Stop Loss, Chapter 15 (Part 2)
The second dirtier half of Chapter 15. Please don't throw things at me.
____________Blaine’s present was beautifully wrapped-and took up nearly half of the coffee table. “Don’t worry,” Kurt laughed, when he saw Blaine’s expression. “You’ll get it when you open it. And actually, why don’t you open yours first? I’ve been waiting on this for ages.”
Humoring him, Blaine set his mug down on a coaster and carefully unwrapped the paper. The long, plain white box underneath gave no hints as to what was inside, so with a small smile, Blaine sliced off the tape and lifted open the top.
Inside, three adorable, plush lion cubs sat side by side, looking up at Blaine with their dark glass eyes. “I told you, the first time we went to the zoo, that I was going to get you lion cubs for Christmas,” Kurt reminded him. “But you’ll have to remind me which one is which; you know them better than I do.”
It was only then that Blaine noticed it: patches of fur on each stuffed animal had been expertly cut and dyed, in order to match his lions.
Blaine reached out, gently stroking Priya’s incredibly soft head, the pattern of spots between her ears painstakingly done. “Kurt, how…” he managed, before his voice failed him, too choked up to finish articulating the question.
Luckily, Kurt seemed to know where he was headed. “I watched the video of them on the Zoo’s website about 500 times,” he admitted. “I had to guess a little on this one’s back,” he said, pointing to Mali, “since there wasn’t a very good shot of it anywhere. I thought about going back on my own to take reference pictures, but…” He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “It didn’t feel right, going without you. Do you like them?”
Blaine looked at Kurt, incredulous. “Kurt, they’re perfect,” he said honestly, “I can’t believe you did all of that work.” He shook his head slightly, overwhelmed. “Where did you even learn how to do that?” he asked.
Kurt reached into the box, pulling out Rafiki and settling the cub on his lap. “My mom,” he explained, smoothing the fur into place with a gentle hand. “I’m actually pretty athletic when I want to be, but I think it was pretty clear to both of my parents from the start where most of my talents lie. She never tried to dumb down anything for me-our projects were with real materials from the start.”
He blinked a few times, and Blaine knew he was fighting back tears. “I’m glad,” he added. “I don’t know that I would have had the heart to teach myself anything, if she promised to do it before she died and was just…gone, before she could.”
Putting Rafiki back in the box, he looked up at Blaine, eyes still a little too bright. “My turn?” he asked, snapping Blaine out of the near-trance he had fallen into, watching Kurt.
“Your turn,” Blaine agreed, picking the bag up off of the couch next to him and handing it to Kurt, but not letting go of it completely yet. “Before you open it, I have a confession to make,” he admitted, trying to keep his expression serious even when Kurt looked at him, the expression on his face a mix of skeptical and intrigued.
“Oh?” Kurt asked, clearly waiting for Blaine to elaborate.
Blaine did: “In order to get your present, I had to steal something of yours,” he confessed, making Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up, looking more amused at Blaine’s nerves than anything. “I kept it extremely safe, I promise, but-you’ll understand when you see it.”
He let go of the bag, and Kurt reached into it. “Careful, it’s fragile,” Blaine warned, as Kurt lifted out the tissue paper-wrapped object and began curiously pulling away the layers.
When Kurt reached the picture frame inside, he inhaled sharply. “Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, Blaine.”
Blaine moved closer to where Kurt was sitting in order to look over his shoulder at the picture-the photo of Kurt’s family that Kurt had shown him that first week, professionally cleaned up and enhanced. Blaine had seen the two photos side by side, both on the computer in the lab and in person, and there was no question that the newer copy was stunning, the detail as clear and exquisite as if the picture had been taken by a professional photographer that day.
“I asked Sarabeth for advice on where to go to get it done, and her dad gave me some leads,” he explained quietly, reaching out to steady Kurt’ shaking hands. “They needed the original print, so I took a picture of it with my digital camera and swapped my copy for the real photograph-I put yours in the frame too, underneath. I know it’s so personal, and I promise I’ll understand if you don’t want it, but…”
He looked at four year old Kurt in the picture, grasping his mother’s hand-a detail he’d missed, the first day. “I just saw the way you looked at her, when you showed me the picture, and I wanted to give you the clearest view I could, that’s all.” He finished, biting his lip before looking at Kurt’s face.
Kurt’s face, which was slick with tears. “I was forgetting,” he murmured hollowly. “I didn’t think I was, but it’s been such a long time…” He stared hungrily at the picture, putting a hand over his mouth.
Blaine stroked his arm gently, staying quiet.
Finally, Kurt sighed. “I promise, one day we’ll make it through a date without one of us crying,” he said, in a slightly petulant tone that made Blaine laugh with relief.
“Not every date,” he countered easily. “I think we’ve gotten through at least half of them without any intense emotional displays, haven’t we?”
Kurt made a noise that was half laughter, half sobbing, before putting the picture frame down on the table and wiping his face with both hands. “Thank you, Blaine,” he said softly. “Really. I’m going to keep it in my room until Mildred leaves, because when I show my dad I think it should just be the two of us, but…thank you.”
____________________
Blaine put the picture downstairs while Kurt began pulling baking supplies out of various cabinets. “I have a lot of old cookbooks with fancy cookie recipes,” Kurt explained when Blaine was back in the kitchen, “but I think the traditional sugar cookie would suit our purposes.”
