The Case of the Kidnapped Kurt (part the twenty-fifth)
Blaine hadn’t really doubted Kurt when he’d said he was a good cook, but this? This was *fantastic.*
“This is fantastic, Kurt,” Blaine said, having swallowed his bite a little faster than was strictly polite. Kurt had been looking at him with such an unsure expression on his face that was at odds with his earlier cockiness, and Blaine knew he was waiting for Blaine’s reaction.
Kurt’s face lit up. “I told you,” he said, with a triumphant sniff. “*I* am an excellent cook.”
“So you are,” Blaine agreed. He couldn’t help but smile at Kurt. He looked so happy that Blaine liked his cooking. It was - what was that word David used all the time to describe Kurt? - endearing. Adorable, even.
Blaine felt that really they ought to have conversation during their meal, since that was the point of having meals together, but it had been a long day and neither Kurt nor he’d eaten since breakfast. Actually, considering Kurt’s penchant for skipping meals (something that was going to stop, if Blaine had anything to do with it), it was entirely possible that this was Kurt’s first meal of the day. They were really too hungry to talk. Blaine couldn’t help but think, though. He wanted - God, how he wanted - to touch Kurt, to hear the sounds he’d make, to see him fall apart.
But Blaine couldn’t help but remember the sick feeling he’d had earlier, when Kurt was on top of him and *crying.* He never wanted to feel like that again. Hell, he wanted Kurt to never cry again, but Blaine knew that was just stupidly unrealistic. At the very least, though, Blaine wanted to make sure Kurt never cried because of *Blaine* again. And maybe that wasn’t realistic either, but what about this was, really? He’d fallen in love with Kurt the moment he saw him, and wasn’t that just the stupidest, most ridiculous thing? Blaine had always scoffed at the romances that talked about ‘one true love’s, but then it happened and he couldn’t understand how it was possible. And somehow everyday he fell more in love with Kurt. Everyday he thought it wasn’t possible to fall deeper in love with a person, and everyday he was proved wrong.
Or maybe that’s just what love was. Real love. He’d mentioned it to his dad, off-handedly so as to have a good excuse for ending the conversation if it proved necessary, and all his dad had said was that he was glad Blaine had found someone. Then he’d started talking business again, and Blaine had to concentrate, because one day this mob was going to belong to him, and he needed to know how to keep his family safe and the business running.
Kurt leaned back coyly after they finished eating. “So …” he drawled, “If you pay someone to cook for you, do you also pay someone to clean for you?”
Blaine couldn’t help but laugh. “You just don’t want to wash the dishes,” Blaine said fondly.
“Of course not,” Kurt said. “Dish soap is terrible for my skin.”
Blaine suppressed laughter. Kurt always entertained him with his fastidiousness. He had no trouble with getting greasy and dirty helping his father in the shop, but anywhere else he’d throw a fit about the slightest spec of dirt. “Luckily for you,” Blaine said, taking both their dishes into the kitchen, “We do indeed hire someone to clean after us. Maria’s around somewhere - Maria’s our usual maid; she’s Anthony’s niece, actually; sweet girl - and she’ll deal with the dishes, but it’s only polite to clear our own plates.”
Kurt tugged Blaine upstairs by the hand. Blaine wasn’t protesting, but he was worried. He knew what Kurt was thinking, and it wasn’t like Blaine wasn’t thinking it too, but Blaine just wasn’t sure…
Blaine’s bedroom door closed behind them, Kurt pushed Blaine up against it again.
“Still have a bed,” Blaine pointed out.
Kurt rolled his eyes. “Maybe I don’t want you on a bed,” he said, running his hands down Blaine’s chest. “Maybe I want you just” - he unbuckled Blaine’s pants - “like” -he pulled Blaine’s jeans down and out of the way- “this,” he finished, sinking to his knees.
Holy Mary mother of God, Kurt was on his knees and he was looking up at Blaine through those ridiculously long lashes of his and Blaine couldn’t remember how to breathe. And then Kurt was leaning forward, oh God, and Blaine could *feel* the heat of his breath and *fuck*, he wanted Kurt’s mouth on him so badly he thought he might die.
“Wait,” Blaine gasped out, grabbing Kurt’s shoulders. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Fuck, Kurt was on his *knees.* “Baby, wait.”
Kurt looked exasperated and hurt and desperately turned on, all at once. “Why?” he said in a voice deeper and raspier than normal and God, how much more would it rasp if Blaine fucked Kurt’s mouth -
“We need to talk,” Blaine managed to say.
Kurt stood up so suddenly Blaine felt like he had whiplash. “Are you breaking up with me?” Kurt demanded, his voice getting shrill. “Because earlier today you said you were going to marry me, so excuse me if I misunderstood because I’m getting some pretty damn mixed signals here, Blaine.”
“What?” Blaine didn’t know how Kurt had gotten ‘I want to break up’ from ‘We need to talk’. “No,” Blaine said loudly, “I do *not* want to break up with you; where the hell would you get that idea?”
Kurt crossed his arms angrily. “You said we needed to talk,” Kurt said icily. “That *always* means they want to break up.”
“In the *movies*, Kurt,” Blaine said, thinking that maybe Kurt had more in common with his step-brother than he thought he did.
Kurt’s stance got a little less antagonistic and a lot more defensive. “So why *do* you want to talk?”
