trouble, part two; glee
Title: The Trouble With Dreams (2/2)
Pairings: Sam/Kurt, mentions of past Blaine/Kurt and heavy on Puck/Kurt and Finn/Kurt friendships.
Summary: Kurt takes a year longer than he’d expected to get to New York, a year that isn’t at all as terrible as he thought it would be. Kurt-centric.
On Boxing Day, Sam drops in with his siblings, Puck, Artie and Tina behind him. Finn arranged it, apparently; shrugs when Kurt asks and says, “I think we could both use some a little more time off, y’know?” like Kurt’s actually accomplished much of anything these past few weeks.
It’s nice to see everybody - or what’s left of everybody - and Kurt likes watching Sam tickling under his brother and sister’s chins and how they look up at him with their big green shiny eyes. Tina catches Kurt up on Mckinley and smiles at him this hopeful way like she knows Kurt’s coming back soon, like it’s a good thing.
“This year’s just kind of - lonely, so far,” she tells him with a shrug, and Artie nods along before reaching out to squeeze her hand in his. Kurt sees the way Sam’s eyes fix on the movement and then fix directly on him, but doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t know if he should.
Puck takes the kids out to the front garden in their coats and scarves and hats and when Kurt looks out of the window at them, his face looks red and raw from the cold despite his broad, brilliant grin. He dunks Stacey’s head in the snow and everyone in the living room can clearly hear her laughing hysterically afterwards.
“Puck’s good with them,” Sam tells him, appearing at Kurt’s side, looking out the window. On the opposite side of the room Artie is playing guitar and singing a messy arrangement of Christmas carols with Finn and Tina, but Kurt’s brain blocks them out entirely. Sam is closer now, bumping their shoulders together and smiling, boyishly. “You were, too. Last year.”
Kurt hums and feels Sam’s hand deliberately brush over his. Impulsively, he curls two of his fingers around Sam’s pinky. “Thank you,” he says, softly. For a moment he isn’t certain what to say over the din of Here Comes Santa Claus. He turns to Sam, looks into his eyes and feels his stomach flip at the way Sam’s looking back at him like all he can see right now is Kurt. He swallows. “I’m glad you’re here, Sam.”
Sam’s lips twitch and he strokes over Kurt’s knuckles with his thumb before they break apart again.
-
Kurt doesn’t really care for Pippin.
He doesn’t really care for Lima’s local theatre group in the least but he’s learned well how to deal with the things he can’t change by this point, and he knows what really matters is him every rehearsal. He knows who he’s doing this for and every time he stands in the background and harmonizes every note to perfection he feels contented, again. He sees New York in his mind’s eye, a little closer every time.
The show plays for a week and Kurt is kind of surprised by how many people come to see it - including his family in the front row, all grinning toothily and waving at him. The woman producing it tells him it’s because Lima puts on productions so rarely - people like the theatre though, they do, but Lima is never going to have much to do with it, not enough to satisfy people like Kurt, even if his dad does win the race this year.
Finn says he doesn’t get the play, which Kurt thought could have gone without saying, really, but he pulls Kurt into a one-armed hug and says he’s proud, anyway. Their parents take them out to Breadstix after and Finn squeezes his arm the whole time because now the play is over they both know what Kurt has to do next.
-
Mckinley isn’t different at all. Neither are Mr Schuester and Figgins when they talk to Kurt in the Principal’s office and he knows they both don’t know what he’s still doing in town with the grades he got - a smart kid, Mr Schuester had said once, at least - but he doesn’t want to settle for a cheap imitation of his dream, not anymore. Mr Schuester seems to pick up on that, kind of.
He claps his hands together and smiles at Kurt. “The club could always use the extra help.” When he puts his hand on Kurt’s shoulder Kurt feels sixteen all over again and it isn’t a comforting feeling at all.
Figgins is frowning. Apparently Figgins hasn’t stopped frowning since Kurt graduated. “We’re tight for money as is, Mr Hummel,” he says, and Mr Schuester gives him a familiar look of disapproval. Kurt shakes his head and tries to smile.
“I’d do it for free,” Kurt offers, and the fake enthusiasm in his voice even manages to convince him a little, too. Schuester grins and pats his shoulder again and when they leave the office he suggests Kurt come to see the club right away in the choir room to introduce himself. Kurt - can’t, yet.
“Tomorrow, then,” Schuester says, still smiling, and at least somebody’s happy about him being around again.
Kurt leaves through the emergency exit so he doesn’t have to go by the lockers and Sam is there when he gets to his car.
“Finn told me,” he explains, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Kurt keeps enough distance between them and sighs, crossing his arms when Sam doesn’t make to leave. Today is too much, far too much for him to cope with.
He holds himself tightly and has to look away from Sam’s look of concern, his look of - something Kurt still doesn’t know what to do with, especially when it makes him burn all over the way it always unfailingly does. “Go back to class, Sam,” he orders, firmly.
Instead, Sam takes a step closer. He takes his hands out of his pockets and holds onto Kurt’s waist, instead, brushing Kurt’s hair back from his forehead and smiling, reassuringly. “You’re going to be great,” he says again, and when he leans down and brushes their lips together in the school parking lot not one part of Kurt feels inclined to push him away.
