Short fic: we could be perfect one last night, Kurt/Blaine, NC-17
Title: we could be perfect one last night
Author: littlemrstom
Fandom: Glee
Pairing(s): Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Sex
Word Count: 4500
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; I own nothing but the plot. I especially do not own Glee. Sad times.
Summary: New York was supposed to be their break. They were supposed to move and fall even more in love, and live happily ever after. The reality is they’re living in a horribly rundown apartment, they’re arguing all the time, and Kurt doesn’t even remember the last time they were intimate with each other.
Author Notes: Kind of angsty, kind of porny. But that’s cool, right? Written for this prompt on the glee_kink_meme! Title lyric is from Our Lady of Sorrows by My Chemical Romance.
This isn’t the first time it’s happened. It’s not the first time, nor is it the second, the third, or the fourth, but it is by far the worst.
When it starts, Kurt isn’t too worried. It happens all the time, right? One of them will make a snarky comment about the other leaving their dirty laundry in jumbled piles on the floor, or not doing the dishes as soon as they’re made so that they pile up for days, or not telling the other they were going to be out until three a.m. in the morning and leaving them sat at home worrying for hours thinking they’d been kidnapped or raped or murdered and cut into pieces. No names mentioned, Blaine Anderson. Kurt is sat on the couch, feet propped up on a stool with a blanket over his legs because they’re trying to cut down on their bills and turning the heating off is one of the few ways they think they might be able to, working on a script he’s been glued to for the past fortnight. Blaine is making dinner in the next room, chuntering to himself and singing random lyrics under his breath.
Their flat is tiny, made up of three main rooms and a bathroom with a leaky pipe they can’t afford to fix. There are stains on the carpets, patches of mould in the corners from the damp, and the walls are more or less bare, save for Kurt’s costume designs and Blaine’s lines for acting class pinned up over the grottier parts of the plaster. Because of the size, sound carries.
“Blaine, honey, would you mind just keeping the noise down a bit?” Kurt calls from his section of the couch, pausing his pencil’s lines on his paper and turning his head to look at his boyfriend who is a mere six feet away. “I’m trying to work on my script.”
Blaine doesn’t reply, but he quietens immediately and his humming comes to a stop. “Kurt, we don’t have any tomatoes,” he says a moment later, peering into their second-hand refrigerator.
Kurt places his pencil tip back on his page again, replying as he crosses a phrase out and scribbles something different over it absently. “I know. I told you to go to the grocery store yesterday, sweetie.”
“I had class until eight yesterday, you know that. I thought you were going to go this morning.” He closes the refrigerator door a little bit too hard and it creaks dubiously, a couple of bottles inside clinking as they’re jolted.
“I had to work this morning, remember? I took up a few extra shifts at the shop to be able to pay for the groceries you were going to get.” Kurt alters another phrase on his paper, before changing his mind and erasing it a second time.
“Oh,” Blaine replies, walking the few paces it takes him to be able to stand in front of Kurt. “Does this mean you’ll be able to pay this month’s rent in time after I paid the whole amount last month?”
Kurt lets out a sigh, eventually giving up on his script and closing the notebook he has it written in. He tucks the closed notebook under his thigh and sits up to look at Blaine, taking a deep breath. “Please don’t bring that up again,” he says quietly. “I thought we were over it.”
“We were,” is Blaine’s short reply. “But now we don’t have any edible food in the fridge and I have no money with which to get more, or any time in which to get it. What are we supposed to do, Kurt? Please inform me, because I’m at a loss here.”
It takes Kurt a moment of staring at the floor before he’s able to turn his face towards Blaine again. This is how things have been for the past couple of months; they’re living pay check to pay check, trying to fit their lives in around their continuous stream of schoolwork and jobs. New York was supposed to be their break. They were supposed to move and fall even more in love, and live happily ever after.
The reality is they’re living in a horribly rundown apartment, they’re arguing all the time, and Kurt doesn’t even remember the last time they were intimate with each other. Actually no, that’s a lie, Kurt remembers the last time was just over three weeks ago before the last rent payment was due. Since then he’s jerked off in the shower more times than he dares to count, because hey, he’s still young and the stress hasn’t reached to affect his libido yet.
The first few weeks had been bliss. Chaotic, messy bliss, with boxes of their belongings everywhere and the pair of them being too busy with sex and sightseeing to be bothered to unpack. Their savings and the healthy sums of money given by their parents as badly disguised leaving gifts had lasted them the first three months, and the money they’d made working in those three months had lasted them another two, but now it’s running out and schoolwork is piling up and they’re beginning to realise that their apartment is maybe just a little bit too small for two young people finally starting to grow into their adult skin.
“We’ll just have to… eat simple,” Kurt eventually says for lack of a better answer. Blaine is looking at him, almost glaring, and Kurt shivers uncomfortably under his gaze. “What else do you want me to say, Blaine?” Kurt asks when Blaine says nothing in response to his last response. “What else do you want me to do? Magic up food out of thin air? Magic up some money?” Kurt frowns, his eyebrows drawing downwards into his face, crinkling his brow tightly. “Because hey, newsflash, that’s impossible.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” is all Blaine says. He’s still staring at Kurt, his eyes almost black but not for the reasons at which Kurt would usually jump.
It’s Kurt’s turn to stare then. He sits up a little straighter, before rethinking and standing up, just to have an extra couple of inches on Blaine if nothing else. “I’m being ridiculous? I am? Have you heard yourself lately? You need to calm down, Blaine. We both need to calm down and talk about this rationally, like adults.”