“Do you have cookie cutters?” Blaine wanted to know, “In shapes like stars and candy canes and things?”
Kurt smiled brilliantly, the last vestiges of tears gone from his face. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” he teased, opening up one of the lower cabinets and pulling out a small, flat box of metal cookie cutters.
They doubled the recipe on Kurt’s insistence (and added a few more spices that he promised would improve the finished product), and ended up with enough dough for three and a half trays of cookies. Kurt had gone to the store on the way home from school for decorating supplies, and they set to work as soon as the first batch was cool; a wide assortment of frosting, sprinkles, cinnamon candies, powdered sugar, etc. laid out on the table between them. Kurt, it turned out, was something of a perfectionist when it came to cookie decorating (“The first in a long line of things that applies to, you’ll discover,” he’d confirmed dryly when Blaine pointed it out). Blaine, on the other hand, could never get them just right, and gave up any hope of aesthetically pleasing cookies after the first three attempts.
He did, however, painstakingly decorate a little gingerbread man shaped cookie to look like Kurt, giving him little yoga pants and a tiny striped shirt with ¾ sleeves. “Look who it is,” he laughed, holding it up for Kurt to see, pleased with himself when he saw the delighted expression on Kurt’s face. “I’m Kurt,” he made the little cookie say, “I’m the best singer in the whole wide world, and I can do a triple pirouette and advanced calculus at the saaaame tiiiime.”
Kurt shuddered. “I don’t really sound like that, do I?” he asked, making a face.
Blaine assured him that he didn’t.
Two of the cookies on the next tray broke when Kurt tried to loosen them with his spatula, and Blaine happily ate the pieces-to get them out of the way, of course-while Kurt put the pan in the sink to soak. “I saved a limb for you,” Blaine informed Kurt when he returned, holding out the little cookie arm like an offering.
Kurt looked at it skeptically. “You just made a cookie version of me,” he pointed out. “Wouldn’t eating part of his baked brethren be in poor taste?”
Blaine shook his head. “It would be in excellent taste,” he disagreed, “cinnamon and cloves, as a matter of fact. Here.”
Kurt laughed, but still shook his head. “Come on,” Blaine wheedled, “I’ve already eaten, like, five broken ones, and I’m sure I’ll eat another dozen in the car tomorrow. This cookie arm might be the piece that pushes me over the edge. You don’t want me to get fat, do you?”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “You’re perfect,” he said sternly, “your body is perfect. If you don’t want to eat it, just throw it out.”
Blaine’s eyes widened. “That’s blasphemous,” he told Kurt, fighting to keep a straight face when Kurt started laughing. “You’d have me throw away a poor little defenseless cookie?”
Kurt squawked indignantly. “You were going to make me eat him!” he argued. “How is that any better?”
Sighing heavily, Blaine positioned his feet underneath the table in preparation, hoping Kurt wouldn’t notice. “Fine,” he lamented dramatically. “I tried logic, I tried appealing to your better nature, but nothing’s worked. Kurt, you’ve left me no choice.”
Kurt must have realized what Blaine was going to do about half a second before he actually did it, because he was out of his chair and halfway across the kitchen before Blaine pounced on him, wrapping his arms and a leg around Kurt and holding the cookie near Kurt’s mouth. “Eat,” Blaine demanded cheerfully, holding onto Kurt as his boyfriend’s struggles became perfunctory, then tapered off altogether.
“All right!” Kurt shouted finally, still laughing. “Shut up already.” Blaine moved the cookie closer to his mouth, and Kurt made sure to bite down on his fingers a little as he accepted the little arm. Rather than objecting, Blaine tightened his arms around Kurt with a sigh, laying his head on Kurt’s shoulder as Kurt chewed and swallowed the cookie. Kurt stroked Blaine’s back gently, and they stood there for a long moment.
“You know,” Kurt said finally, “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”
Blaine lifted his head. “Is it?” he wondered, thinking about it.
He felt Kurt nod. “You’ve been smiling more lately, and you’ve never struck me as particularly unhappy,” he elaborated. “But I don’t think the You I met a few months ago would have tackled someone and forced them to consume baked goods. I kind of love it.”
Blaine nodded, resting his chin back on Kurt’s shoulder. “I feel happier,” he mused, breathing in Kurt’s cologne and the sugar-spice aroma of their freshly-baked cookies. “I haven’t really actively thought about it, but I do.”
He glanced down and frowned. “I got powdered sugar all over your shirt,” he pointed out, stepping back a few inches from Kurt to better assess the damage. “You’re covered in it, I’m sorry.”
Kurt looked at him, eyes sparkling wickedly. “Oops,” he said flatly, before reaching down and stripping off his shirt.
Blaine’s breath caught in in his throat.
Kurt’s skin was pale and taut, wrapped around slim dancer muscles. A slight trail of hair disappeared under the hem of his pants, but the rest of him was smooth and supple and perfect, everything Blaine hadn’t consciously realized he’d imagined Kurt to be until that moment. His hands twitched, aching with the sudden need to touch, and Blaine ruthlessly suppressed the urge, grabbing the counter behind him in order to have something solid, grounding, to hold onto.
Kurt shifted slightly. “You’re staring,” he pointed out gently, voice slightly lower and huskier than usual.
