Everyday (Part 5)
Blaine wakes up alone, a feeling that makes his skin crawl until he finishes the slow slide into awareness, looks around to see the thrown back blankets, the missing crutches. Kurt’s here. He’s ok.
But Blaine still swings his legs off the bed, shuffles out of the bedroom. It’s stupid, he knows, but he needs to see Kurt before his sleep-addled mind will stop racing with all of the mornings he didn’t wake up.
He finds Kurt, or at least a Kurt-shaped lump, wrapped in a quilt on the middle of the sofa. There are books and papers spread all around him and familiar voices singing a familiar song are coming from the television. Blaine stops at the edge of the room, glances to the right to confirm his guess - the Michael Jackson performance from Sectionals. Kurt doesn’t see him, is staring intently at, well, him, on the screen, and god his singing faces have always been ridiculous, but at 17 they were insane.
“You were really good,” Kurt murmurs without looking away, and Blaine takes it as an invitation to enter. He glances at the pile of books on Kurt’s right - sketchbooks, photo albums - and picks them up, settling them back in his lap.
“You were pretty amazing, yourself,” Blaine answers, and, feeling bold, darts in to quickly kiss Kurt’s cheek. Kurt smiles at the contact but it’s weak, and his eyes still haven’t left the screen. Blaine makes a questioning noise and nudges his shoulder and Kurt sighs, falls sideways into Blaine’s body.
“Why don’t I remember?” He doesn’t say anything else, but Blaine stays quiet, waits him out, and after a minute he continues. “I thought I might wake up this morning and...you know, kiss a frog, find a prince, happily ever after...but, nothing.”
“That’s why you let me kiss you,” Blaine says, and he can’t help the sadness in his voice. He’d thought...
“No,” Kurt sits up, looking Blaine in the eye. “No. I - No, I just really wanted to - wanted you to,” he stammers, his nose wrinkling as he really hears what he’s saying. “The other stuff - I thought about that after. After both. Kisses. But...it makes sense, right?” Blaine shrugs, nods. He knows Kurt doesn’t really need input right now, just needs to talk through his thoughts. “You’ve been most of my life for most of the time I don’t remember. I just...I’m trying.” He gestures vaguely the the tv, the mess around him. “It’s been a week and a half.”
“It’s been a week and a half,” Blaine echoes, but when he says it it sounds so much less, such a short time. “It’s not like a math test, Kurt. You can’t really cram for this. Watch videos and ask questions and look at all the pictures you want, but don’t be so hard on yourself. There isn’t a deadline here.” He can see the unspoken fear in Kurt’s eyes, tries to answer it with his own. (You don’t have to hurry for me. I’ll be here.) “Also, uh, feel free to, ya know, kiss me whenever you want,” he grins, laughing partly at Kurt’s blush, partly at his own.
“How about we finish this, and then I take you to brunch?” Blaine suggests, and Kurt visibly perks up before settling back into Blaine’s side to watch the next performance.
The shower is as awkward as the bed had been the night before, and Blaine is grateful when Kurt continues on his trend of declaring boundaries (Don’t kiss me in the shower) even though now that kissing is an option it’s kind of all Blaine wants to do. He dresses carefully, remembers Kurt’s grip on his bicep the night before and digs out the maroon polo Kurt loves for both the color and the way it hugs his arms, wiggles into his tightest jeans. He hasn’t dressed to impress anyone in so long; even before everything, it was so rarely a conscious effort - Kurt’s seen him in and out of all of his clothes, picked out most of them himself - and it’s fun, the fluttering excitement in his stomach as he wonders what Kurt will think.
His reaction doesn’t disappoint; his mouth falls open when Blaine appears, and all the way to brunch, all through the meal, Blaine watches his eyes dart to his arms, his chest, his hands. He makes an effort to move his hands more as he talks (which is saying a lot, really, because Blaine barely stops moving on a regular day) and stifles a laugh when Kurt’s eyes go wide as he stretches his arms above his head.
“Thanks for brunch,” Kurt says as Blaine helps him up from the table. He doesn’t take his crutches yet, instead keeps his grip on Blaine’s hand and leans forward carefully, kissing the very corner of his mouth and pulling away quickly. Blaine’s whole face lights up and Kurt thinks, I made him look like that before he lets go of his hand.
Kurt is quiet during the short walk back to their apartment, and Blaine is about to bring it up when they walk through the door and Kurt turns suddenly.
“Do you,” he starts, voice cracking. He clears his throat. “Do you, um, want to watch a movie?” Kurt sounds so serious that Blaine almost laughs, because they’ve watched dozens of movies in the past week and it’s not like...but then he catches himself. Because Kurt is looking at him very intently and asking him to watch a movie. Which is teenager code for...