He kisses back. He presses Sam against the door of his car and bites on his bottom lip, dizzy from the fast, heavy breaths Sam takes against his lips. Dizzy from Sam.
“Please take me home with you,” Sam murmurs. He strokes the side of Kurt’s face and kisses him quickly on both corners of his mouth, both of his lips. He’s too desperate to smile through it, this time, and Kurt’s not far off that either.
He touches Sam’s flushed cheek and thinks, suddenly, that he might love him a bit more than he’d thought. He leans up and kisses Sam again, slowly and softly and says against his lips, “Let’s go,” and they do.
-
Sam’s a virgin and Kurt’s only done it a few times in comparison to the other people he knows that have done - it. But when they get inside Kurt’s room, Sam straddles his hips and pushes himself down onto his hardening cock and nothing else feels important today that isn’t Sam grinding his ass on Kurt’s dick through their pants.
Kurt groans and bucks his hips up, fascinated by the way Sam’s kiss-bruised, spit-shiny lips stutter out his every moan, the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks. Sam watches him with the same intensity, eyes half-lidded and darker than normal. “This took us way too long,” he huffs out, his hand slipping down into the front of his own jeans.
Kurt bats it away and undoes the button, unzips his fly and starts jerking Sam off like he has a dozen times before already in this room, in Sam’s room while the TV plays something terrible, in the car when he stops on the way to drive Sam home, in his living room when his family were out and they were only lying together on the couch when Kurt felt Sam’s cock pressing against his hip and had to, just had to. Sam’s lips stutter on a sigh and Kurt sinks his teeth into them and strokes him, slowly.
There are still condoms and lube in his bedside drawer from dating Blaine and he knows that’s immediately what Sam thinks of when he pulls them out, and he knows why Sam practically tackles him back down to the bed in a hard, wet kiss that, to his credit, is a good distraction from all the potential awkwardness. “Be my boyfriend,” Sam says into his mouth. He pushes his jeans down his hips and Kurt slides his hands over the soft skin there, heart pounding. Sam tugs on his hair and kisses him again, and again; says be my boyfriend over and over.
“I thought I was,” Kurt tells him, half-honestly, and Sam starts breathlessly laughing into his skin and then shaking a little when Kurt slides slick fingers inside of him, carefully slow. He feels too hot with all his clothes still on, too hot watching Sam, red-faced and panting out torn breaths while he fucks himself down on his fingers. He rocks into Sam’s thigh and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. “Is this - is it okay?”
Sam blinks at him, mouth parted, before nodding hurriedly in answer and trying to back himself onto Kurt’s fingers faster than he’s being allowed to go. Kurt crooks his fingers an inch and Sam fucks himself down with a long, broken moan. “Like, now, Kurt,” Sam breathes hotly against Kurt’s neck.
He reaches down fumblingly between them, looking up into Kurt’s face once he’s tugged him out of his boxers - Kurt thinks of Sam blowing him in his bedroom the day Kurt picked him up from school and how his full lips dragged over the skin, of Sam lying behind him on the living room couch and rocking up against his ass in his sleep and or Sam holding his hand the day after Christmas. Kurt thinks of Sam until everything else in the world has fallen away.
Sam bites the condom wrapper open and then looks at Kurt again, this time searchingly. Kurt kisses him in response, deeply, shudders into it at the feel of Sam rolling the condom onto him with aching slowness. He tugs Sam’s damp shirt off, then Sam paws at his until it follow. Their bare chests press together in the moment it takes for Kurt to push inside of him, cautiously, his breath held in tight. Sam lets out this soft noise and pushes himself down with at the same gradual pace as Kurt pushes up, up, all the way inside of him.
“This -” Kurt starts, but for the first time in his life he’s speechless. Sam nods like he knows anyway, frantically, his sweaty hair stuck in patches to his head and chest heaving with every breath he takes.
Kurt runs a hand across Sam’s stomach, his abs, his chest to catch in his matted blond hair. He rubs teasing circles against Sam’s hipbone with the other, only an inch or so away from his cock and thrusts slightly before letting out a low, long groan. Sam feels so good around him, so tight and hot and Kurt can’t believe if took them this long either anymore.
“Shit,” Sam breathes. He leans into Kurt’s hand and pushes himself up by the mattress at the sides of Kurt’s head and back down again, Kurt’s hand tightening around his cock reflexively. He starts riding Kurt, bent down to suck bruises into Kurt’s collarbone while he does, and breathes his name out this way that makes Kurt meet his hips harder, faster. He reaches behind himself and Kurt feels him stroking his fingers across his balls and starts moaning, fucking into him as
deeply as he can.
“Sam, Sam,” he hisses, raggedly. Sam backs down on his cock one more time, licking across the final bruise marring Kurt’s neck before Kurt squeezes his hips and comes, still hastily jerking Sam off until he lets out a strangled moan and drops on top of Kurt, exhausted.
Kurt pulls out of him and they lie there for a long while, both of them trying to breath, both of them trying to fix Sam’s messy hair with no result. Sam’s cheeks are still tinged pink when he lazily starts to grin again and throws an arm over Kurt’s waist. Kurt feels very oddly light, and the grin he returns Sam’s with is almost just as dozily happy.