“We tried that.” Blaine begins pacing, three long strides across the width of the room before he spins on the spot and walks another three to just do the same all over again. “We tried that already and look where it got us, Kurt.”
“Don’t ‘Kurt’ me, Blaine, like this is my fault. This is not my fault. This isn’t anybody’s fault.”
“It’s both our faults!” The volume of Blaine’s voice has risen and it makes Kurt shrink back a little. Blaine isn’t a violent man, he knows that-he’s known that since he met him almost four years ago, well, except for that one time when he shoved David Karofsky in high school, but normally Blaine wouldn’t hurt a fly. “We let this happen!”
“It’s not like we did it on purpose.” Kurt lets out a long breath through his nose as he watches Blaine out the corner of his eye. He’s stood in the middle of the room, his pacing paused, as if deep in thought. “Blaine.” Kurt’s voice is low and soft, brows creased in concern at the look on Blaine’s face. “Blaine,” he says again, slower this time. “You don’t honestly think…”
Blaine takes a deep breath and locks his eyes on Kurt’s. “I don’t know what I think anymore, Kurt,” he says, and Kurt doesn’t really know what to think when the words finally register in his mind; doesn’t know what Blaine is getting at. If the expression on Blaine’s face is anything to go by as he walks towards the door, he doesn’t really know what he’s getting at, either.
“Where are you going?” Kurt asks, his pulse suddenly quickening under his skin, burning, itching like a bubbling rash. Why is Blaine stood by the door? Why are his shoes suddenly on his feet? Why is his coat in his hand? “Blaine, where are you going?” he repeats, urgency shining through his voice as much as he tries to disguise it. “You can’t leave.”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Kurt,” Blaine says, and the harsh, biting tone of his voice makes Kurt want to cry.
And when the door opens and Blaine walks out, slamming it behind him, he does. The first tear slips out and slides down his cheek, as if testing the waters for the following ones that follow like a waterfall. After the first few, and after Kurt has realised Blaine isn’t going to return tonight, he gives up bothering to try stop them.
---
Three hours later sees Kurt in bed, wrapped up in Blaine’s favourite jumper that smells just like him and the stupid cologne Kurt is forever trying to get him to stop wearing. The apartment is freezing and Kurt’s feet are bare. Tear tracks stain his cheeks, though his eyes are dry now, just puffy and red, and Kurt feels like he’s cried out his entire lifetime’s supply of tears. Kurt doesn’t even want to cry anymore.
He just wants Blaine back.
---
The night comes and goes. Kurt eventually falls into a fitful sleep that he jerks out of at every sound he hears and he wakes up feeling as though he’s stared at the ceiling all night. His eyes are sore, his mouth dry, and he has no idea what to do. The apartment is silent; there’s no noise of Blaine taking far too long in the shower, no sound of his humming that Kurt used to be annoyed by after hours of it, no Blaine wandering aimlessly about the place, rubbing his arms with his hands to try and warm himself up.
There’s no Blaine until he walks through the door, unshaven and in yesterday’s now-wrinkled clothes.
The second he steps inside, Kurt gets the urge to run over to him and never let him go because, fuck, he needs him. He’d never realised how much he needed him until he wasn’t there.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because even though the look of absolute thunder that had resided on Blaine’s face last night is no longer there, Kurt can’t be sure that it’s not just lurking beneath the surface. So he physically fixes himself to his chair, but it doesn’t mean he’s not going to try and make up for it with words.
“Blaine,” he squeaks from where he’s sat on the sofa, legs crossed and cold feet tucked under his thighs, his eyes having been trained on the door all morning in case Blaine were to walk through it. Like he just did. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately after, his words rushed, high-pitched-“I’m so sorry,”-desperate. He pauses. “I didn’t mean anything I said last night. You’re right, it is both our faults and we let this happen and we shouldn’t have and we should have done more to stop it before now but we didn’t, I didn’t, and I’m so, so sorry, Blaine.” The words tumble from his lips like his brain-to-mouth filter has dissolved and he doesn’t know how to evaporate the water away. Blaine stands in front of him, paused in his position just inside the door, watching Kurt.
When he still doesn’t reply moments later, Kurt begins to think maybe he’s only returned to pack his things.
Maybe he’s going to leave again.
Kurt doesn’t think he could cope with that.
“Blaine, please say something,” he says, his voice wobbling as he fights to keep himself from springing out of his seat and attaching himself to Blaine just so he has no choice other than to stay. “I’m so sorry; please, please don’t leave me. I’m not telling you what to do, I’m not, but please, don’t leave me. I love you, Blaine, so much it hurts. I’ll change, I swear, I- Please, I need you-”
“Kurt.” The single word is enough to make Kurt snap his jaw shut and stop everything; his heart, the axis his universe spins on. Everything is Blaine in the next moment, and when he shuts the door behind him and strides over to Kurt, Kurt curls in on himself just in case and closes his eyes. “Kurt, god, never say that.”
It’s then that Kurt feels Blaine’s pliant body against his. Heat floods his limbs when Blaine’s hands find his arms and hold him, and the thought that had run through his head moments previously that Blaine was going to hurt him makes him blink rapidly and want to hit himself because the thought was absurd.
“Never say I love you?” Kurt whispers, and he’s confused because he can’t link the words Blaine just said to the actions he just made by moving to hold him.
“Never say you’ll change.” Blaine words are filled with complete sincerity, and Kurt is still confused. This Blaine is not the Blaine that left his-their apartment in a rage the previous night. This Blaine is one that Kurt is beginning to recognize.