Blaine kind of wants to hug him, wrap him up in his arms and coo into his ear and tell him that he doesn’t have to try like this, could just say “Blaine, please put your mouth on and around my mouth” and Blaine would give him a jaunty salute and get to work, but he can practically see the adrenaline running through Kurt’s veins. Remembers the small thrill he’d gotten just at picking out his outfit this morning, hoping Kurt would like it. Remembers all the movies they never watched in high school. Trying is fun.
“Sure!” he says brightly instead, dropping his bag by the door. “Pick whatever you’d like; I’ll make popcorn.”
“Blaine, we literally just ate,” Kurt scoffs as they head for their respective tasks.
“And?” Blaine laughs at the huff he hears from the living room.
Blaine’s remarkably impressed by his self-restraint right now, knowing that Kurt is next to him on the couch, ready and willing, and yet here he sits, content to let their hands brush in the popcorn bowl. Maybe he’s a masochist.
Kurt isn’t, though, and Blaine can feel him fidgeting. A part of Blaine wants to wait it out, see if Kurt will make the movie, but he knows that he won’t; he’s still too skittish, not confident enough in himself or them (whatever they are right now). He glances out of the corner of his eye and jumps a little; Kurt is looking at him, lip caught between his teeth and eyes narrowed a bit, but not in the contemplative way Blaine’s seen so far. He looks like he doesn’t feel well.
Oh.
Oh no.
It’s a day for Blaine to be impressed with himself, because it is a feat of superhuman strength that he doesn’t laugh when he realizes that that day in the warehouse wasn’t the birth of Kurt’s sexy faces. But he doesn’t, because he is not a jackass like he was back then. Instead he looks over, meets Kurt’s eyes with what he hopes is a sexy smile of his own (hopes that the amusement isn’t showing through) and exaggeratedly lifts his arm, lets it settle around Kurt’s shoulders.
Kurt goes easily, moves the popcorn bowl to his own lap and scoots over so their legs are pressed together, rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder with a happy sigh. He has absolutely no idea what movie they’re watching; he just knows that Blaine is solid and warm against him. It’s hard to pay attention to things like movies and food, he’s realizing, when there’s an attractive man next to you and you know what his lips feel like.
A few minutes pass, maybe a scene or two in the movie; Blaine can’t quite tell because he’s seen it so many times that he can easily zone out without getting lost, and also Kurt has started squirming again. He’s turned his head a little and is nosing at Blaine’s neck, the underside of his jaw where everything is sensitive. He turns to look at Kurt just as Kurt pulls back, eyebrows raised a little. Kurt licks his lips and Blaine’s eyes automatically follow, and Blaine’s done celebrating his self-restraint as he tugs Kurt forward with the arm around his shoulders.
He finally kisses Kurt, really kisses him, the way he wanted to all week, more than just the simple press of lips. The hand on Kurt’s shoulder finds its way to wind into his hair and Kurt goes with the motion, lets Blaine tilt his head until it’s better and then perfect, their lips fitting together seamlessly. Kurt gasps at the new angle and Blaine lets his tongue dart out briefly, runs it along Kurt’s bottom lip and almost gasps himself at the noise Kurt makes at the contact, high and shocked and desperate.
He starts to pull away but Kurt’s hand is suddenly fisted in his shirt, keeping him there, and Kurt’s mouth is opening completely under his as they breathe harshly through their noses, unwilling to part for a proper breath. Blaine’s getting dizzy, from lack of air and the way Kurt is just open and waiting and wanting from him, can’t help but trace Kurt’s teeth, his lips, before finally sliding his tongue along Kurt’s.
Blaine loses track of time as he relearns the inside of Kurt’s mouth, finally pulls back only to have Kurt throw his good leg over Blaine’s lap, getting just a bit closer and taking the strain off his neck, and this time Kurt is the one who leans in, eyes heavy and mouth open and looking drunk with it, and that sobers Blaine, makes him remember.
He still opens for Kurt, of course he does, wraps his free arm low around his waist and thrills a little when Kurt’s tongue slips against his. He holds Kurt where he is, sucks gently on his tongue out of habit and smiles against his mouth at the new sound that elicits (he thought he knew all of Kurt’s noises by now, but this is a whole new world of shock and awe), then eases off, darting in repeatedly to softly kiss away Kurt’s noises of confused protest before resting their foreheads together.
“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing at Kurt’s scalp with the hand still tangled in his hair, and in wide circles on his back with the other. He feels Kurt smile, can tell by the way the muscles in his forehead shift (is that weird?) and nuzzles their noses together before pulling back to look at him properly.