After a pause, Sam kisses Kurt’s forehead and links their hands together, over his stomach. He puts the other behind his head and cocks an eyebrow. “Boyfriends, huh?” he says lowly, and he looks as contented as Kurt feels.
Kurt smiles at him again and holds him closer. He closes his eyes.
-
Finn wakes up early to make him breakfast his first day back at Mckinley. He nudges Kurt awake and when he blearily opens his eyes, Finn is sitting next to him in a haze with a tray holding bacon, eggs and orange juice on his lap, grinning earnestly down at him.
“This is sweet of you,” Kurt says, accepting it from him, his smile grateful. He squeezes one of Finn’s hands and thanks him through a yawn. “You shouldn’t have.”
“No problem, dude,” Finn replies, shrugging. He climbs over Kurt’s legs and onto the left side of the bed, switches the television on and steals a strip of bacon from Kurt’s plate. Kurt rolls his eyes and Finn adds through a mouthful of his breakfast, “We’ve gotta take care of each other, right?”
Kurt glazes over at the television. “Right,” he agrees, absently. Then, because it’s all he can think about when he thinks about reentering Mckinley as staff, “I had sex with Sam two days ago.”
A half-chewed up ball of bacon falls out of Finn’s mouth. He stares at Kurt, unblinkingly, and Kurt knows he had suspicions about just what Kurt and Sam kept getting up to alone together in each others bedrooms but he knows Finn probably never really thought anything non-platonic would be the case.
“Oh, god.” Finn puts his hands over his face, peeking at Kurt through his fingers. “Please, please tell me it wasn’t - here.”
Well. “Um,” is all Kurt can think to say before taking a very long drink of orange juice and watching Finn stumble over his feet on the way out of the room.
“Oh, god,” Finn yells from the other side of the house.
-
Mckinley still sucks, it turns out. Even when he’s having an affair with a student it somehow manages to be dull and depressing and Mr Schuester’s over-enthusiasm has him almost drained completely by the time practice actually rolls around.
Kurt’s eyes land on strangers, Sam, Tina, Artie, Blaine. During his introduction, Mr Schue he’s jokingly asks if Kurt’s still sure he’s up to the task and he doesn’t know if he really is anymore.
All Kurt does the first day is watch rehearsals while trying unsuccessfully to keep his eyes off of Sam or Blaine for noticeable periods of time and keep from rolling them every time Mr Schuester indirectly annoys him like he did for the three years before.
“You guys should talk,” Sam advises him after rehearsals.
Kurt tuts and pretends to check his phone, impatiently. “Mm, that sounds awful, though.”
They’re by the lockers so Sam can grab his homework and they can go have a drink together; Mr Schue and the old club members don’t see anything out of the ordinary with it, of course, they don’t see the point of Kurt’s shoe drifting up the inseam of Sam’s jeans underneath a table at the Lima Bean. They don’t see Kurt and Sam fucking in Kurt’s bed and saying long, giddy goodbyes at the door that still make Kurt laugh to think about.
They don’t know Kurt and Sam are - dating. Boyfriends. He can’t stop thinking about it, about them. This year is not about boys, he tells himself reflexively; but maybe today is, anyway.
He turns to Sam and glances at the arrangement of photographs and Stevie’s drawings that make up the door of Sam’s locker when his eyes fall on something interesting. He points to it in surprise. “Is that - me?”
Sam realizes what he’s looking at and flushes, scratching his neck and looking away like he does when he gets embarrassed, but still smiling, as always. “Uh, yeah,” he says, and Kurt takes that as a cue to lean in closer for inspection.
It’s an old photograph of them from two years ago. They’re in their Rocky Horror get-ups, he and Sam, and the rest of their friends have been cut from the photo which is kind of cute and makes Kurt’s insides all simultaneously flutter.
“I’ll need to get you a better one than that,” he states finally, drawing back again.
Sam blinks at him and shuts his locker over, shaking his head almost incredulously. “Are you kidding? I love that picture.”
At the Lima Bean Sam insists he talk to Blaine again, and the only reason Kurt doesn’t argue with him on it any further is because of the distracting feel of Sam’s fingers laced with his on the table between them. And because a small, annoying part of him knows that Sam is right.
-
After, Puck drops by to ask how it goes. Or at least he says that’s why he’s here, anyway. He looks kind of miserable, lounged across the living room couch and picking at the stitches in the cushions with a deep-set frown on his face.
“It just kind of - went,” Kurt answers. His brow furrows. “Are you okay?”
Puck doesn’t bother looking up at him. He makes a grunting sound in the back of his throat, says gruffly, “No.”
Kurt knows what’s wrong, but he wishes he weren’t the person Puck kept turning to for help with it. He wishes Rachel were here or Quinn or Finn or Jessie, even, someone who could take all the blame for telling Puck the wrong thing instead of him. “There must be something you love doing besides girls and playing Xbox Live at four in the morning with Artie, Puck,” he says, almost exasperatedly. “Something, anything.”