Blaine’s mouth was dry. “Yeah,” he managed, unwilling and unable to pull his gaze up to meet Kurt’s eyes.
Kurt moved in closer, his breath warm and sugar-scented on Blaine’s cheek. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, tell me, and I’ll go downstairs and get a clean shirt,” he murmured quietly, reaching out and tracing his fingertips up Blaine’s arms.
Blaine shivered.
“But if you want to,” Kurt continued, in that same slow, sensual tone, “you can touch me. If you’re comfortable with that. I want you to.”
That was all the invitation Blaine needed-wrenching his hands free from the counter, he reached forward. He brushed his fingertips over Kurt’s stomach; first feather-light, then a little firmer, eliciting a quiet, sharp breath from Kurt. Encouraged, Blaine stepped closer and ran his hands up Kurt’s waist, ghosting over his ribs until he reached his chest. Kurt’s nipples hardened under his palms-it was so much different than touching his own, how had he not realized-and his small whimper in response went straight to Blaine’s gut, a familiar warmth spreading down between his legs.
That was all it took: gripping Kurt’s waist with one hand and threading the other hand into Kurt’s hair, Blaine pulled him forward, kissing him fiercely. Kurt responded immediately, mouth open and hot and wet and God, everything Blaine wanted. Kurt’s hands slipped inside Blaine’s shirt, digging into the muscles of his lower back, making him gasp into Kurt’s mouth before pulling Kurt even closer, until their chests (stomachs hips thighs) were pressed against each other.
Kurt’s hands slid up even further, and Blaine pulled away just long enough to tear his own shirt off and toss it to the side before his hands were back on Kurt’s face, mouth back on Kurt’s as he kissed him hungrily, even deeper than before. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine and pulled, and suddenly their bodies were flush against each other like they’d been before-only it was nothing like before; the surreptitious late night movie watching that Blaine rarely indulged in, praying the whole time that a virus didn’t crash his computer and necessitate a mortifying conversation with his parents, had left him entirely unprepared for the sensation of someone else’s bare skin on his own for the first time. What little blood was left in his brain rushed south, and even that was different; the rush and unpredictability of someone else’s-of Kurt’s-hands and mouth and tongue and body on his own was so much more intense than he had ever experienced, and he couldn’t remember ever getting that hard in his life.
There was no space between them but Blaine pressed in anyway, surrounding himself with Kurt’s touch and taste and scent, and was rewarded when Kurt pushed forward, guiding Blaine backwards until his lower back hit the counter behind him. Kurt reached down and gripped Blaine’s waist almost uncomfortably tight, but Blaine barely had time to register the sensation before Kurt’s hips began canting into his own.
Blaine keened shamelessly, latching onto Kurt’s shoulders with slippery hands. He dug his nails into Kurt’s skin, making Kurt gasp and push harder, and Blaine was trapped between the cool surface behind him and the hot, hard lines of Kurt’s body; powerless to do anything but spew unintelligible noises and take it as Kurt drove into him. Desperate for more contact, Blaine wrapped a hand around the back of Kurt’s neck and yanked him forward, breaking away from Kurt’s mouth and biting down on the sensitive skin above his collarbone. Kurt cried out, tilting his head to give Blaine better access even as he began slowing down, his grip on Blaine tightening even further.
“Blaine…God, we should,” he panted, sounding thoroughly wrecked. “If we, oh…if we don’t stop I’m going to have a…oh, God-a serious problem.”
Blaine couldn’t think; his body protesting the loss of heat and friction and crying out for release. “Kurt, please,” he pleaded, voice cracking in a way that would have been embarrassing if he’d had the coherency to recognize it. “I need-please.”
Kurt looked at him, face beautifully flushed and pupils blown wide. “Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly. “Because I want-I want you to be sure.”
There was no question in Blaine’s mind that he wanted it; wanted Kurt. He was flushed and sweaty and so hard that it physically hurt, and seeing Kurt the same way-knowing that he had done that-there was no question. “I’m sure,” he promised. “Kurt, please.”
Nodding, Kurt reached back in, cradling Blaine’s cheek for a few seconds before kissing him-less desperately than before, but with a firmness that lit Blaine up just the same. His hands scrabbled for purchase on Kurt’s back, finally settling on his shoulder blades and digging his fingers into Kurt’s skin as Kurt slammed into him one, two, three more times.
When Blaine came, it almost took him by surprise-he’d been so lost in the sensation, so much more than anything he’d ever felt before, that the final snap of Kurt’s hips into his own that pushed him over the edge nearly caught him off guard. He fell forward slightly into Kurt’s chest, shockwaves of heat and pleasure tearing through his whole body, rippling down into his hands and feet and making them clench reflexively. Kurt cried out a second later, shuddering against Blaine and grabbing Blaine’s biceps, clutching him for support as his own orgasm ripped through him.
Blaine’s head was swimming as he leaned into Kurt. Kurt held them both up for a few seconds, but seemed to be having a similar problem, and it wasn’t long before he lowered them both to the floor, laying down on the tile and pulling Blaine into him. Blaine used the last of his energy to wrap his hand around Kurt’s arm possessively, feeling Kurt press kisses into his sweaty temple as their ragged breathing slowly returned to normal.
Or what passed for normal, anyway-Blaine had never wanted to crawl inside someone else’s body and just stay there before, and he wasn’t sure that was normal in any sense.