“Why’d we stop?” Kurt asks, eyes still closed and voice dazed. His lips are red and swollen, his chest heaving, hair sticking straight up in the back thanks to Blaine, and it takes him a few tries to fully open his eyes. He’s debauched and so adorable that Blaine has to kiss him one more time, humming happily against his lips.
“Because we probably should,” Blaine smiles, breathing just as heavily. Kurt nods in response and Blaine slides his hand around, cradles his face. “Promise me something?” Kurt just looks at him expectantly, curious and trusting. “Don’t do anything...physically...that you’re not comfortable with, just because you think I might want to? Or that it might bring your memory back?”
“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt shakes his head. “No, I told you. I’ve - wanted it. You’re...oh, don’t judge me. You’re really gorgeous and you’re kind of everything and I just...I can’t explain it. But I promise. Nothing I don’t want.” Blaine smiles then, bright as ever, lifting one of Kurt’s hands up and kissing each of his knuckles.
“‘kay,” Blaine jumps up and heads toward the door, not letting go of Kurt’s hand until the last second. “I’m going to run to the store. I’m going to make you a nice dinner tonight. And I need things. From the store. Because that’s...where everything is. That we don’t have. At the store.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of cute when you babble?” Kurt asks, and Blaine stops (Yes. You. All the time.) for just a moment before finding his keys in the bowl.
“Do you want anything special while I’m out?” Kurt shakes his head and Blaine disappears with a wave and the thunk of the front door closing behind him.
Kurt falls back against the sofa, fingertips tracing his bottom lip where it’s still tingling. His thoughts are racing into a blur and he kind of wants to dance, glares down at his cast for taking away the opportunity. He’s glad Blaine had a hold on reality because he was perfectly content to stay right there kissing him forever, and he needs to process this, first. He wishes there was someone here to talk at, knows he could call Rachel but it feels awkward, even Mercedes doesn’t feel right. He knows who he needs to talk to, has known since the first morning he watched Blaine sleep, even if it will be awkward. He grabs his phone off the side table and dials, smiling when it’s answered on the first ring.
“Hey, dad...”
Kurt talks (and talks, and talks) when Burt answers. He tells him about physical therapy, his brief adventure walking from the bedroom to the bathroom without crutches; he talks about absolutely nothing for a while, and Burt lets him, waits for his voice to lower as he runs out of steam, before he interrupts.
“So, why’d you really call?” Burt asks finally. “Because I don’t think it was to talk to me about fennel.” Burt doesn’t even remember what fennel is; he thinks it might be one of the fabrics Kurt was always turning into pocket squares and handkerchiefs.
“I,” Kurt starts. “Blaine kissed me.” He was hoping to put it more eloquently than that, but he’s not sure his dad is one for subtlety with these matters.
“Ok,” Burt says slowly, carefully. Kurt can hear him take a deep breath. “Did he - are you ok with that? He didn’t - force -”
“No, no, of course not,” Kurt interrupts, and Burt is grateful, because he can’t even finish that thought in his head. He knows Blaine, knows who he was and who he is and who he’s become in the face of the accident, and none of those boys (men, now) are anyone who would have even a fleeting thought of taking advantage of Kurt. “I wanted...I wanted him to.” Burt doesn’t say anything, just hums a little in acknowledgment, so Kurt closes his eyes and continues.
“It was...perfect, dad. We did touristy stuff all day and went to the Empire State Building last night and we were just looking down at the city and...he kissed me.” Burt can hear the smile in Kurt’s voice, can look up from the sofa and see 16 year old Kurt floating through the door, ignoring Burt except for a faint call of “Can Blaine come over for dinner on Friday?”
“You like him?” Burt asks finally, but it barely sounds like a question.
“I do. That’s - is that....It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“There’s not much normal about any of this, kiddo. But if we work from a baseline of weird, this isn’t any weirder,” Burt laughs. “So what’s goin on?”
“I just - we - kissed some more, today.” (He is not going to use the term ‘making out’ with his father). “And I...(Want to keep doing it. Want to maybe do more. Have no idea what I’m doing).”
Burt exhales sharply. The hiss makes Kurt flinch.
“I shouldn’t have - this is awkw-- It’s no big deal,” Kurt finishes lamely. “I’m sorry I--”
“Kurt, stop. It’s alright,” Burt says firmly. “It might be awkward for you, but I’ve (walked in on you. Multiple times) done this before.” He laughs, just one barking sound. “Just wasn’t expecting to do it again.” This is the only time in his life that Burt will be anything even close to appreciative of Kurt’s memory loss, because he is so out of practice at this and he can recycle his words. “Now, I’m going to tell you what I told you the first time, because that seemed to work pretty well, and I want you to listen, yeah?”