“You’re not leaving?” He has to force the words out, scared of the answer he might receive on the other side.
A large, warm hand appears at the side of Kurt’s face, pressing against his cheek, and even after all the lexical weapons they’ve thrown at each other, Kurt finds himself leaning into it as if nature formed the palm to fit against the curve of his cheekbone. Calloused fingertips run along the shell of his ear, tracing the lines as if they’re the outline to a masterpiece, which they sort of are in Blaine’s eyes.
“What?” Thick breath wafts over Kurt’s face and it’s only then, when Kurt opens his eyes, that he realises just how close Blaine is to him. If he were to just… tilt his head, they’d kiss.
“You walked out,” Kurt says, eyes wide and glassy against the frigid, artificial light of the room. “I th-thought you were leaving. You were so angry.”
“I just-” Blaine’s eyes widen until they’re wider than Kurt’s and he moves back a little, putting distance between their lips that Kurt wishes weren’t there but is actually glad is, else he’d probably try to kiss Blaine and end up ruining this crucial moment with his stupid feelings. Blaine brings the hand that isn’t still cradling Kurt’s face up and rubs it over his brow, frowning deeply. “I just went to Wes’,” he says quietly.
There’s a stagnant moment or ten where neither of them say anything. Kurt watches Blaine’s face and Blaine watches Kurt’s and it’s almost as if they’re conversing without words, because the expressions on their features (the I didn’t know on Kurt’s, the I should have told you on Blaine’s) speak volumes, instead.
Kurt eventually breaks the silence with, “Are you going back tonight?”
Blaine shakes his head slowly, eyes meeting with Kurt’s. Kurt lets out a long, heavy sigh that he hadn’t realised he’d been harbouring.
There’s a shift in the atmosphere then, like the tension is dissipating into nothingness and the colours in the room are beginning to run out of the lines, leaving only Kurt and Blaine in their front room with Blaine’s hand on Kurt’s face and Blaine leaning back in to meet Kurt’s face with his own. The rough bristled skin of his chin brushes against Kurt’s smoother complexion and Kurt can’t help but hum into it, the gentle vibration of particles working its way out of his throat and into the heavy air that surrounds them.
Blaine’s silence asks do you forgive me?, to which Kurt’s replies yes, every single time, and it’s like nothing has changed between them as Blaine’s chapped lips descend on Kurt’s with such gentleness that Kurt barely feels the press of them until he rises up onto his knees to hold Blaine closer to his chest, as if scared he might vanish if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough.
Kurt knows this probably isn’t what they should be doing, shuddering as the hand that isn’t on his face moves up his body until it’s toying with the hem of Blaine’s jumper that is still wrapped around Kurt’s shoulders. He knows they have more talking to do, he does, he knows that, but he’s missed being like this with Blaine, he’s missed it desperately and he’ll do anything to keep Blaine like this just a little bit longer. Blaine’s fingers trace the lines of his ribcage under his clothing and Kurt presses urgently into the touch, craving more, more, more, and it seems Blaine is able to hear his silent pleas, too, as soon his jumper and shirt are being pulled over his head and deposited on the floor beside the couch.
“I love you.” Blaine breaks the silence this time, his words puncturing it in three tiny holes that Kurt can barely see through the misty haze descending over his eyes. But just like that, something inside Kurt breaks and he can barely contain himself; the sweater Blaine is wearing is pulled from his back and Kurt is pulling him as close as he can physically get him. Their chests collide and Kurt basks in the way he can feel Blaine’s heart beating in tandem right next to his own; it’s soothing and reassuring, and almost erotic as Blaine smoothes his palm down the curve of Kurt’s spine, resting it on the swell of his hip when he reaches the end of the bone.
“I love you, too,” Kurt finally lets out, pulling away from Blaine for all of a second because as much of a waste of time as breathing seems, it’s kind of necessary and he fears he may be turning blue. Blaine uses the moment to secure a hand around Kurt’s waist and then he’s being swiftly lifted off his knees and off the couch. “Blaine!” he cries in surprise, arms tightening around Blaine’s shoulders as he’s carried through their apartment and into their bedroom. “Oh gosh, put me down!” He laughs for the first time in a long time and it makes him feel light, airy, happy, even if it is only momentary.
The sheets are cold beneath them, Blaine’s side unmade from where Kurt spent last night and Kurt’s side perfect and unused. Blaine seems to notice this, if the pained look on his face is anything to go by, but Kurt doesn’t want him distracted. He doesn’t want to talk about their problems yet, doesn’t want to admit that at some point they’ll have to sort out this funk they’re in, and so he reaches over and yanks the covers on his side of the bed down until it matches the other side of the bed.
“Blaine, please,” Kurt whispers, blinking up at Blaine and spreading himself out on the bed. His limbs relax along with his face, and Blaine just blinks back at him, eyes meeting and locking and holding, doing that silent conversation thing again. Kurt is asking for Blaine to love him, and Blaine is telling him he does, he really, really does. Blaine’s fingers find the button on Kurt’s jeans and unfasten it.
Blaine’s rumpled trousers follow, and then the rest, and when Kurt’s naked skin meets Blaine’s the friction that is created between them makes Kurt feel a little light-headed. He grasps his fingers around the supple bones of Blaine’s wrists and holds their arms above his head, tilting his chin up to reach Blaine’s mouth, needing to taste him again. The kiss is soft and tender, a gentle reminder of what they used to be and the bittersweetness of it makes Kurt’s toes curl uneasily and him whine quietly in the back of his throat.