Kurt stroked his hair with a trembling hand. “Too much?” he asked, lips brushing lightly against Blaine’s skin.
Blaine nodded. “But in the best way,” he assured Kurt, letting go of his arm and curling into him before wearily closing his eyes. Kurt laughed softly-in happiness, in relief, Blaine didn’t know-and continued to stroke Blaine’s hair until Blaine fell asleep, sticky and sweaty and tired, but blissfully content.
___________________
When Blaine got home almost two hours later, his hands were jittery, and it took him three tries to fit his key in the door that led from the garage to the back hall. He’d reluctantly turned down Kurt’s offer to stay the night (“Unfortunately, our guest room will be overcome with the stench of Cranky Old Gin-Soaked Bat, but I don’t mind sleeping on the couch”), citing his curfew and early morning departure, but was wearing a fresh pair of boxer-briefs that Kurt had given him, cheeks flaming (“They’re new, I promise”).
Before he’d left, Kurt had packed him a large plastic container of the cookies, keeping only about a dozen for himself and his family. “You are going on an international road trip tomorrow,” he’d said sternly, when Blaine had protested the unequal division. “I am spending six hours in the garage, hiding from the woman who routinely asks me how I’m filling my time now that the little one has started school, and no, you don’t want to know. The point is, I’d give you all the cookies, if I didn’t owe Dad a serious apology for abandoning him for half the day.”
Blaine had thought about it, before deciding that if Great-Aunt Mildred was really that cantankerous, he probably really didn’t want to know. “What are you doing on Christmas Eve?” he’d asked instead. “Around 11:00, 11:30?”
Kurt’s forehead had wrinkled in thought. “Not much, probably,” he’d replied. “Mildred will be in bed by then, and Dad never makes it through the Christmas specials-he falls asleep halfway through.”
Blaine had nodded. “Can you get on Skype at 11:00?” he’d wanted to know. “There’s something I want to show you, but it can’t be until then.”
Kurt had agreed, curious, making Blaine smile. He had almost written down the date and time and slipped it into Kurt’s gift bag as a second present, but in the end had decided against it, just in case Kurt couldn’t make it for whatever reason.
Closing the garage door behind him, Blaine yanked off his boots and hung up his coat, making sure his clothes were straight and his hair was relatively neat before making his way to the kitchen.
Which turned out to be a smart decision-his mother was sitting at the kitchen table; dressed down for the evening in her glasses and cardigan and working on her laptop. “Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted him, sparing him a glance before turning back to the screen. “How was the dinner party?”
Blaine pushed down the pang of guilt he felt at her easy acceptance of her earlier lie (“Kurt’s having a small group of us over for dinner, and we might watch a holiday movie after, if there’s anything good on”), reminding himself that his parents just needed to see that he was happy-they were all better off if Blaine didn’t tell them why, at least for now. “It was good,” he confirmed. “One of the girls brought The Nightmare Before Christmas, so we kept it on in the background while making Christmas cookies.”
“They sound like nice kids,” his mother commented, hitting the backspace button several times before turning to look at him, a little less anxiously than Blaine was used to seeing lately. “You know, it would be all right if you wanted to invite a few of them over, sometime.”
Blaine blanched, thankful that he had been facing away from her, getting a glass from the cupboard. “Maybe,” he responded, fighting to make his tone come out evenly, Old Blaine-like. “Probably not for a while, though-Kurt’s friend Sasha was there, and she invited everyone to her house for New Year’s Eve.”
That was actually mostly true-Sasha was hosting VA’s New Year’s Eve party, and she had made a point of tracking Blaine down between classes the day before to invite him. “It won’t be as crazy as Halloween,” she’d warned, “because my parents usually come home from their own party around 3:00 or 4:00. But it’ll still be fun, and we have a hot tub in the backyard.”
Blaine filled his cup with water from the dispenser on the freezer door. “I’m going to go finish packing,” he told his mother, “are we still leaving at nine?”
Blaine’s mom frowned. “Closer to 9:30, probably,” she sighed, “but be ready to go, just in case.”
Blaine nodded, and was halfway out the door when his mother called after him. “A package came for you today,” she told him. “I left it on your bed.”
Blaine paused, confused-he had no idea who would send him anything. He’d ordered a few gifts online, but had shipped them straight to their recipients, and the few extended family members that sent him Christmas presents were more the Card and Gift Certificate type.
The box on his bed was neatly wrapped in plain brown paper, his name and address printed across the center in handwriting that he only vaguely recognized. The return address was the same; touching off something in his memory, but with no clear explanations as to why.
Setting his water down on his desk, Blaine removed the paper, using a pair of scissors to cut the packing tape on the box’s edge before opening the lid. The thick, heady scent of coffee filled the room as Blaine pulled out two colorful, heavy sacks that were labeled in Spanish.
A note that had been tucked between them fluttered to the ground:
Dear Blaine, it read,
I apologize for not bringing this over myself, but my in-person contact with anyone from Carmel has been sadly limited as of late-New Directions is concerned that I might be passing information, and I’d hate to give them more reasons to doubt my integrity. Anyways, I remembered how much you enjoyed the coffee at my house, so I arranged an additional shipment through my parents’ supplier. Happy Holidays, and I hope to see much more of you in the coming New Year.