“Ok,” Kurt says faintly, because even though he sort of asked for it, he’s still not ready to have this discussion.
‘Tender’ isn’t a word Kurt would think to apply to his dad, but it’s the only way to describe what he says, his voice as he says it. He talks about listening to your heart and not just getting caught up in it all; he tells Kurt he matters. Kurt stops him when he starts mumbling about “the mechanics” and “pamphlets,” tells him that he can take care of that part on his own.
“And Kurt,” Burt says before Kurt can put an end to this awkward-but-not-as-bad-as-he-expected conversation.
“Yeah?”
“I know it’s, uh, that it feels, new. And exciting. And that it isn’t...new...to Blaine. But don’t - don’t use him, alright?”
“Dad?” Kurt asks, because he’s not quite sure what he means.
“Blaine matters, too. He loves you, he has for a long time, and I know everything is up in the air and you must both be confused as all get out, but don’t...he almost lost you. This affects him as much as it affects you.”
Kurt understands, then. He hasn’t thought of it like that, yet, too overwhelmed by the prospect of someone (someone like Blaine) even being into him to consider Blaine’s feelings, and a wave of shame hits him.
“Kurt, it’s ok,” Burt says after too long a moment of silence. “You’re not doing anything wrong. Just don’t - play with his head, or whatever. You’ve got good instincts. Just trust them.”
“Got it,” Kurt breathes. “Dad...thanks. For - just, thank you.”
“Anytime, pal. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” The front door opens just as Kurt says it, and Blaine stumbles in, a bit disheveled but smiling brightly as he tries to blow an unruly curl off his forehead.
“I bought apples,” he announces, and Kurt looks from the pile of apples in his arms down to where one of the bags has clearly ripped. “They went...everywhere. But I rescued them! Wait, who do you love?”
(You, maybe, someday) Kurt shakes his head to clear the thought before it can make him too nervous. He cocks his head in question and Blaine gestures toward the phone in his hand, dropping an apple in the process and kicking it into the kitchen with a shrug that almost upsets the rest of the pile.
“Oh! Oh, my dad,” Kurt says, tossing the phone onto the couch. “Just...catching up. What’s the dinner plan?” He pulls himself up and takes a tentative step without the crutches. There’s no pain, so he continues without them, following Blaine into the kitchen just in time to watch him unceremoniously heave the apples into the fruit bowl before taking a large bite out of one, wiping the juice from his chin with a sheepish grin.
Definitely, someday.
-----
Blaine is technically off of work for the summer, and so he hasn’t had to be there, but he needs to listen to the incoming freshmen audition tapes so he can place them in the proper choirs, get a vague idea of what he’s working with for the coming year’s orchestra. There are only three faculty members between music and drama and his colleagues have been phenomenally supportive over the past two months; he needs to start pulling his weight. And now that he’s convinced Kurt’s really alive, that he’ll still be there when Blaine goes home, he feels ok leaving for the day. To be honest, he thinks they both need some alone time after their first week in the apartment together.
So he makes a list of important addresses - his school, Kurt’s office, Rachel’s apartment, their apartment - and puts them into Kurt’s phone, leaves him the hard copy. He runs to the ATM to make sure Kurt has cash for cabs (I know you want to go on the subway but just, please, wait til you’re off your crutches. Trust me) and, with Kurt’s assurance that he’ll be fine and won’t hesitate to call if he needs anything, Blaine goes back to work on Monday.
Kurt spends the day at his drafting table looking through his sketchbooks. Blaine pulled down a large box of his portfolios, of older sketches dating all the way back to high school, and Kurt looks through it all, starts at the beginning and watches himself evolve. He recognizes a dress as the completed product of an idea that’s been floating around in his mind recently (well, not recently) and his heart leaps into his throat; it’s the first time he’s seen any connection between who he was and who he is, something so small but he doesn’t care, it proves he doesn’t just drop off the face of the planet for 13 years. He sets it aside to show Blaine.
On Wednesday he surprises Rachel, shows up at her door and briefly panics when she throws herself at him, only barely stopping herself from knocking him over. Her apologies are no less genuine through her squealing, and it’s kind of endearing, how she always seems so excited to see him. She immediately marches him back into the elevator, claiming he owes her “Sooo many lunch dates” and before his mind has really caught up, they’re being fawned over by the waitstaff at some trendy little boutique restaurant where all of the food is artfully arranged into very tall, very difficult to eat towers.