“Please,” Kurt says a second time, unable to fight the urge he gets to lift his hips until his groin meets with Blaine’s, and he lets out a long, loud sigh of utter bliss at the contact. “Blaine, Blaine, I need…”
Kurt’s grip on Blaine’s wrists has loosened and Blaine takes the opportunity to pull himself free. Kurt whines again when Blaine’s mouth disconnects from his, but when he reapplies his mouth to the salty patch of skin behind his ear, he falls quiet again. Blaine’s tongue flicks out gently to lap at the skin, the tip tickling as he draws it in lines down the taut skin of Kurt’s neck, down the threads of veins in his neck and across his collar bones, dipping into every dimple and rising over every arch of bone.
Blaine continues the action all the way down Kurt’s body, laving over the flushed flesh of his nipples and kissing across the flat planes of his belly until his nose is nuzzling into the juncture of Kurt’s hip and Kurt is keening and running his fingers through Blaine’s hair, free from product and curling softly in his hands. Blaine kisses Kurt repeatedly, soft pecks against his skin, across his pelvic bone and waist, until he looks up at Kurt and meets his eyes as he gently kisses the head of his cock, glistening and pink and in desperate need of Blaine’s undivided attention.
But Blaine doesn’t stop there. He flattens his tongue and runs it down the length of Kurt, suckling the tip and lapping up the pre-come there, before he moves further downwards, using his hands to lift Kurt’s thighs higher to accommodate his position. Kurt’s breath catches in his throat as Blaine licks him there, the place where Kurt wants him the most. They’ve not done this in so long; even before things started going awry they didn’t do it much, and Kurt can only think with the last part of his brain that’s not entirely overwhelmed with lust and love that Blaine is trying to make it up to him somehow. His tongue brushes over his hole lightly, not lingering, but Kurt doesn’t care. The thought alone is what makes Kurt hum in pleasure as his back arches slightly, and Blaine has to hold him down with hands on his hips.
“Blaine,” Kurt murmurs again, unable to keep the word away from his lips. At the sound of his name, Blaine looks up and nods instantly, bringing a finger to his lips and sucking it between them before guiding it to Kurt’s entrance. He pauses before pushing it in, and when he finally does, Kurt can’t hold in the moan that escapes from his throat. It’s more the actual physicality that it’s there than the feeling it gives him that sends him almost into overload, but he tightens his grip on Blaine’s hair and encourages him on with whispered words, lets him know it’s okay to add another already because Kurt wants this so badly; he wants the slight burn that it’ll bring, he welcomes it.
And so Blaine does, he adds another digit and then with the help of additional lube he adds a third until he’s kissing at Kurt’s thigh and forming a bruise and sliding his fingers in and out of him with such ease that Kurt is practically singing.
“I’m ready, Blaine,” Kurt says insistently as Blaine moves his mouth from thigh to stomach, repeating his earlier actions of grazing his teeth over the skin and then kissing over the same place soothingly. “Please, need you now.”
After freeing his mouth from Kurt’s skin, Blaine slowly removes his fingers and slinks up Kurt’s body to kiss him thoroughly. “I love you,” he tells him again seriously, and Kurt just cups his face in his shaking hands and draws him in for another kiss to reciprocate the message.
“I know,” he sighs gently against his lips, and then wiggles a little, at which Blaine can’t help but chuckle because Kurt is just so fucking perfect.
The slide of Blaine entering Kurt is slow; slow and honest and Kurt’s toes curl for a completely different reason this time because there’s nothing bittersweet about this; this is them. This is Kurt and Blaine and even with their problems, this is how they will always fit flawlessly. Kurt doesn’t even flinch as he’s stretched because he’s not done this in a while; he wraps his arms around Blaine’s back and pushes him in as far as he will go, needing to feel the sting to know it’s really happening.
It doesn’t last long; they both knew it wouldn’t from the start because it’s too good to last more than a few minutes. Their skin slaps together as Blaine gets caught up in the moment and gets caught up in Kurt and he’s coming inside Kurt within minutes, swearing against the skin of Kurt’s cheek and digging his fingers into Kurt’s shoulders, potentially bruising him further, though Kurt won’t complain at being marked by Blaine; especially not at being marked by Blaine like this. Kurt bites his lip as he feels Blaine’s release inside him, hot and sticky and he’s filled with it, but Blaine doesn’t pull out yet. He doesn’t pull out until Kurt follows him over the edge, coaxed on by Blaine’s slick fist around his cock, and when he does, Kurt whines at the emptiness that follows and crowds forward to cling to Blaine when he deposits himself beside Kurt on the bed.
They don’t speak for a while, simply enjoying the silence they’ve found together, their bodies thrumming concurrently. When they do, it’s Kurt thanking Blaine and Blaine telling him that he shouldn’t be thanking for anything. Kurt ignores him and says it anyway, burying into the warmth of Blaine’s chest and allowing Blaine to hold him, because, at least for now, everything between them is perfect. Everything is perfect, and the rest that isn’t can wait a while.
---
Later on when they’ve caught their breath and held each other some more, they’ll talk. They’ll talk, though they won’t find solutions. They’ll talk and profess their love for each other, shower each other in it and make it a few more times in their now completely rumpled bed until they’re exhausted and all they’ll want to do is fall asleep on top of each other. Which is exactly what they’ll do, and when they wake, they’ll take a walk in the park, hand in hand, and think of ways to solve their dilemma. Solutions won’t be easy to come by, but compromises will, and the exclamations of their love from the night before will worm their way back into their voiceboxes until the whole of New York knows it. It won’t be easy, and they know that, but it will be done, and it will be worth it.