Best regards,
Jesse St. James
_________________
Coming up next: Blaine’s Grandma, Christmas, and an ambiguous beginning to a New Year…
____________Blaine’s present was beautifully wrapped-and took up nearly half of the coffee table. “Don’t worry,” Kurt laughed, when he saw Blaine’s expression. “You’ll get it when you open it. And actually, why don’t you open yours first? I’ve been waiting on this for ages.”
Humoring him, Blaine set his mug down on a coaster and carefully unwrapped the paper. The long, plain white box underneath gave no hints as to what was inside, so with a small smile, Blaine sliced off the tape and lifted open the top.
Inside, three adorable, plush lion cubs sat side by side, looking up at Blaine with their dark glass eyes. “I told you, the first time we went to the zoo, that I was going to get you lion cubs for Christmas,” Kurt reminded him. “But you’ll have to remind me which one is which; you know them better than I do.”
It was only then that Blaine noticed it: patches of fur on each stuffed animal had been expertly cut and dyed, in order to match his lions.
Blaine reached out, gently stroking Priya’s incredibly soft head, the pattern of spots between her ears painstakingly done. “Kurt, how…” he managed, before his voice failed him, too choked up to finish articulating the question.
Luckily, Kurt seemed to know where he was headed. “I watched the video of them on the Zoo’s website about 500 times,” he admitted. “I had to guess a little on this one’s back,” he said, pointing to Mali, “since there wasn’t a very good shot of it anywhere. I thought about going back on my own to take reference pictures, but…” He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “It didn’t feel right, going without you. Do you like them?”
Blaine looked at Kurt, incredulous. “Kurt, they’re perfect,” he said honestly, “I can’t believe you did all of that work.” He shook his head slightly, overwhelmed. “Where did you even learn how to do that?” he asked.
Kurt reached into the box, pulling out Rafiki and settling the cub on his lap. “My mom,” he explained, smoothing the fur into place with a gentle hand. “I’m actually pretty athletic when I want to be, but I think it was pretty clear to both of my parents from the start where most of my talents lie. She never tried to dumb down anything for me-our projects were with real materials from the start.”
He blinked a few times, and Blaine knew he was fighting back tears. “I’m glad,” he added. “I don’t know that I would have had the heart to teach myself anything, if she promised to do it before she died and was just…gone, before she could.”
Putting Rafiki back in the box, he looked up at Blaine, eyes still a little too bright. “My turn?” he asked, snapping Blaine out of the near-trance he had fallen into, watching Kurt.
“Your turn,” Blaine agreed, picking the bag up off of the couch next to him and handing it to Kurt, but not letting go of it completely yet. “Before you open it, I have a confession to make,” he admitted, trying to keep his expression serious even when Kurt looked at him, the expression on his face a mix of skeptical and intrigued.
“Oh?” Kurt asked, clearly waiting for Blaine to elaborate.
Blaine did: “In order to get your present, I had to steal something of yours,” he confessed, making Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up, looking more amused at Blaine’s nerves than anything. “I kept it extremely safe, I promise, but-you’ll understand when you see it.”
He let go of the bag, and Kurt reached into it. “Careful, it’s fragile,” Blaine warned, as Kurt lifted out the tissue paper-wrapped object and began curiously pulling away the layers.
When Kurt reached the picture frame inside, he inhaled sharply. “Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, Blaine.”
Blaine moved closer to where Kurt was sitting in order to look over his shoulder at the picture-the photo of Kurt’s family that Kurt had shown him that first week, professionally cleaned up and enhanced. Blaine had seen the two photos side by side, both on the computer in the lab and in person, and there was no question that the newer copy was stunning, the detail as clear and exquisite as if the picture had been taken by a professional photographer that day.
“I asked Sarabeth for advice on where to go to get it done, and her dad gave me some leads,” he explained quietly, reaching out to steady Kurt’ shaking hands. “They needed the original print, so I took a picture of it with my digital camera and swapped my copy for the real photograph-I put yours in the frame too, underneath. I know it’s so personal, and I promise I’ll understand if you don’t want it, but…”
He looked at four year old Kurt in the picture, grasping his mother’s hand-a detail he’d missed, the first day. “I just saw the way you looked at her, when you showed me the picture, and I wanted to give you the clearest view I could, that’s all.” He finished, biting his lip before looking at Kurt’s face.
Kurt’s face, which was slick with tears. “I was forgetting,” he murmured hollowly. “I didn’t think I was, but it’s been such a long time…” He stared hungrily at the picture, putting a hand over his mouth.
Blaine stroked his arm gently, staying quiet.
Finally, Kurt sighed. “I promise, one day we’ll make it through a date without one of us crying,” he said, in a slightly petulant tone that made Blaine laugh with relief.
“Not every date,” he countered easily. “I think we’ve gotten through at least half of them without any intense emotional displays, haven’t we?”
Kurt made a noise that was half laughter, half sobbing, before putting the picture frame down on the table and wiping his face with both hands. “Thank you, Blaine,” he said softly. “Really. I’m going to keep it in my room until Mildred leaves, because when I show my dad I think it should just be the two of us, but…thank you.”
____________________
Blaine put the picture downstairs while Kurt began pulling baking supplies out of various cabinets. “I have a lot of old cookbooks with fancy cookie recipes,” Kurt explained when Blaine was back in the kitchen, “but I think the traditional sugar cookie would suit our purposes.”