“Sorry,” Rachel says, blushing a little, as the waiter leaves. “I’m a little bit recognizable, I guess.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Kurt scoffs, and rolls his eyes at Rachel’s shocked expression. “I Googled you. I’m sorry you, uh...missed so many shows. When everything happened.”
It’s good to keep the understudy on her toes,” Rachel shrugs. “I was where I needed to be. You and Blaine are my family.” Kurt smiles at that; he’s heard stories from Blaine, from Rachel herself, even, knows that there was a time when nothing could’ve kept her from the stage, that even now few things can. He likes being one of those things.
“How are things with Blaine?” she asks, a knowing lilt to her voice.
“I - we - I don’t,” Kurt starts, dropping his cheek onto his palm. Because things just kind of...aren’t.
He hasn’t kissed Blaine again, not since Monday morning when Blaine had been running from one end of the apartment to the other, trying to gather his things because he doesn’t seem to comprehend the concept of dropping his keys into the bowl by the door when he gets home or leaving his phone on the nightstand at night or putting his shoes away, ever, and Kurt had been standing by the door. When Blaine had finally found everything and asked, again, “Are you sure?” he had said yes and leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of Blaine’s mouth like he’d done it every day for years, and Blaine’s face had lit up and Kurt had realized that he probably had done it every day for years. And he’d remembered everything his dad had said, and he’d known that he needed to think, away from Blaine, before he hurt both of them.
“Things are...complicated,” Kurt says finally, and then he starts to talk.
-----
Blaine’s pretty sure Kurt is freaking out.
He would be, he thinks, if he woke up in the future as his 14 year old self, and found out he was married. To Kurt. Well, first he would mentally high five himself for landing Kurt, and then he would freak out. And then Kurt would freak out, because 27 year old Kurt would think 14 year old Blaine was a mess. Hell, 27 year old Blaine thinks 14 year old Blaine is a mess. 14 year old Kurt is, however, shy and sweet and adorable and completely wonderful.
And very possibly freaking out.
He doesn’t want to bring up the kiss (and definitely not the making out), because it could be awkward. But he doesn’t want to actively not bring it up, because that’s just as awkward. So he’s trying to be casual. He’s not sure it’s working very well.
It’s Wednesday, and Kurt hasn’t kissed him, or given any indication he wants to be kissed, since Monday morning, when he very definitely froze after kissing Blaine, and Blaine doesn’t want to push, would never push like that. But he misses touching him, being touched, and since Sunday afternoon’s movie ruse, a small part of his brain is constantly buzzing, craving contact.
They still cuddle up in bed together, and it’s still amazing, but Blaine is very aware of his hips lately, because kissing Kurt seems to have opened up a floodgate and he keeps waking up painfully hard and doesn’t want to freak Kurt out. He’d tried calling first shower with the intent of taking care of it before Kurt woke up, but the second he’d wrapped his hand around his erection it had wilted; it feels...wrong, to jerk off to the thoughts of your amnesiac, psychologically virginal husband asking you to kiss him. Not that there’s a precedent for that, he figures. So instead, Blaine wakes up obscenely early, slips into his running shorts and sneakers and takes off down the street, running off his excess energy. He helps Kurt shower, they have breakfast, he goes to work, they have dinner, they listen to music or watch tv or just talk, they do not kiss goodnight, and the process repeats.
He can practically hear Kurt thinking when he’s home, wishes he could hear what he’s thinking, but settles for the generally disconcerting feeling of being appraised. It’s always been difficult to confront Kurt, to call him out when something is clearly wrong, even after all these years; before, Blaine could rely on the fact that Kurt would always come to him when he was ready to talk, but now? He has no idea. He can only hope that whatever Kurt’s sorting out, he’s not making it worse. So he talks about his students, and he listens to Kurt talk about his designs, and he smiles when their eyes meet and he sits just close enough on the sofa and he holds Kurt and lets himself be held at night.
And he tries to think loudly, to remind Kurt on some unconscious level, somewhere maybe Kurt remembers him: I’m right here. I’m staying right here.
-----
Kurt leans against the back of the door when Rachel leaves; she’d been helpful, even through the giggling, and Kurt at least knows what he wants, now. He gets the feeling that he and Rachel are a lot more alike than he can really comprehend, but given that she had joyfully stolen a cab from an elderly man with a call of “My friend needs it more,” and a wave of a baguette, he doesn’t want to go down that road right now.