Author: littlemrstom
Fandom: Glee
Pairing(s): Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Sex
Word Count: 4500
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; I own nothing but the plot. I especially do not own Glee. Sad times.
Summary: New York was supposed to be their break. They were supposed to move and fall even more in love, and live happily ever after. The reality is they’re living in a horribly rundown apartment, they’re arguing all the time, and Kurt doesn’t even remember the last time they were intimate with each other.
Author Notes: Kind of angsty, kind of porny. But that’s cool, right? Written for this prompt on the glee_kink_meme! Title lyric is from Our Lady of Sorrows by My Chemical Romance.
This isn’t the first time it’s happened. It’s not the first time, nor is it the second, the third, or the fourth, but it is by far the worst.
When it starts, Kurt isn’t too worried. It happens all the time, right? One of them will make a snarky comment about the other leaving their dirty laundry in jumbled piles on the floor, or not doing the dishes as soon as they’re made so that they pile up for days, or not telling the other they were going to be out until three a.m. in the morning and leaving them sat at home worrying for hours thinking they’d been kidnapped or raped or murdered and cut into pieces. No names mentioned, Blaine Anderson. Kurt is sat on the couch, feet propped up on a stool with a blanket over his legs because they’re trying to cut down on their bills and turning the heating off is one of the few ways they think they might be able to, working on a script he’s been glued to for the past fortnight. Blaine is making dinner in the next room, chuntering to himself and singing random lyrics under his breath.
Their flat is tiny, made up of three main rooms and a bathroom with a leaky pipe they can’t afford to fix. There are stains on the carpets, patches of mould in the corners from the damp, and the walls are more or less bare, save for Kurt’s costume designs and Blaine’s lines for acting class pinned up over the grottier parts of the plaster. Because of the size, sound carries.
“Blaine, honey, would you mind just keeping the noise down a bit?” Kurt calls from his section of the couch, pausing his pencil’s lines on his paper and turning his head to look at his boyfriend who is a mere six feet away. “I’m trying to work on my script.”
Blaine doesn’t reply, but he quietens immediately and his humming comes to a stop. “Kurt, we don’t have any tomatoes,” he says a moment later, peering into their second-hand refrigerator.
Kurt places his pencil tip back on his page again, replying as he crosses a phrase out and scribbles something different over it absently. “I know. I told you to go to the grocery store yesterday, sweetie.”
“I had class until eight yesterday, you know that. I thought you were going to go this morning.” He closes the refrigerator door a little bit too hard and it creaks dubiously, a couple of bottles inside clinking as they’re jolted.
“I had to work this morning, remember? I took up a few extra shifts at the shop to be able to pay for the groceries you were going to get.” Kurt alters another phrase on his paper, before changing his mind and erasing it a second time.
“Oh,” Blaine replies, walking the few paces it takes him to be able to stand in front of Kurt. “Does this mean you’ll be able to pay this month’s rent in time after I paid the whole amount last month?”
Kurt lets out a sigh, eventually giving up on his script and closing the notebook he has it written in. He tucks the closed notebook under his thigh and sits up to look at Blaine, taking a deep breath. “Please don’t bring that up again,” he says quietly. “I thought we were over it.”
“We were,” is Blaine’s short reply. “But now we don’t have any edible food in the fridge and I have no money with which to get more, or any time in which to get it. What are we supposed to do, Kurt? Please inform me, because I’m at a loss here.”
It takes Kurt a moment of staring at the floor before he’s able to turn his face towards Blaine again. This is how things have been for the past couple of months; they’re living pay check to pay check, trying to fit their lives in around their continuous stream of schoolwork and jobs. New York was supposed to be their break. They were supposed to move and fall even more in love, and live happily ever after.
The reality is they’re living in a horribly rundown apartment, they’re arguing all the time, and Kurt doesn’t even remember the last time they were intimate with each other. Actually no, that’s a lie, Kurt remembers the last time was just over three weeks ago before the last rent payment was due. Since then he’s jerked off in the shower more times than he dares to count, because hey, he’s still young and the stress hasn’t reached to affect his libido yet.
The first few weeks had been bliss. Chaotic, messy bliss, with boxes of their belongings everywhere and the pair of them being too busy with sex and sightseeing to be bothered to unpack. Their savings and the healthy sums of money given by their parents as badly disguised leaving gifts had lasted them the first three months, and the money they’d made working in those three months had lasted them another two, but now it’s running out and schoolwork is piling up and they’re beginning to realise that their apartment is maybe just a little bit too small for two young people finally starting to grow into their adult skin.
“We’ll just have to… eat simple,” Kurt eventually says for lack of a better answer. Blaine is looking at him, almost glaring, and Kurt shivers uncomfortably under his gaze. “What else do you want me to say, Blaine?” Kurt asks when Blaine says nothing in response to his last response. “What else do you want me to do? Magic up food out of thin air? Magic up some money?” Kurt frowns, his eyebrows drawing downwards into his face, crinkling his brow tightly. “Because hey, newsflash, that’s impossible.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” is all Blaine says. He’s still staring at Kurt, his eyes almost black but not for the reasons at which Kurt would usually jump.
It’s Kurt’s turn to stare then. He sits up a little straighter, before rethinking and standing up, just to have an extra couple of inches on Blaine if nothing else. “I’m being ridiculous? I am? Have you heard yourself lately? You need to calm down, Blaine. We both need to calm down and talk about this rationally, like adults.”