Still, Puck refuses to look up at him - he puts the pillow over his face, stubbornly, instead. Kurt sighs and lets his gaze drift until it lands on the window to his front garden, and he can see it thick and white with snow and Puck chasing Sam’s siblings in the middle of it with his strange, gleeful smile.
He gets up and sits on the coffee table directly in front of Puck, the corners of his mouth beginning to curve. “Kids,” he says in a rush, and Puck drops the pillow from his face to stare at him.
“Kids,” he repeats, testing it out on his tongue. Kurt doesn’t think it sounds half-bad, either.
-
He texts Blaine for the first time in six months or so. Blaine offers to stop by but Kurt feels too awkward about having him in his room after - having Sam in there. He likes smelling Sam on his soft sheets, thinking of him when he sees the space of the matress and of how nicely he fills it up. He doesn’t want to think of Blaine anymore, and admittedly it makes him a little upset - upset enough to cry about it again for the first time in half a year - but mostly he feels a strange sense of relief at the idea.
Blaine doesn’t look any different. Bow-ties and shoes with no socks and Kurt used to find it all so, so endearing; now it looks out of place at their old Lima Bean table. Kurt finds it odd just sitting there again at all, really, and from the way Blaine shifts restlessly on his chair at first he doesn’t think he’s the only one feeling that way.
“I don’t mind you being there,” Blaine assures him, stirring his coffee. “If anything, I was a little relieved to see you. After that NYADA business happened it felt like you just... disappeared.” He doesn’t look at Kurt when he says, “You had me worried,” because maybe he feels as embarrassed about sending those first few questioning messages after Kurt’s rejection letter came through as Kurt feels about ignoring them.
Kurt smiles at him and it’s okay, he thinks, it’s okay that he feels okay about this. “No need for concern,” he says, shrugging. He sips primly on his coffee and adds like an afterthought, “I’m going to be great.”
Blaine grins.
-
Kurt helps with his dad’s campaign again after another lose. He knows his dad didn’t expect to win, that he’s gracious in defeat, that he will win next year. It’s just he, his dad, Carole and Finn that night, and Burt tells them to celebrate even though they’re all disappointed, himself included. “Hummels have trouble quitting,” he tells Kurt when they’re alone in the kitchen together. Burt passes him a beer from the fridge he clinks with his. He’s grinning, and Kurt is proud of him the same overpowering, overwhelming way he is every other day.
“That is definitely, painfully true,” he agrees, half-laughing. His dad hugs him, too tightly, and Kurt will never be ready to leave him, not completely; but he hears Carole and Finn from the living room, laughing their obnoxiously loud laughs and calling them both back inside to hear something the news reporter said about the election winner, and he knows they’ll all take care of each other the funny way they do, even when he’s gone. He’ll still take care of them a few states away if worst comes to worst.
His dad lets him go, pats his back. “But it’s not been half a bad year, has it?” he asks.
-
Figgins arranges for Kurt to stay on until the end of the school year, and on the weekends Kurt helps around the theatre complex - he doesn’t audition again, doesn’t want to perform in Lima again. He does little things like help with costumes and sets and it all looks good on a resume, he knows. In a few months he’ll be reapplying for NYADA and having Rachel kiss his cheeks in a New York airport terminal as a welcome home.
He’s finding it easier to think of leaving, now. Carole gets a bit clingy when she realizes he fully intends to leave this year for good, like they’d all known from the start, really, and Finn starts getting this sad, fond look in his eyes every time he and Kurt are alone together anymore. Puck and his dad treat him no differently but he can see the little traces of sadness in the way his dad smiles at him, the way Puck tells him over and over, “You’re a good man, Kurt,” like they’ve actually become grown-ups, or something.
Sam is the strangest part. Sam isn’t sad at all, isn’t different at all. His kisses all taste the same - cheerful and bright and full of promise. He still calls Kurt up in the middle of the night to talk to him in the voice of Gene Kelly and shows Kurt all of his improving grades the very moment they appear. Kurt doesn’t know what it means.
On Friday afternoon he takes Sam home from school and Sam pulls him inside despite his half-hearted protests, makes him a cup of tea in the kitchen and back him up against the countertop there, into a soft little kiss.
Kurt shifts, nervously, hands flexing at the nape of Sam’s neck. “You know, this is - lovely, for now, Sam,” he murmurs. He nudges their noses together and likes the way Sam strokes across the small of his back, comfortingly, like he might know where Kurt is going with this.
He kisses Kurt again, quickly, on the cheek. “I think it could be lovely for a long time,” he says, his hand slipping into Kurt’s. He smiles at Kurt and Kurt doesn’t care that he’s in highschool because moments like this make him think something is here he could spend the rest of his life looking for elsewhere and never, never find. Sam licks his lips and adds with his gaze flicking back and forth from Kurt’s eyes to his lips, “Maybe more. Maybe lovelier.”
Kurt wants to kiss him. “I need New York,” he says instead, and then he leans his head into the crook of Sam’s neck because he knows there will be boys like Sam in New York, too. He knows they won’t be good enough.
Then Sam laughs, softly, startling him. “Not just you.” He kisses the top of Kurt’s head. “I just think I could make you happy, if you let me,” he says, quietly, looking down at him and smiling.