But he knows, now. He can’t really put a name on what he’s feeling toward Blaine; it’s not a crush, but he’s not naive enough to call it love already. It’s a pull, and it’s a little terrifying, and bless Rachel for not laughing when he wondered aloud if maybe part of him remembers and responds to Blaine even if he doesn’t consciously realize it. Instead she’d gotten a little misty, waxed philosophic on soul mates over tiramisu, and told Kurt to close his eyes.
“If you just met him now, no history, would you like him?” she’d asked.
“Of course. He’s...He’s Blaine, how could I not?” She’d smiled then, and hesitated before continuing.
“And if you...if you never remember. Would you consider staying with him? Starting over?”
“I...yes,” he’d smiled, opening his eyes to see Rachel’s expression mirroring his. “Yes. If...if he wanted to. If we could figure it out. Yes.”
“Then I think you’ve got your answer. Now what are you going to do about it?”
So they’d gone to the market down the street from the restaurant, gathered everything necessary, stolen that old man’s cab, and she’d helped him unload everything into the kitchen before smacking his ass and disappearing with a wink and a mumbled, “Maybe I should return the box,” which Kurt doesn’t understand but is trying not to think about.
He knows what he wants, and he thinks he knows what Blaine wants; has allowed Rachel to assure him that Blaine is most definitely attracted to him and will, from what Kurt has told her and what she knows about Blaine, be happy to thoroughly ravish him once Kurt fires the starting pistol.
His trigger finger is getting itchy.
Kurt texts Blaine to ask what time he’ll be home and starts prepping the parts of dinner that can be done ahead of time. Puts candles in the candleholders, flowers in a vase, washes his face and fluffs his hair, changes into the shirt that Rachel pointed out as Blaine’s favorite.
Operation: Relaunch is on. (Rachel named it. Kurt was too tired to argue. He has the feeling that happens a lot.)
He’s just draining the pasta when the front door opens and he hears Blaine call out for him, confused by the mostly darkened apartment.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Kurt calls back. “Go wash up.” He’s just finished lighting the candles in the center of the small table when Blaine appears; his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and Kurt’s mouth goes a little dry as his eyes zero in on muscled forearms. He swallows, tries to focus; this isn’t going to work if he’s so obvious.
“What’s all this for?” Blaine asks, his eyes widening a little.
Kurt shrugs, gesturing for Blaine to sit. “I just...wanted to do something nice. To thank you for...everything. And to celebrate being able to carry things while moving.” He laughs loudly, once, before catching himself and schooling his expression into something more serious (there’s nothing sexy about cackling like a hyena). He sets the salad bowl on the table, following with the plates and a bottle of sparkling cider.
“Heirloom tomato salad and butternut squash ravioli. It’s nothing fancy...”
“It’s amazing, Kurt,” Blaine smiles. “Thank you.”
They talk through dinner, like they always do, except Kurt has seated himself adjacent to Blaine, closer than his normal place across the table. He listens as Blaine talks about options for the school’s fall musical and debates him on the merits of genderswapping roles; it’s easy to get caught up in this, just talking about anything and everything that comes to mind, that Kurt forgets for a moment that he has a plan.
He waits until Blaine is distracted by his plate and sneaks a glance under the table - he doesn’t want to go in completely blind. Blaine is saying something around a mouthful of tomato when he chances it, slides his socked foot forward (he feels stupid wearing one shoe when he’s in the apartment, and doesn’t want all of his shoes to be unevenly worn, anyway) and brushes his toes against what he is hoping is Blaine’s ankle. Blaine stutters over a word but keeps talking, so he flexes his toes again, catches the hem of Blaine’s pants and slides his foot underneath. He can’t actually feel skin, not through his sock, but just knowing it’s there sends a little thrill through him.
“You alright?” Blaine asks, eyes carefully neutral.
“Great,” Kurt smiles, pitches his voice lower and tries to to grimace when it comes out far, far too low, lower than he even knew was a possibility.
Blaine chokes a little on his drink and looks at Kurt, a bemused smile on his face as he raises an eyebrow, but Kurt just smiles and Blaine seems to decide to let it go. He doesn’t move his leg away, so Kurt puts a check on his mental scorecard. (Initiate Contact. Done.)
He thinks he maybe should’ve quit while he was ahead as he considers his plate. Draw attention to your mouth seems slightly less appealing when your options are ravioli and tomatoes. (The bread is immediately disqualified; too much gnawing required). He could’ve chosen sexier food, he supposes. But he knew how to make this without too much thought, and he wasn’t sure he had the brainpower to try something new when he was all nerves.