“We tried that.” Blaine begins pacing, three long strides across the width of the room before he spins on the spot and walks another three to just do the same all over again. “We tried that already and look where it got us, Kurt.”
“Don’t ‘Kurt’ me, Blaine, like this is my fault. This is not my fault. This isn’t anybody’s fault.”
“It’s both our faults!” The volume of Blaine’s voice has risen and it makes Kurt shrink back a little. Blaine isn’t a violent man, he knows that-he’s known that since he met him almost four years ago, well, except for that one time when he shoved David Karofsky in high school, but normally Blaine wouldn’t hurt a fly. “We let this happen!”
“It’s not like we did it on purpose.” Kurt lets out a long breath through his nose as he watches Blaine out the corner of his eye. He’s stood in the middle of the room, his pacing paused, as if deep in thought. “Blaine.” Kurt’s voice is low and soft, brows creased in concern at the look on Blaine’s face. “Blaine,” he says again, slower this time. “You don’t honestly think…”
Blaine takes a deep breath and locks his eyes on Kurt’s. “I don’t know what I think anymore, Kurt,” he says, and Kurt doesn’t really know what to think when the words finally register in his mind; doesn’t know what Blaine is getting at. If the expression on Blaine’s face is anything to go by as he walks towards the door, he doesn’t really know what he’s getting at, either.
“Where are you going?” Kurt asks, his pulse suddenly quickening under his skin, burning, itching like a bubbling rash. Why is Blaine stood by the door? Why are his shoes suddenly on his feet? Why is his coat in his hand? “Blaine, where are you going?” he repeats, urgency shining through his voice as much as he tries to disguise it. “You can’t leave.”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Kurt,” Blaine says, and the harsh, biting tone of his voice makes Kurt want to cry.
And when the door opens and Blaine walks out, slamming it behind him, he does. The first tear slips out and slides down his cheek, as if testing the waters for the following ones that follow like a waterfall. After the first few, and after Kurt has realised Blaine isn’t going to return tonight, he gives up bothering to try stop them.
---
Three hours later sees Kurt in bed, wrapped up in Blaine’s favourite jumper that smells just like him and the stupid cologne Kurt is forever trying to get him to stop wearing. The apartment is freezing and Kurt’s feet are bare. Tear tracks stain his cheeks, though his eyes are dry now, just puffy and red, and Kurt feels like he’s cried out his entire lifetime’s supply of tears. Kurt doesn’t even want to cry anymore.
He just wants Blaine back.
---
The night comes and goes. Kurt eventually falls into a fitful sleep that he jerks out of at every sound he hears and he wakes up feeling as though he’s stared at the ceiling all night. His eyes are sore, his mouth dry, and he has no idea what to do. The apartment is silent; there’s no noise of Blaine taking far too long in the shower, no sound of his humming that Kurt used to be annoyed by after hours of it, no Blaine wandering aimlessly about the place, rubbing his arms with his hands to try and warm himself up.
There’s no Blaine until he walks through the door, unshaven and in yesterday’s now-wrinkled clothes.
The second he steps inside, Kurt gets the urge to run over to him and never let him go because, fuck, he needs him. He’d never realised how much he needed him until he wasn’t there.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because even though the look of absolute thunder that had resided on Blaine’s face last night is no longer there, Kurt can’t be sure that it’s not just lurking beneath the surface. So he physically fixes himself to his chair, but it doesn’t mean he’s not going to try and make up for it with words.
“Blaine,” he squeaks from where he’s sat on the sofa, legs crossed and cold feet tucked under his thighs, his eyes having been trained on the door all morning in case Blaine were to walk through it. Like he just did. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately after, his words rushed, high-pitched-“I’m so sorry,”-desperate. He pauses. “I didn’t mean anything I said last night. You’re right, it is both our faults and we let this happen and we shouldn’t have and we should have done more to stop it before now but we didn’t, I didn’t, and I’m so, so sorry, Blaine.” The words tumble from his lips like his brain-to-mouth filter has dissolved and he doesn’t know how to evaporate the water away. Blaine stands in front of him, paused in his position just inside the door, watching Kurt.
When he still doesn’t reply moments later, Kurt begins to think maybe he’s only returned to pack his things.
Maybe he’s going to leave again.
Kurt doesn’t think he could cope with that.
“Blaine, please say something,” he says, his voice wobbling as he fights to keep himself from springing out of his seat and attaching himself to Blaine just so he has no choice other than to stay. “I’m so sorry; please, please don’t leave me. I’m not telling you what to do, I’m not, but please, don’t leave me. I love you, Blaine, so much it hurts. I’ll change, I swear, I- Please, I need you-”
“Kurt.” The single word is enough to make Kurt snap his jaw shut and stop everything; his heart, the axis his universe spins on. Everything is Blaine in the next moment, and when he shuts the door behind him and strides over to Kurt, Kurt curls in on himself just in case and closes his eyes. “Kurt, god, never say that.”
It’s then that Kurt feels Blaine’s pliant body against his. Heat floods his limbs when Blaine’s hands find his arms and hold him, and the thought that had run through his head moments previously that Blaine was going to hurt him makes him blink rapidly and want to hit himself because the thought was absurd.
“Never say I love you?” Kurt whispers, and he’s confused because he can’t link the words Blaine just said to the actions he just made by moving to hold him.
“Never say you’ll change.” Blaine words are filled with complete sincerity, and Kurt is still confused. This Blaine is not the Blaine that left his-their apartment in a rage the previous night. This Blaine is one that Kurt is beginning to recognize.
“You’re not leaving?” He has to force the words out, scared of the answer he might receive on the other side.