“Do you have cookie cutters?” Blaine wanted to know, “In shapes like stars and candy canes and things?”
Kurt smiled brilliantly, the last vestiges of tears gone from his face. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” he teased, opening up one of the lower cabinets and pulling out a small, flat box of metal cookie cutters.
They doubled the recipe on Kurt’s insistence (and added a few more spices that he promised would improve the finished product), and ended up with enough dough for three and a half trays of cookies. Kurt had gone to the store on the way home from school for decorating supplies, and they set to work as soon as the first batch was cool; a wide assortment of frosting, sprinkles, cinnamon candies, powdered sugar, etc. laid out on the table between them. Kurt, it turned out, was something of a perfectionist when it came to cookie decorating (“The first in a long line of things that applies to, you’ll discover,” he’d confirmed dryly when Blaine pointed it out). Blaine, on the other hand, could never get them just right, and gave up any hope of aesthetically pleasing cookies after the first three attempts.
He did, however, painstakingly decorate a little gingerbread man shaped cookie to look like Kurt, giving him little yoga pants and a tiny striped shirt with ¾ sleeves. “Look who it is,” he laughed, holding it up for Kurt to see, pleased with himself when he saw the delighted expression on Kurt’s face. “I’m Kurt,” he made the little cookie say, “I’m the best singer in the whole wide world, and I can do a triple pirouette and advanced calculus at the saaaame tiiiime.”
Kurt shuddered. “I don’t really sound like that, do I?” he asked, making a face.
Blaine assured him that he didn’t.
Two of the cookies on the next tray broke when Kurt tried to loosen them with his spatula, and Blaine happily ate the pieces-to get them out of the way, of course-while Kurt put the pan in the sink to soak. “I saved a limb for you,” Blaine informed Kurt when he returned, holding out the little cookie arm like an offering.
Kurt looked at it skeptically. “You just made a cookie version of me,” he pointed out. “Wouldn’t eating part of his baked brethren be in poor taste?”
Blaine shook his head. “It would be in excellent taste,” he disagreed, “cinnamon and cloves, as a matter of fact. Here.”
Kurt laughed, but still shook his head. “Come on,” Blaine wheedled, “I’ve already eaten, like, five broken ones, and I’m sure I’ll eat another dozen in the car tomorrow. This cookie arm might be the piece that pushes me over the edge. You don’t want me to get fat, do you?”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “You’re perfect,” he said sternly, “your body is perfect. If you don’t want to eat it, just throw it out.”
Blaine’s eyes widened. “That’s blasphemous,” he told Kurt, fighting to keep a straight face when Kurt started laughing. “You’d have me throw away a poor little defenseless cookie?”
Kurt squawked indignantly. “You were going to make me eat him!” he argued. “How is that any better?”
Sighing heavily, Blaine positioned his feet underneath the table in preparation, hoping Kurt wouldn’t notice. “Fine,” he lamented dramatically. “I tried logic, I tried appealing to your better nature, but nothing’s worked. Kurt, you’ve left me no choice.”
Kurt must have realized what Blaine was going to do about half a second before he actually did it, because he was out of his chair and halfway across the kitchen before Blaine pounced on him, wrapping his arms and a leg around Kurt and holding the cookie near Kurt’s mouth. “Eat,” Blaine demanded cheerfully, holding onto Kurt as his boyfriend’s struggles became perfunctory, then tapered off altogether.
“All right!” Kurt shouted finally, still laughing. “Shut up already.” Blaine moved the cookie closer to his mouth, and Kurt made sure to bite down on his fingers a little as he accepted the little arm. Rather than objecting, Blaine tightened his arms around Kurt with a sigh, laying his head on Kurt’s shoulder as Kurt chewed and swallowed the cookie. Kurt stroked Blaine’s back gently, and they stood there for a long moment.
“You know,” Kurt said finally, “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”
Blaine lifted his head. “Is it?” he wondered, thinking about it.
He felt Kurt nod. “You’ve been smiling more lately, and you’ve never struck me as particularly unhappy,” he elaborated. “But I don’t think the You I met a few months ago would have tackled someone and forced them to consume baked goods. I kind of love it.”
Blaine nodded, resting his chin back on Kurt’s shoulder. “I feel happier,” he mused, breathing in Kurt’s cologne and the sugar-spice aroma of their freshly-baked cookies. “I haven’t really actively thought about it, but I do.”
He glanced down and frowned. “I got powdered sugar all over your shirt,” he pointed out, stepping back a few inches from Kurt to better assess the damage. “You’re covered in it, I’m sorry.”
Kurt looked at him, eyes sparkling wickedly. “Oops,” he said flatly, before reaching down and stripping off his shirt.
Blaine’s breath caught in in his throat.
Kurt’s skin was pale and taut, wrapped around slim dancer muscles. A slight trail of hair disappeared under the hem of his pants, but the rest of him was smooth and supple and perfect, everything Blaine hadn’t consciously realized he’d imagined Kurt to be until that moment. His hands twitched, aching with the sudden need to touch, and Blaine ruthlessly suppressed the urge, grabbing the counter behind him in order to have something solid, grounding, to hold onto.
Kurt shifted slightly. “You’re staring,” he pointed out gently, voice slightly lower and huskier than usual.
Blaine’s mouth was dry. “Yeah,” he managed, unwilling and unable to pull his gaze up to meet Kurt’s eyes.