He inwardly curses the tomatoes, chosen specifically for their ripeness but now taunting him with the plethora of seeds and juices just waiting to end up on his face, his clothes, the second he tries to nonchalantly pop one in his mouth. The ravioli are a better bet, but too big, so he cuts one into small pieces, waits until he’s sure Blaine’s attention is on him as he brings the fork to his mouth so purposely slowly that Blaine can’t help but watch...
And misses his mouth. He’s just barely off center, just enough to nudge the corner of his mouth instead (and he can feel the sage butter sauce soaking into his skin on contact), just enough to upset the ravioli so the filling slides out, right onto his shirt. He curses, under his breath, jumps in surprise, sends his fork clattering to the floor (not before the pasta on it makes contact with the fabric of his shorts, great, butter is so easy to get out of clothing). He grabs for his napkin, wrist bumping into his glass and upsetting it.
“Perfect, just perfect,” he’s muttering an almost unceasing string of incomprehensible profanities and only looks up when a glass of something fizzy enters his field of vision.
“Club soda,” Blaine says simply, that confused smile still playing at the corners of his mouth, sitting right behind his eyes. “So it doesn’t stain.” Kurt smiles gratefully, dabs at the marks for a minute before tossing his napkin onto the table and sitting back with a huff.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Blaine asks. “You seem...anxious.”
“I’m great,” Kurt mutters. “Nothing’s sexier than lack of depth perception and motor skills.”
“What was that? C’mon, talk to me.” He reaches across the table and Kurt pulls his hand away before Blaine can grab it. He’s about to brush it off, to say nothing’s wrong and curl up with a magazine and just hope that Blaine drops it, but Blaine looks so crestfallen when he avoids his touch that Kurt stops. He doesn’t like that look on Blaine’s face, hates being the one to put it there; it stirs something in his chest, like that first night they’d shared the bed and he’d been overcome by the need to protect him. He sighs heavily and stands up; there’s too much energy in him, he can feel it coursing through his veins, some intangible need for something, and if he’s going to talk about this, he at least wants to be moving, can’t be pinned under the weight of Blaine’s eyes.
“I had this big plan,” he sighs, starting to unfasten the top button of his shirt; it won’t serve its intended purpose, but he can at least get it in the washing machine so it’s not ruined forever. He paces a little before continuing, still looking at his hands as they work rather than at Blaine.
“I - I know I’m not me. I mean, I am, me, but I’m not the me I’m supposed to be. But you’re the you you’re supposed to be and I - like that person. You, I mean. And I know that you miss me, well, me but I just - want - you, a lot, really, and it’s kind of terrifying, and I thought that if I,” he pauses, lets his shirt slide down his arms and catches it on the tips of his fingers just for something to do while he steels himself to admit the next part. “That if I could - be mature, and sexy, or whatever, that you would want me, too, and not just me.” He shivers a little, from the admission or the fact that he’s standing in only a t-shirt now, he’s not sure. He still hasn’t looked at Blaine.
“Now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself I’m just going to,” he waves toward the laundry room. “Get this pre-treated and in the washer and then can we please forget that I--” he stops when a warm hand closes around his bicep, turning him gently but insistently around.
“Kurt,” Blaine breathes. “Kurt, look at me.” He does, and Blaine exhales in relief; he needs to see Kurt’s eyes right now, needs to make sure he hears everything. Wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to try to be anything; he just is, always has been everything. “How can you-- Do you really-- Of course I -” Of course, now that he has Kurt’s attention, everything he wants to say jumbles in his head and races to get out first, makes him sputter nonsense.
Instead he does what he’s done every other time he can’t figure out what to say, hoping Kurt will somehow still understand; he surges forward, crashing their lips together. He swallows the noise of surprise Kurt makes, taking advantage of his open mouth to slide his tongue inside and using the grip he still has on his arm to keep him close, pull him closer. Kurt takes the hint, wraps a tentative arm around his waist and squeezes and suddenly everything around him is Kurt Kurt KurtKurtKurt and it’s perfect.
He pulls back, reluctantly, smiles a little at Kurt’s noise of protest and buries his face in Kurt’s neck and just breathes, deep shuddering breaths that force their way in and out. He wraps his free arm around Kurt’s waist, pulls him somehow closer.
“Is that why - the past few days?” he pants into Kurt’s skin.
“Didn’t want to take advantage if I wasn’t - if I didn’t know,” Kurt answers quietly, still clutching his shirt between them. Blaine runs his thumb along the curve of Kurt’s bicep, kisses the pulse pounding beneath his lips and smiles a bit when Kurt shivers at the touch.
“And now?”