Blaine sighed. Running his fingers through his hair, he went to take a seat on his bed. If they were going to have this conversation, he might as well be comfortable for it.
“This is fantastic, Kurt,” Blaine said, having swallowed his bite a little faster than was strictly polite. Kurt had been looking at him with such an unsure expression on his face that was at odds with his earlier cockiness, and Blaine knew he was waiting for Blaine’s reaction.
Kurt’s face lit up. “I told you,” he said, with a triumphant sniff. “*I* am an excellent cook.”
“So you are,” Blaine agreed. He couldn’t help but smile at Kurt. He looked so happy that Blaine liked his cooking. It was - what was that word David used all the time to describe Kurt? - endearing. Adorable, even.
Blaine felt that really they ought to have conversation during their meal, since that was the point of having meals together, but it had been a long day and neither Kurt nor he’d eaten since breakfast. Actually, considering Kurt’s penchant for skipping meals (something that was going to stop, if Blaine had anything to do with it), it was entirely possible that this was Kurt’s first meal of the day. They were really too hungry to talk. Blaine couldn’t help but think, though. He wanted - God, how he wanted - to touch Kurt, to hear the sounds he’d make, to see him fall apart.
But Blaine couldn’t help but remember the sick feeling he’d had earlier, when Kurt was on top of him and *crying.* He never wanted to feel like that again. Hell, he wanted Kurt to never cry again, but Blaine knew that was just stupidly unrealistic. At the very least, though, Blaine wanted to make sure Kurt never cried because of *Blaine* again. And maybe that wasn’t realistic either, but what about this was, really? He’d fallen in love with Kurt the moment he saw him, and wasn’t that just the stupidest, most ridiculous thing? Blaine had always scoffed at the romances that talked about ‘one true love’s, but then it happened and he couldn’t understand how it was possible. And somehow everyday he fell more in love with Kurt. Everyday he thought it wasn’t possible to fall deeper in love with a person, and everyday he was proved wrong.
Or maybe that’s just what love was. Real love. He’d mentioned it to his dad, off-handedly so as to have a good excuse for ending the conversation if it proved necessary, and all his dad had said was that he was glad Blaine had found someone. Then he’d started talking business again, and Blaine had to concentrate, because one day this mob was going to belong to him, and he needed to know how to keep his family safe and the business running.
Kurt leaned back coyly after they finished eating. “So …” he drawled, “If you pay someone to cook for you, do you also pay someone to clean for you?”
Blaine couldn’t help but laugh. “You just don’t want to wash the dishes,” Blaine said fondly.
“Of course not,” Kurt said. “Dish soap is terrible for my skin.”
Blaine suppressed laughter. Kurt always entertained him with his fastidiousness. He had no trouble with getting greasy and dirty helping his father in the shop, but anywhere else he’d throw a fit about the slightest spec of dirt. “Luckily for you,” Blaine said, taking both their dishes into the kitchen, “We do indeed hire someone to clean after us. Maria’s around somewhere - Maria’s our usual maid; she’s Anthony’s niece, actually; sweet girl - and she’ll deal with the dishes, but it’s only polite to clear our own plates.”
Kurt tugged Blaine upstairs by the hand. Blaine wasn’t protesting, but he was worried. He knew what Kurt was thinking, and it wasn’t like Blaine wasn’t thinking it too, but Blaine just wasn’t sure…
Blaine’s bedroom door closed behind them, Kurt pushed Blaine up against it again.
“Still have a bed,” Blaine pointed out.
Kurt rolled his eyes. “Maybe I don’t want you on a bed,” he said, running his hands down Blaine’s chest. “Maybe I want you just” - he unbuckled Blaine’s pants - “like” -he pulled Blaine’s jeans down and out of the way- “this,” he finished, sinking to his knees.
Holy Mary mother of God, Kurt was on his knees and he was looking up at Blaine through those ridiculously long lashes of his and Blaine couldn’t remember how to breathe. And then Kurt was leaning forward, oh God, and Blaine could *feel* the heat of his breath and *fuck*, he wanted Kurt’s mouth on him so badly he thought he might die.
“Wait,” Blaine gasped out, grabbing Kurt’s shoulders. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Fuck, Kurt was on his *knees.* “Baby, wait.”
Kurt looked exasperated and hurt and desperately turned on, all at once. “Why?” he said in a voice deeper and raspier than normal and God, how much more would it rasp if Blaine fucked Kurt’s mouth -
“We need to talk,” Blaine managed to say.
Kurt stood up so suddenly Blaine felt like he had whiplash. “Are you breaking up with me?” Kurt demanded, his voice getting shrill. “Because earlier today you said you were going to marry me, so excuse me if I misunderstood because I’m getting some pretty damn mixed signals here, Blaine.”
“What?” Blaine didn’t know how Kurt had gotten ‘I want to break up’ from ‘We need to talk’. “No,” Blaine said loudly, “I do *not* want to break up with you; where the hell would you get that idea?”
Kurt crossed his arms angrily. “You said we needed to talk,” Kurt said icily. “That *always* means they want to break up.”
“In the *movies*, Kurt,” Blaine said, thinking that maybe Kurt had more in common with his step-brother than he thought he did.
Kurt’s stance got a little less antagonistic and a lot more defensive. “So why *do* you want to talk?”
Blaine sighed. Running his fingers through his hair, he went to take a seat on his bed. If they were going to have this conversation, he might as well be comfortable for it.