Kurt could never say no to that.
Pairings: Sam/Kurt, mentions of past Blaine/Kurt and heavy on Puck/Kurt and Finn/Kurt friendships.
Summary: Kurt takes a year longer than he’d expected to get to New York, a year that isn’t at all as terrible as he thought it would be. Kurt-centric.
On Boxing Day, Sam drops in with his siblings, Puck, Artie and Tina behind him. Finn arranged it, apparently; shrugs when Kurt asks and says, “I think we could both use some a little more time off, y’know?” like Kurt’s actually accomplished much of anything these past few weeks.
It’s nice to see everybody - or what’s left of everybody - and Kurt likes watching Sam tickling under his brother and sister’s chins and how they look up at him with their big green shiny eyes. Tina catches Kurt up on Mckinley and smiles at him this hopeful way like she knows Kurt’s coming back soon, like it’s a good thing.
“This year’s just kind of - lonely, so far,” she tells him with a shrug, and Artie nods along before reaching out to squeeze her hand in his. Kurt sees the way Sam’s eyes fix on the movement and then fix directly on him, but doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t know if he should.
Puck takes the kids out to the front garden in their coats and scarves and hats and when Kurt looks out of the window at them, his face looks red and raw from the cold despite his broad, brilliant grin. He dunks Stacey’s head in the snow and everyone in the living room can clearly hear her laughing hysterically afterwards.
“Puck’s good with them,” Sam tells him, appearing at Kurt’s side, looking out the window. On the opposite side of the room Artie is playing guitar and singing a messy arrangement of Christmas carols with Finn and Tina, but Kurt’s brain blocks them out entirely. Sam is closer now, bumping their shoulders together and smiling, boyishly. “You were, too. Last year.”
Kurt hums and feels Sam’s hand deliberately brush over his. Impulsively, he curls two of his fingers around Sam’s pinky. “Thank you,” he says, softly. For a moment he isn’t certain what to say over the din of Here Comes Santa Claus. He turns to Sam, looks into his eyes and feels his stomach flip at the way Sam’s looking back at him like all he can see right now is Kurt. He swallows. “I’m glad you’re here, Sam.”
Sam’s lips twitch and he strokes over Kurt’s knuckles with his thumb before they break apart again.
-
Kurt doesn’t really care for Pippin.
He doesn’t really care for Lima’s local theatre group in the least but he’s learned well how to deal with the things he can’t change by this point, and he knows what really matters is him every rehearsal. He knows who he’s doing this for and every time he stands in the background and harmonizes every note to perfection he feels contented, again. He sees New York in his mind’s eye, a little closer every time.
The show plays for a week and Kurt is kind of surprised by how many people come to see it - including his family in the front row, all grinning toothily and waving at him. The woman producing it tells him it’s because Lima puts on productions so rarely - people like the theatre though, they do, but Lima is never going to have much to do with it, not enough to satisfy people like Kurt, even if his dad does win the race this year.
Finn says he doesn’t get the play, which Kurt thought could have gone without saying, really, but he pulls Kurt into a one-armed hug and says he’s proud, anyway. Their parents take them out to Breadstix after and Finn squeezes his arm the whole time because now the play is over they both know what Kurt has to do next.
-
Mckinley isn’t different at all. Neither are Mr Schuester and Figgins when they talk to Kurt in the Principal’s office and he knows they both don’t know what he’s still doing in town with the grades he got - a smart kid, Mr Schuester had said once, at least - but he doesn’t want to settle for a cheap imitation of his dream, not anymore. Mr Schuester seems to pick up on that, kind of.
He claps his hands together and smiles at Kurt. “The club could always use the extra help.” When he puts his hand on Kurt’s shoulder Kurt feels sixteen all over again and it isn’t a comforting feeling at all.
Figgins is frowning. Apparently Figgins hasn’t stopped frowning since Kurt graduated. “We’re tight for money as is, Mr Hummel,” he says, and Mr Schuester gives him a familiar look of disapproval. Kurt shakes his head and tries to smile.
“I’d do it for free,” Kurt offers, and the fake enthusiasm in his voice even manages to convince him a little, too. Schuester grins and pats his shoulder again and when they leave the office he suggests Kurt come to see the club right away in the choir room to introduce himself. Kurt - can’t, yet.
“Tomorrow, then,” Schuester says, still smiling, and at least somebody’s happy about him being around again.
Kurt leaves through the emergency exit so he doesn’t have to go by the lockers and Sam is there when he gets to his car.
“Finn told me,” he explains, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Kurt keeps enough distance between them and sighs, crossing his arms when Sam doesn’t make to leave. Today is too much, far too much for him to cope with.
He holds himself tightly and has to look away from Sam’s look of concern, his look of - something Kurt still doesn’t know what to do with, especially when it makes him burn all over the way it always unfailingly does. “Go back to class, Sam,” he orders, firmly.
Instead, Sam takes a step closer. He takes his hands out of his pockets and holds onto Kurt’s waist, instead, brushing Kurt’s hair back from his forehead and smiling, reassuringly. “You’re going to be great,” he says again, and when he leans down and brushes their lips together in the school parking lot not one part of Kurt feels inclined to push him away.