A large, warm hand appears at the side of Kurt’s face, pressing against his cheek, and even after all the lexical weapons they’ve thrown at each other, Kurt finds himself leaning into it as if nature formed the palm to fit against the curve of his cheekbone. Calloused fingertips run along the shell of his ear, tracing the lines as if they’re the outline to a masterpiece, which they sort of are in Blaine’s eyes.
“What?” Thick breath wafts over Kurt’s face and it’s only then, when Kurt opens his eyes, that he realises just how close Blaine is to him. If he were to just… tilt his head, they’d kiss.
“You walked out,” Kurt says, eyes wide and glassy against the frigid, artificial light of the room. “I th-thought you were leaving. You were so angry.”
“I just-” Blaine’s eyes widen until they’re wider than Kurt’s and he moves back a little, putting distance between their lips that Kurt wishes weren’t there but is actually glad is, else he’d probably try to kiss Blaine and end up ruining this crucial moment with his stupid feelings. Blaine brings the hand that isn’t still cradling Kurt’s face up and rubs it over his brow, frowning deeply. “I just went to Wes’,” he says quietly.
There’s a stagnant moment or ten where neither of them say anything. Kurt watches Blaine’s face and Blaine watches Kurt’s and it’s almost as if they’re conversing without words, because the expressions on their features (the I didn’t know on Kurt’s, the I should have told you on Blaine’s) speak volumes, instead.
Kurt eventually breaks the silence with, “Are you going back tonight?”
Blaine shakes his head slowly, eyes meeting with Kurt’s. Kurt lets out a long, heavy sigh that he hadn’t realised he’d been harbouring.
There’s a shift in the atmosphere then, like the tension is dissipating into nothingness and the colours in the room are beginning to run out of the lines, leaving only Kurt and Blaine in their front room with Blaine’s hand on Kurt’s face and Blaine leaning back in to meet Kurt’s face with his own. The rough bristled skin of his chin brushes against Kurt’s smoother complexion and Kurt can’t help but hum into it, the gentle vibration of particles working its way out of his throat and into the heavy air that surrounds them.
Blaine’s silence asks do you forgive me?, to which Kurt’s replies yes, every single time, and it’s like nothing has changed between them as Blaine’s chapped lips descend on Kurt’s with such gentleness that Kurt barely feels the press of them until he rises up onto his knees to hold Blaine closer to his chest, as if scared he might vanish if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough.
Kurt knows this probably isn’t what they should be doing, shuddering as the hand that isn’t on his face moves up his body until it’s toying with the hem of Blaine’s jumper that is still wrapped around Kurt’s shoulders. He knows they have more talking to do, he does, he knows that, but he’s missed being like this with Blaine, he’s missed it desperately and he’ll do anything to keep Blaine like this just a little bit longer. Blaine’s fingers trace the lines of his ribcage under his clothing and Kurt presses urgently into the touch, craving more, more, more, and it seems Blaine is able to hear his silent pleas, too, as soon his jumper and shirt are being pulled over his head and deposited on the floor beside the couch.
“I love you.” Blaine breaks the silence this time, his words puncturing it in three tiny holes that Kurt can barely see through the misty haze descending over his eyes. But just like that, something inside Kurt breaks and he can barely contain himself; the sweater Blaine is wearing is pulled from his back and Kurt is pulling him as close as he can physically get him. Their chests collide and Kurt basks in the way he can feel Blaine’s heart beating in tandem right next to his own; it’s soothing and reassuring, and almost erotic as Blaine smoothes his palm down the curve of Kurt’s spine, resting it on the swell of his hip when he reaches the end of the bone.
“I love you, too,” Kurt finally lets out, pulling away from Blaine for all of a second because as much of a waste of time as breathing seems, it’s kind of necessary and he fears he may be turning blue. Blaine uses the moment to secure a hand around Kurt’s waist and then he’s being swiftly lifted off his knees and off the couch. “Blaine!” he cries in surprise, arms tightening around Blaine’s shoulders as he’s carried through their apartment and into their bedroom. “Oh gosh, put me down!” He laughs for the first time in a long time and it makes him feel light, airy, happy, even if it is only momentary.
The sheets are cold beneath them, Blaine’s side unmade from where Kurt spent last night and Kurt’s side perfect and unused. Blaine seems to notice this, if the pained look on his face is anything to go by, but Kurt doesn’t want him distracted. He doesn’t want to talk about their problems yet, doesn’t want to admit that at some point they’ll have to sort out this funk they’re in, and so he reaches over and yanks the covers on his side of the bed down until it matches the other side of the bed.
“Blaine, please,” Kurt whispers, blinking up at Blaine and spreading himself out on the bed. His limbs relax along with his face, and Blaine just blinks back at him, eyes meeting and locking and holding, doing that silent conversation thing again. Kurt is asking for Blaine to love him, and Blaine is telling him he does, he really, really does. Blaine’s fingers find the button on Kurt’s jeans and unfasten it.
Blaine’s rumpled trousers follow, and then the rest, and when Kurt’s naked skin meets Blaine’s the friction that is created between them makes Kurt feel a little light-headed. He grasps his fingers around the supple bones of Blaine’s wrists and holds their arms above his head, tilting his chin up to reach Blaine’s mouth, needing to taste him again. The kiss is soft and tender, a gentle reminder of what they used to be and the bittersweetness of it makes Kurt’s toes curl uneasily and him whine quietly in the back of his throat.