Kurt moved in closer, his breath warm and sugar-scented on Blaine’s cheek. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, tell me, and I’ll go downstairs and get a clean shirt,” he murmured quietly, reaching out and tracing his fingertips up Blaine’s arms.
Blaine shivered.
“But if you want to,” Kurt continued, in that same slow, sensual tone, “you can touch me. If you’re comfortable with that. I want you to.”
That was all the invitation Blaine needed-wrenching his hands free from the counter, he reached forward. He brushed his fingertips over Kurt’s stomach; first feather-light, then a little firmer, eliciting a quiet, sharp breath from Kurt. Encouraged, Blaine stepped closer and ran his hands up Kurt’s waist, ghosting over his ribs until he reached his chest. Kurt’s nipples hardened under his palms-it was so much different than touching his own, how had he not realized-and his small whimper in response went straight to Blaine’s gut, a familiar warmth spreading down between his legs.
That was all it took: gripping Kurt’s waist with one hand and threading the other hand into Kurt’s hair, Blaine pulled him forward, kissing him fiercely. Kurt responded immediately, mouth open and hot and wet and God, everything Blaine wanted. Kurt’s hands slipped inside Blaine’s shirt, digging into the muscles of his lower back, making him gasp into Kurt’s mouth before pulling Kurt even closer, until their chests (stomachs hips thighs) were pressed against each other.
Kurt’s hands slid up even further, and Blaine pulled away just long enough to tear his own shirt off and toss it to the side before his hands were back on Kurt’s face, mouth back on Kurt’s as he kissed him hungrily, even deeper than before. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine and pulled, and suddenly their bodies were flush against each other like they’d been before-only it was nothing like before; the surreptitious late night movie watching that Blaine rarely indulged in, praying the whole time that a virus didn’t crash his computer and necessitate a mortifying conversation with his parents, had left him entirely unprepared for the sensation of someone else’s bare skin on his own for the first time. What little blood was left in his brain rushed south, and even that was different; the rush and unpredictability of someone else’s-of Kurt’s-hands and mouth and tongue and body on his own was so much more intense than he had ever experienced, and he couldn’t remember ever getting that hard in his life.
There was no space between them but Blaine pressed in anyway, surrounding himself with Kurt’s touch and taste and scent, and was rewarded when Kurt pushed forward, guiding Blaine backwards until his lower back hit the counter behind him. Kurt reached down and gripped Blaine’s waist almost uncomfortably tight, but Blaine barely had time to register the sensation before Kurt’s hips began canting into his own.
Blaine keened shamelessly, latching onto Kurt’s shoulders with slippery hands. He dug his nails into Kurt’s skin, making Kurt gasp and push harder, and Blaine was trapped between the cool surface behind him and the hot, hard lines of Kurt’s body; powerless to do anything but spew unintelligible noises and take it as Kurt drove into him. Desperate for more contact, Blaine wrapped a hand around the back of Kurt’s neck and yanked him forward, breaking away from Kurt’s mouth and biting down on the sensitive skin above his collarbone. Kurt cried out, tilting his head to give Blaine better access even as he began slowing down, his grip on Blaine tightening even further.
“Blaine…God, we should,” he panted, sounding thoroughly wrecked. “If we, oh…if we don’t stop I’m going to have a…oh, God-a serious problem.”
Blaine couldn’t think; his body protesting the loss of heat and friction and crying out for release. “Kurt, please,” he pleaded, voice cracking in a way that would have been embarrassing if he’d had the coherency to recognize it. “I need-please.”
Kurt looked at him, face beautifully flushed and pupils blown wide. “Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly. “Because I want-I want you to be sure.”
There was no question in Blaine’s mind that he wanted it; wanted Kurt. He was flushed and sweaty and so hard that it physically hurt, and seeing Kurt the same way-knowing that he had done that-there was no question. “I’m sure,” he promised. “Kurt, please.”
Nodding, Kurt reached back in, cradling Blaine’s cheek for a few seconds before kissing him-less desperately than before, but with a firmness that lit Blaine up just the same. His hands scrabbled for purchase on Kurt’s back, finally settling on his shoulder blades and digging his fingers into Kurt’s skin as Kurt slammed into him one, two, three more times.
When Blaine came, it almost took him by surprise-he’d been so lost in the sensation, so much more than anything he’d ever felt before, that the final snap of Kurt’s hips into his own that pushed him over the edge nearly caught him off guard. He fell forward slightly into Kurt’s chest, shockwaves of heat and pleasure tearing through his whole body, rippling down into his hands and feet and making them clench reflexively. Kurt cried out a second later, shuddering against Blaine and grabbing Blaine’s biceps, clutching him for support as his own orgasm ripped through him.
Blaine’s head was swimming as he leaned into Kurt. Kurt held them both up for a few seconds, but seemed to be having a similar problem, and it wasn’t long before he lowered them both to the floor, laying down on the tile and pulling Blaine into him. Blaine used the last of his energy to wrap his hand around Kurt’s arm possessively, feeling Kurt press kisses into his sweaty temple as their ragged breathing slowly returned to normal.
Or what passed for normal, anyway-Blaine had never wanted to crawl inside someone else’s body and just stay there before, and he wasn’t sure that was normal in any sense.
Kurt stroked his hair with a trembling hand. “Too much?” he asked, lips brushing lightly against Blaine’s skin.