He kisses back. He presses Sam against the door of his car and bites on his bottom lip, dizzy from the fast, heavy breaths Sam takes against his lips. Dizzy from Sam.
“Please take me home with you,” Sam murmurs. He strokes the side of Kurt’s face and kisses him quickly on both corners of his mouth, both of his lips. He’s too desperate to smile through it, this time, and Kurt’s not far off that either.
He touches Sam’s flushed cheek and thinks, suddenly, that he might love him a bit more than he’d thought. He leans up and kisses Sam again, slowly and softly and says against his lips, “Let’s go,” and they do.
-
Sam’s a virgin and Kurt’s only done it a few times in comparison to the other people he knows that have done - it. But when they get inside Kurt’s room, Sam straddles his hips and pushes himself down onto his hardening cock and nothing else feels important today that isn’t Sam grinding his ass on Kurt’s dick through their pants.
Kurt groans and bucks his hips up, fascinated by the way Sam’s kiss-bruised, spit-shiny lips stutter out his every moan, the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks. Sam watches him with the same intensity, eyes half-lidded and darker than normal. “This took us way too long,” he huffs out, his hand slipping down into the front of his own jeans.
Kurt bats it away and undoes the button, unzips his fly and starts jerking Sam off like he has a dozen times before already in this room, in Sam’s room while the TV plays something terrible, in the car when he stops on the way to drive Sam home, in his living room when his family were out and they were only lying together on the couch when Kurt felt Sam’s cock pressing against his hip and had to, just had to. Sam’s lips stutter on a sigh and Kurt sinks his teeth into them and strokes him, slowly.
There are still condoms and lube in his bedside drawer from dating Blaine and he knows that’s immediately what Sam thinks of when he pulls them out, and he knows why Sam practically tackles him back down to the bed in a hard, wet kiss that, to his credit, is a good distraction from all the potential awkwardness. “Be my boyfriend,” Sam says into his mouth. He pushes his jeans down his hips and Kurt slides his hands over the soft skin there, heart pounding. Sam tugs on his hair and kisses him again, and again; says be my boyfriend over and over.
“I thought I was,” Kurt tells him, half-honestly, and Sam starts breathlessly laughing into his skin and then shaking a little when Kurt slides slick fingers inside of him, carefully slow. He feels too hot with all his clothes still on, too hot watching Sam, red-faced and panting out torn breaths while he fucks himself down on his fingers. He rocks into Sam’s thigh and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. “Is this - is it okay?”
Sam blinks at him, mouth parted, before nodding hurriedly in answer and trying to back himself onto Kurt’s fingers faster than he’s being allowed to go. Kurt crooks his fingers an inch and Sam fucks himself down with a long, broken moan. “Like, now, Kurt,” Sam breathes hotly against Kurt’s neck.
He reaches down fumblingly between them, looking up into Kurt’s face once he’s tugged him out of his boxers - Kurt thinks of Sam blowing him in his bedroom the day Kurt picked him up from school and how his full lips dragged over the skin, of Sam lying behind him on the living room couch and rocking up against his ass in his sleep and or Sam holding his hand the day after Christmas. Kurt thinks of Sam until everything else in the world has fallen away.
Sam bites the condom wrapper open and then looks at Kurt again, this time searchingly. Kurt kisses him in response, deeply, shudders into it at the feel of Sam rolling the condom onto him with aching slowness. He tugs Sam’s damp shirt off, then Sam paws at his until it follow. Their bare chests press together in the moment it takes for Kurt to push inside of him, cautiously, his breath held in tight. Sam lets out this soft noise and pushes himself down with at the same gradual pace as Kurt pushes up, up, all the way inside of him.
“This -” Kurt starts, but for the first time in his life he’s speechless. Sam nods like he knows anyway, frantically, his sweaty hair stuck in patches to his head and chest heaving with every breath he takes.
Kurt runs a hand across Sam’s stomach, his abs, his chest to catch in his matted blond hair. He rubs teasing circles against Sam’s hipbone with the other, only an inch or so away from his cock and thrusts slightly before letting out a low, long groan. Sam feels so good around him, so tight and hot and Kurt can’t believe if took them this long either anymore.
“Shit,” Sam breathes. He leans into Kurt’s hand and pushes himself up by the mattress at the sides of Kurt’s head and back down again, Kurt’s hand tightening around his cock reflexively. He starts riding Kurt, bent down to suck bruises into Kurt’s collarbone while he does, and breathes his name out this way that makes Kurt meet his hips harder, faster. He reaches behind himself and Kurt feels him stroking his fingers across his balls and starts moaning, fucking into him as
deeply as he can.
“Sam, Sam,” he hisses, raggedly. Sam backs down on his cock one more time, licking across the final bruise marring Kurt’s neck before Kurt squeezes his hips and comes, still hastily jerking Sam off until he lets out a strangled moan and drops on top of Kurt, exhausted.
Kurt pulls out of him and they lie there for a long while, both of them trying to breath, both of them trying to fix Sam’s messy hair with no result. Sam’s cheeks are still tinged pink when he lazily starts to grin again and throws an arm over Kurt’s waist. Kurt feels very oddly light, and the grin he returns Sam’s with is almost just as dozily happy.