“Please,” Kurt says a second time, unable to fight the urge he gets to lift his hips until his groin meets with Blaine’s, and he lets out a long, loud sigh of utter bliss at the contact. “Blaine, Blaine, I need…”
Kurt’s grip on Blaine’s wrists has loosened and Blaine takes the opportunity to pull himself free. Kurt whines again when Blaine’s mouth disconnects from his, but when he reapplies his mouth to the salty patch of skin behind his ear, he falls quiet again. Blaine’s tongue flicks out gently to lap at the skin, the tip tickling as he draws it in lines down the taut skin of Kurt’s neck, down the threads of veins in his neck and across his collar bones, dipping into every dimple and rising over every arch of bone.
Blaine continues the action all the way down Kurt’s body, laving over the flushed flesh of his nipples and kissing across the flat planes of his belly until his nose is nuzzling into the juncture of Kurt’s hip and Kurt is keening and running his fingers through Blaine’s hair, free from product and curling softly in his hands. Blaine kisses Kurt repeatedly, soft pecks against his skin, across his pelvic bone and waist, until he looks up at Kurt and meets his eyes as he gently kisses the head of his cock, glistening and pink and in desperate need of Blaine’s undivided attention.
But Blaine doesn’t stop there. He flattens his tongue and runs it down the length of Kurt, suckling the tip and lapping up the pre-come there, before he moves further downwards, using his hands to lift Kurt’s thighs higher to accommodate his position. Kurt’s breath catches in his throat as Blaine licks him there, the place where Kurt wants him the most. They’ve not done this in so long; even before things started going awry they didn’t do it much, and Kurt can only think with the last part of his brain that’s not entirely overwhelmed with lust and love that Blaine is trying to make it up to him somehow. His tongue brushes over his hole lightly, not lingering, but Kurt doesn’t care. The thought alone is what makes Kurt hum in pleasure as his back arches slightly, and Blaine has to hold him down with hands on his hips.
“Blaine,” Kurt murmurs again, unable to keep the word away from his lips. At the sound of his name, Blaine looks up and nods instantly, bringing a finger to his lips and sucking it between them before guiding it to Kurt’s entrance. He pauses before pushing it in, and when he finally does, Kurt can’t hold in the moan that escapes from his throat. It’s more the actual physicality that it’s there than the feeling it gives him that sends him almost into overload, but he tightens his grip on Blaine’s hair and encourages him on with whispered words, lets him know it’s okay to add another already because Kurt wants this so badly; he wants the slight burn that it’ll bring, he welcomes it.
And so Blaine does, he adds another digit and then with the help of additional lube he adds a third until he’s kissing at Kurt’s thigh and forming a bruise and sliding his fingers in and out of him with such ease that Kurt is practically singing.
“I’m ready, Blaine,” Kurt says insistently as Blaine moves his mouth from thigh to stomach, repeating his earlier actions of grazing his teeth over the skin and then kissing over the same place soothingly. “Please, need you now.”
After freeing his mouth from Kurt’s skin, Blaine slowly removes his fingers and slinks up Kurt’s body to kiss him thoroughly. “I love you,” he tells him again seriously, and Kurt just cups his face in his shaking hands and draws him in for another kiss to reciprocate the message.
“I know,” he sighs gently against his lips, and then wiggles a little, at which Blaine can’t help but chuckle because Kurt is just so fucking perfect.
The slide of Blaine entering Kurt is slow; slow and honest and Kurt’s toes curl for a completely different reason this time because there’s nothing bittersweet about this; this is them. This is Kurt and Blaine and even with their problems, this is how they will always fit flawlessly. Kurt doesn’t even flinch as he’s stretched because he’s not done this in a while; he wraps his arms around Blaine’s back and pushes him in as far as he will go, needing to feel the sting to know it’s really happening.
It doesn’t last long; they both knew it wouldn’t from the start because it’s too good to last more than a few minutes. Their skin slaps together as Blaine gets caught up in the moment and gets caught up in Kurt and he’s coming inside Kurt within minutes, swearing against the skin of Kurt’s cheek and digging his fingers into Kurt’s shoulders, potentially bruising him further, though Kurt won’t complain at being marked by Blaine; especially not at being marked by Blaine like this. Kurt bites his lip as he feels Blaine’s release inside him, hot and sticky and he’s filled with it, but Blaine doesn’t pull out yet. He doesn’t pull out until Kurt follows him over the edge, coaxed on by Blaine’s slick fist around his cock, and when he does, Kurt whines at the emptiness that follows and crowds forward to cling to Blaine when he deposits himself beside Kurt on the bed.
They don’t speak for a while, simply enjoying the silence they’ve found together, their bodies thrumming concurrently. When they do, it’s Kurt thanking Blaine and Blaine telling him that he shouldn’t be thanking for anything. Kurt ignores him and says it anyway, burying into the warmth of Blaine’s chest and allowing Blaine to hold him, because, at least for now, everything between them is perfect. Everything is perfect, and the rest that isn’t can wait a while.
---
Later on when they’ve caught their breath and held each other some more, they’ll talk. They’ll talk, though they won’t find solutions. They’ll talk and profess their love for each other, shower each other in it and make it a few more times in their now completely rumpled bed until they’re exhausted and all they’ll want to do is fall asleep on top of each other. Which is exactly what they’ll do, and when they wake, they’ll take a walk in the park, hand in hand, and think of ways to solve their dilemma. Solutions won’t be easy to come by, but compromises will, and the exclamations of their love from the night before will worm their way back into their voiceboxes until the whole of New York knows it. It won’t be easy, and they know that, but it will be done, and it will be worth it.