Blaine nodded. “But in the best way,” he assured Kurt, letting go of his arm and curling into him before wearily closing his eyes. Kurt laughed softly-in happiness, in relief, Blaine didn’t know-and continued to stroke Blaine’s hair until Blaine fell asleep, sticky and sweaty and tired, but blissfully content.
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When Blaine got home almost two hours later, his hands were jittery, and it took him three tries to fit his key in the door that led from the garage to the back hall. He’d reluctantly turned down Kurt’s offer to stay the night (“Unfortunately, our guest room will be overcome with the stench of Cranky Old Gin-Soaked Bat, but I don’t mind sleeping on the couch”), citing his curfew and early morning departure, but was wearing a fresh pair of boxer-briefs that Kurt had given him, cheeks flaming (“They’re new, I promise”).
Before he’d left, Kurt had packed him a large plastic container of the cookies, keeping only about a dozen for himself and his family. “You are going on an international road trip tomorrow,” he’d said sternly, when Blaine had protested the unequal division. “I am spending six hours in the garage, hiding from the woman who routinely asks me how I’m filling my time now that the little one has started school, and no, you don’t want to know. The point is, I’d give you all the cookies, if I didn’t owe Dad a serious apology for abandoning him for half the day.”
Blaine had thought about it, before deciding that if Great-Aunt Mildred was really that cantankerous, he probably really didn’t want to know. “What are you doing on Christmas Eve?” he’d asked instead. “Around 11:00, 11:30?”
Kurt’s forehead had wrinkled in thought. “Not much, probably,” he’d replied. “Mildred will be in bed by then, and Dad never makes it through the Christmas specials-he falls asleep halfway through.”
Blaine had nodded. “Can you get on Skype at 11:00?” he’d wanted to know. “There’s something I want to show you, but it can’t be until then.”
Kurt had agreed, curious, making Blaine smile. He had almost written down the date and time and slipped it into Kurt’s gift bag as a second present, but in the end had decided against it, just in case Kurt couldn’t make it for whatever reason.
Closing the garage door behind him, Blaine yanked off his boots and hung up his coat, making sure his clothes were straight and his hair was relatively neat before making his way to the kitchen.
Which turned out to be a smart decision-his mother was sitting at the kitchen table; dressed down for the evening in her glasses and cardigan and working on her laptop. “Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted him, sparing him a glance before turning back to the screen. “How was the dinner party?”
Blaine pushed down the pang of guilt he felt at her easy acceptance of her earlier lie (“Kurt’s having a small group of us over for dinner, and we might watch a holiday movie after, if there’s anything good on”), reminding himself that his parents just needed to see that he was happy-they were all better off if Blaine didn’t tell them why, at least for now. “It was good,” he confirmed. “One of the girls brought The Nightmare Before Christmas, so we kept it on in the background while making Christmas cookies.”
“They sound like nice kids,” his mother commented, hitting the backspace button several times before turning to look at him, a little less anxiously than Blaine was used to seeing lately. “You know, it would be all right if you wanted to invite a few of them over, sometime.”
Blaine blanched, thankful that he had been facing away from her, getting a glass from the cupboard. “Maybe,” he responded, fighting to make his tone come out evenly, Old Blaine-like. “Probably not for a while, though-Kurt’s friend Sasha was there, and she invited everyone to her house for New Year’s Eve.”
That was actually mostly true-Sasha was hosting VA’s New Year’s Eve party, and she had made a point of tracking Blaine down between classes the day before to invite him. “It won’t be as crazy as Halloween,” she’d warned, “because my parents usually come home from their own party around 3:00 or 4:00. But it’ll still be fun, and we have a hot tub in the backyard.”
Blaine filled his cup with water from the dispenser on the freezer door. “I’m going to go finish packing,” he told his mother, “are we still leaving at nine?”
Blaine’s mom frowned. “Closer to 9:30, probably,” she sighed, “but be ready to go, just in case.”
Blaine nodded, and was halfway out the door when his mother called after him. “A package came for you today,” she told him. “I left it on your bed.”
Blaine paused, confused-he had no idea who would send him anything. He’d ordered a few gifts online, but had shipped them straight to their recipients, and the few extended family members that sent him Christmas presents were more the Card and Gift Certificate type.
The box on his bed was neatly wrapped in plain brown paper, his name and address printed across the center in handwriting that he only vaguely recognized. The return address was the same; touching off something in his memory, but with no clear explanations as to why.
Setting his water down on his desk, Blaine removed the paper, using a pair of scissors to cut the packing tape on the box’s edge before opening the lid. The thick, heady scent of coffee filled the room as Blaine pulled out two colorful, heavy sacks that were labeled in Spanish.
A note that had been tucked between them fluttered to the ground:
Dear Blaine, it read,
I apologize for not bringing this over myself, but my in-person contact with anyone from Carmel has been sadly limited as of late-New Directions is concerned that I might be passing information, and I’d hate to give them more reasons to doubt my integrity. Anyways, I remembered how much you enjoyed the coffee at my house, so I arranged an additional shipment through my parents’ supplier. Happy Holidays, and I hope to see much more of you in the coming New Year.
Best regards,
Jesse St. James
_________________
Coming up next: Blaine’s Grandma, Christmas, and an ambiguous beginning to a New Year…