movement. Kurt’s breath hitches and his arms are back up around his head, biting his lip.
“No, Kurt, don’t hide like that,” Blaine says, dragging his cock up along Kurt’s in slow, short movements, “Please let me hear you.”
Kurt pleads at him with his drawn-in eyebrows but Blaine shakes his head and stills his hips.
“No one’s around to hear you except for me,” Blaine says.
“And the moon,” Kurt replies, his smile like a secret hanging in the air.
Blaine doesn’t know what to do with the emotion that wells up inside of him, so he laughs loudly, a sudden bark of sound. Kurt is beaming beneath him and nothing about this feels like fear. It feels like something Blaine has never known existed, something quiet and wonderful between the two of them that must be blossoming around the room from how overwhelming it feels. If this is what it is to let someone in, Blaine wonders, then he has no idea how people manage it on a day-to-day basis. It’s completely devouring, it’s eating Blaine up from the inside out and no, he doesn’t want it to stop.
“Let me take care of you,” Blaine asks, hands poised on Kurt’s biceps.
Kurt nods and chuckles a little, almost hysterical in his disbelief.
Slowly, Blaine begins to move once more. Kurt whimpers and his fingers are white where they grip onto the fabric beneath his head. Blaine lets himself admire Kurt’s body, the way it rolls with his own and thinks that this is only the beginning. The things they could do to and with each other are limitless. All they need is each other, this warm bed and the moon to illuminate their bodies as they rock together.
Time becomes irrelevant to Blaine; he has no idea how long the two of them have been pressed together, their groans and whispers melting into the air around them. When he comes, Kurt’s spine curves up into a comma and Blaine matches it with a parenthesis, his whole body draping across Kurt’s chest and speaking low words of encouragement into his ear, “Yes, Kurt, you’re so good, so gorgeous when you come for me.”
Kurt gets a good grip on Blaine’s shoulders and kisses him, messy and hot and all Blaine needs to topple over the edge.
***
After, Kurt sits on the foot of the bed while Blaine takes his turn in the bathroom to wash up.
Blaine stumbles back into the room and sees Kurt with his legs folded over, staring out the window.
“Only eight more hours,” Kurt says. Blaine wants so badly to join Kurt on the bed and press his body back once more, but he just crosses his arms over his still-bare chest and watches Kurt speak.
“Going to New York has always been my dream, you know? It was the only thing that kept me going, most days,” Kurt shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal and Blaine wants to shake him, let him know that having nothing to rely on but a far-off dream is something that matters a hell of a lot. He doesn’t, though, just sits at the head of the bed and nods.
“So I told myself that it didn’t matter that I was going alone, and that I didn’t know anyone in the city or have anywhere to go. I told myself that it would be enough to just be gone. I can take care of myself, you know.” His words are accusatory but lack any real venom. Blaine waits a long moment to speak.
“Yeah, I know you can. And I know that I can, too.” Kurt tilts his head in the direction of Blaine’s voice. It’s an acknowledgment of the slightest degree, but Blaine will take whatever he can get.
“I think it might be nice, though, to have some company,” Blaine pauses, gathers himself and starts again, “I have a hotel suite waiting for me, paid in full for a couple of months. Two bedrooms.”
Kurt unfolds himself and glides up and into Blaine’s lap, pressing his ear down against the steady beat of Blaine’s heart. His legs are draped over Blaine’s, sitting sideways with bare feet dangling off the end of the bed, toes skimming across the edge of the duvet.
“Nothing is ever this easy,” Kurt says.
“No one told us it would be. In fact, everyone in my life has always made sure to let me know that it’s the hardest possible thing,” Blaine says, rubbing one hand slowly along the curve of Kurt’s spine, “Then again, my view on what exactly “it” is varies from theirs in every possible way.”
Kurt nods against his chest. “I need to call my dad. He must be worried sick.”
“In the morning, when we get ho-. When we get to the hotel. Right now you should probably get some rest.” Blaine gently pushes Kurt off of his lap and then stands to pull the covers back, sliding underneath them and staring up at Kurt as he lays down, his body illuminated by the moonlight behind him.
He is something altogether different, not in any way what Blaine was expecting and his presence still manages to soothe Blaine rather than scare him.
“You know, I. I don’t do this, Kurt,” Blaine says, avoiding the other boy’s eyes.
“Oh.” It’s a word that comes out clipped, a puff of sound that Kurt lets out as he withdraws the hand that was reaching towards Blaine’s arm.
“No, Kurt, I didn’t meant that I regret it or that I don’t want you here,” Blaine rushes to explain, covering his own eyes with his hands, “It’s just that opening myself up to anything isn’t something that’s ever worked out for me. Once burned twice shy, you know?”
Kurt is quiet for a moment before he starts to pull Blaine’s hands down. Blaine doesn’t want Kurt to see this soft part of him, but there’s a small smile on his face that only encourages the hope blooming in Blaine’s chest.
“I still don’t know your last name, or how you like your coffee,” Kurt whispers, shuffling up close to Blaine under the covers, “Or anything about you at all, really.”
“We can learn,” Blaine answers, “If you want, that is. We have all night.”
“And what happened to getting some rest?” Kurt says, curling the fingers of one hand around Blaine’s wrist.
“Nothing sounds more relaxing to me than spending a night telling you my secrets,” Blaine says, and pushes forward to catch the corner of Kurt’s lips, not giving him time to answer.
The kiss is slow and thick with intention, and Blaine shivers to the tips of his fingers with the intensity of it. Kurt is warm and responsive, his hands fluttering up to curve around Blaine’s neck.
“I’ll go first, okay?” he asks, pushing the tips of his fingers into Blaine’s dark hair.
“Okay.” Blaine pulls back and closes his eyes, opens himself up to Kurt’s words.