After a pause, Sam kisses Kurt’s forehead and links their hands together, over his stomach. He puts the other behind his head and cocks an eyebrow. “Boyfriends, huh?” he says lowly, and he looks as contented as Kurt feels.
Kurt smiles at him again and holds him closer. He closes his eyes.
-
Finn wakes up early to make him breakfast his first day back at Mckinley. He nudges Kurt awake and when he blearily opens his eyes, Finn is sitting next to him in a haze with a tray holding bacon, eggs and orange juice on his lap, grinning earnestly down at him.
“This is sweet of you,” Kurt says, accepting it from him, his smile grateful. He squeezes one of Finn’s hands and thanks him through a yawn. “You shouldn’t have.”
“No problem, dude,” Finn replies, shrugging. He climbs over Kurt’s legs and onto the left side of the bed, switches the television on and steals a strip of bacon from Kurt’s plate. Kurt rolls his eyes and Finn adds through a mouthful of his breakfast, “We’ve gotta take care of each other, right?”
Kurt glazes over at the television. “Right,” he agrees, absently. Then, because it’s all he can think about when he thinks about reentering Mckinley as staff, “I had sex with Sam two days ago.”
A half-chewed up ball of bacon falls out of Finn’s mouth. He stares at Kurt, unblinkingly, and Kurt knows he had suspicions about just what Kurt and Sam kept getting up to alone together in each others bedrooms but he knows Finn probably never really thought anything non-platonic would be the case.
“Oh, god.” Finn puts his hands over his face, peeking at Kurt through his fingers. “Please, please tell me it wasn’t - here.”
Well. “Um,” is all Kurt can think to say before taking a very long drink of orange juice and watching Finn stumble over his feet on the way out of the room.
“Oh, god,” Finn yells from the other side of the house.
-
Mckinley still sucks, it turns out. Even when he’s having an affair with a student it somehow manages to be dull and depressing and Mr Schuester’s over-enthusiasm has him almost drained completely by the time practice actually rolls around.
Kurt’s eyes land on strangers, Sam, Tina, Artie, Blaine. During his introduction, Mr Schue he’s jokingly asks if Kurt’s still sure he’s up to the task and he doesn’t know if he really is anymore.
All Kurt does the first day is watch rehearsals while trying unsuccessfully to keep his eyes off of Sam or Blaine for noticeable periods of time and keep from rolling them every time Mr Schuester indirectly annoys him like he did for the three years before.
“You guys should talk,” Sam advises him after rehearsals.
Kurt tuts and pretends to check his phone, impatiently. “Mm, that sounds awful, though.”
They’re by the lockers so Sam can grab his homework and they can go have a drink together; Mr Schue and the old club members don’t see anything out of the ordinary with it, of course, they don’t see the point of Kurt’s shoe drifting up the inseam of Sam’s jeans underneath a table at the Lima Bean. They don’t see Kurt and Sam fucking in Kurt’s bed and saying long, giddy goodbyes at the door that still make Kurt laugh to think about.
They don’t know Kurt and Sam are - dating. Boyfriends. He can’t stop thinking about it, about them. This year is not about boys, he tells himself reflexively; but maybe today is, anyway.
He turns to Sam and glances at the arrangement of photographs and Stevie’s drawings that make up the door of Sam’s locker when his eyes fall on something interesting. He points to it in surprise. “Is that - me?”
Sam realizes what he’s looking at and flushes, scratching his neck and looking away like he does when he gets embarrassed, but still smiling, as always. “Uh, yeah,” he says, and Kurt takes that as a cue to lean in closer for inspection.
It’s an old photograph of them from two years ago. They’re in their Rocky Horror get-ups, he and Sam, and the rest of their friends have been cut from the photo which is kind of cute and makes Kurt’s insides all simultaneously flutter.
“I’ll need to get you a better one than that,” he states finally, drawing back again.
Sam blinks at him and shuts his locker over, shaking his head almost incredulously. “Are you kidding? I love that picture.”
At the Lima Bean Sam insists he talk to Blaine again, and the only reason Kurt doesn’t argue with him on it any further is because of the distracting feel of Sam’s fingers laced with his on the table between them. And because a small, annoying part of him knows that Sam is right.
-
After, Puck drops by to ask how it goes. Or at least he says that’s why he’s here, anyway. He looks kind of miserable, lounged across the living room couch and picking at the stitches in the cushions with a deep-set frown on his face.
“It just kind of - went,” Kurt answers. His brow furrows. “Are you okay?”
Puck doesn’t bother looking up at him. He makes a grunting sound in the back of his throat, says gruffly, “No.”
Kurt knows what’s wrong, but he wishes he weren’t the person Puck kept turning to for help with it. He wishes Rachel were here or Quinn or Finn or Jessie, even, someone who could take all the blame for telling Puck the wrong thing instead of him. “There must be something you love doing besides girls and playing Xbox Live at four in the morning with Artie, Puck,” he says, almost exasperatedly. “Something, anything.”
Still, Puck refuses to look up at him - he puts the pillow over his face, stubbornly, instead. Kurt sighs and lets his gaze drift until it lands on the window to his front garden, and he can see it thick and white with snow and Puck chasing Sam’s siblings in the middle of it with his strange, gleeful smile.
He gets up and sits on the coffee table directly in front of Puck, the corners of his mouth beginning to curve. “Kids,” he says in a rush, and Puck drops the pillow from his face to stare at him.
“Kids,” he repeats, testing it out on his tongue. Kurt doesn’t think it sounds half-bad, either.
-
He texts Blaine for the first time in six months or so. Blaine offers to stop by but Kurt feels too awkward about having him in his room after - having Sam in there. He likes smelling Sam on his soft sheets, thinking of him when he sees the space of the matress and of how nicely he fills it up. He doesn’t want to think of Blaine anymore, and admittedly it makes him a little upset - upset enough to cry about it again for the first time in half a year - but mostly he feels a strange sense of relief at the idea.
Blaine doesn’t look any different. Bow-ties and shoes with no socks and Kurt used to find it all so, so endearing; now it looks out of place at their old Lima Bean table. Kurt finds it odd just sitting there again at all, really, and from the way Blaine shifts restlessly on his chair at first he doesn’t think he’s the only one feeling that way.
“I don’t mind you being there,” Blaine assures him, stirring his coffee. “If anything, I was a little relieved to see you. After that NYADA business happened it felt like you just... disappeared.” He doesn’t look at Kurt when he says, “You had me worried,” because maybe he feels as embarrassed about sending those first few questioning messages after Kurt’s rejection letter came through as Kurt feels about ignoring them.
Kurt smiles at him and it’s okay, he thinks, it’s okay that he feels okay about this. “No need for concern,” he says, shrugging. He sips primly on his coffee and adds like an afterthought, “I’m going to be great.”
Blaine grins.
-
Kurt helps with his dad’s campaign again after another lose. He knows his dad didn’t expect to win, that he’s gracious in defeat, that he will win next year. It’s just he, his dad, Carole and Finn that night, and Burt tells them to celebrate even though they’re all disappointed, himself included. “Hummels have trouble quitting,” he tells Kurt when they’re alone in the kitchen together. Burt passes him a beer from the fridge he clinks with his. He’s grinning, and Kurt is proud of him the same overpowering, overwhelming way he is every other day.
“That is definitely, painfully true,” he agrees, half-laughing. His dad hugs him, too tightly, and Kurt will never be ready to leave him, not completely; but he hears Carole and Finn from the living room, laughing their obnoxiously loud laughs and calling them both back inside to hear something the news reporter said about the election winner, and he knows they’ll all take care of each other the funny way they do, even when he’s gone. He’ll still take care of them a few states away if worst comes to worst.
His dad lets him go, pats his back. “But it’s not been half a bad year, has it?” he asks.
-
Figgins arranges for Kurt to stay on until the end of the school year, and on the weekends Kurt helps around the theatre complex - he doesn’t audition again, doesn’t want to perform in Lima again. He does little things like help with costumes and sets and it all looks good on a resume, he knows. In a few months he’ll be reapplying for NYADA and having Rachel kiss his cheeks in a New York airport terminal as a welcome home.
He’s finding it easier to think of leaving, now. Carole gets a bit clingy when she realizes he fully intends to leave this year for good, like they’d all known from the start, really, and Finn starts getting this sad, fond look in his eyes every time he and Kurt are alone together anymore. Puck and his dad treat him no differently but he can see the little traces of sadness in the way his dad smiles at him, the way Puck tells him over and over, “You’re a good man, Kurt,” like they’ve actually become grown-ups, or something.
Sam is the strangest part. Sam isn’t sad at all, isn’t different at all. His kisses all taste the same - cheerful and bright and full of promise. He still calls Kurt up in the middle of the night to talk to him in the voice of Gene Kelly and shows Kurt all of his improving grades the very moment they appear. Kurt doesn’t know what it means.
On Friday afternoon he takes Sam home from school and Sam pulls him inside despite his half-hearted protests, makes him a cup of tea in the kitchen and back him up against the countertop there, into a soft little kiss.
Kurt shifts, nervously, hands flexing at the nape of Sam’s neck. “You know, this is - lovely, for now, Sam,” he murmurs. He nudges their noses together and likes the way Sam strokes across the small of his back, comfortingly, like he might know where Kurt is going with this.
He kisses Kurt again, quickly, on the cheek. “I think it could be lovely for a long time,” he says, his hand slipping into Kurt’s. He smiles at Kurt and Kurt doesn’t care that he’s in highschool because moments like this make him think something is here he could spend the rest of his life looking for elsewhere and never, never find. Sam licks his lips and adds with his gaze flicking back and forth from Kurt’s eyes to his lips, “Maybe more. Maybe lovelier.”
Kurt wants to kiss him. “I need New York,” he says instead, and then he leans his head into the crook of Sam’s neck because he knows there will be boys like Sam in New York, too. He knows they won’t be good enough.
Then Sam laughs, softly, startling him. “Not just you.” He kisses the top of Kurt’s head. “I just think I could make you happy, if you let me,” he says, quietly, looking down at him and smiling.
Kurt could never say no to that.