“I know.” Kurt doesn’t say what he knows, exactly, but he doesn’t need to, not right now. His voice is quiet but sure and Blaine knows the tone, can hear the lack of fear that hasn’t been there before. He presses his lips to Kurt’s neck again, harder this time, opens his mouth a little against the skin. He feels something rumble in Kurt’s chest, get swallowed down before it can escape.
“Couch,” Kurt gasps, pushing at Blaine’s shoulder until he moves; he considers just picking Kurt up so he doesn’t hurt his leg, but settles on walking backward slowly, still not lifting his head from Kurt’s neck. He finally breaks contact when the backs of his knees hit the cushions, sitting down and reaching up to pull Kurt down next to him. Kurt resists, though, biting his lip, and Blaine’s about to ask if he’s sure, suggest they cool off, when Kurt nods to himself, drops his good knee to the sofa and shuffles until he’s straddling Blaine’s legs. This time it’s Kurt’s mouth descending on his, Kurt’s tongue insistent at his lips, past them, licking at the roof of his mouth and making his eyes roll back in his head as he wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist.
It’s messy, their teeth keep clacking together and Blaine can feel a trail of saliva across his chin but he doesn’t care, it’s perfect, it’s like those first few weeks when they were dating and couldn’t get enough of each other, except he doesn’t have to keep one ear trained on the front door, waiting for the jingling of keys that would signal the end of their fun; no one is going to interrupt them.
Kurt chooses that moment to shuffle forward, moving closer until he’s pressed right up against where Blaine is very clearly very hard. And, oh.
Kurt is too.
They both break away at the contact, Blaine unable to bite back a moan and Kurt throwing his head back with a breathless gasp. Blaine takes advantage of the move, dragging his teeth over Kurt’s adam’s apple before sucking hard at the soft spot just under his chin. Kurt moans loudly, the first unrestrained sound Blaine’s heard, and his hips buck at it. He mutters apologies as he starts across Kurt’s neck in a trail of loud, sucking kisses but Kurt just digs his fingers into Blaine’s shoulders and tilts his head to the side to give him better access.
Blaine moves slowly, content to absorb each gasp and whine that seems to be escaping Kurt without his permission, and when he nips at the spot where his neck meets his jaw before closing his lips around it, he feels Kurt shifting restlessly above him. There’s no finesse, no rhythm to it, just aimless, aborted rolls of his hips like he doesn’t know what he’s trying to do.
A new wave of heat crashes over Blaine as he realizes that Kurt doesn’t actually know what he’s doing, or at least doesn’t know how to do it properly. He pulls away from his neck, taking a second to admire the rapidly darkening spot before trailing his lips up to his ear.
“Still alright?” he asks. Kurt nods quickly, whimpering when Blaine’s hands slide around to still his hips. “No, no, don’t st- please, Blaine, don’t, don’t stop.” He shaking the way he does when he’s close, tremors so small they’re almost imperceptible unless you know what to look for.
“Shh, shh,” Blaine soothes, kissing the spot right behind his ear as he uses his grip to pull Kurt’s hips down to his. “Like this,” he says, repeating the motion, lifting his own to meet Kurt’s this time. Kurt groans as they finally slot together properly and Blaine bucks again, throwing them off for a second but not caring. Blaine slips his hands into Kurt’s back pockets and kneads the muscles of his ass, just holds on and rides it out as Kurt catches the rhythm, moving in smooth rolls of his hips.
It isn’t long before he loses the rhythm again, visibly vibrating as his hips jerk erratically. “B-Bl-Blaiii--” Kurt’s stuttering, voice nothing more than breath and so overwhelmed.
“It’s ok,” Blaine whispers into his ear. “You’re ok, I’ve got you.” He pulls back then and kisses Kurt hard, panting into his mouth and using the hold on his ass to press him down as he pushes up hard. Kurt tears his mouth away as he comes, one high, shaky sound tearing out of his throat as his eyelids flutter. Blaine keeps him pressed close, thrusts against him once, twice more before he lets go, vision whiting out and nothing but Kurt’s labored breaths in his ears.
When Blaine comes back down, Kurt is slumped against him, forehead pressed to his collarbone, still taking heaving breaths. He slides his hands up, rubbing up and down his spine in broad strokes as he turns his head a little to kiss Kurt’s temple.
“You with me?” he whispers, brushing his lips back and forth along his hairline. Kurt nods against his chest, taking one impossibly deep breath before he sits up and looks down at Blaine, shifts a little in a way that makes them both hiss with oversensitivity.
“Was that - “ he starts, but Blaine pulls him forward into a soft kiss, just a short, sweet press of lips, before wrapping his arms around him and hugging him hard, holding on as he nuzzles their cheeks together.
“Beautiful,” Blaine murmurs into his ear. “You’re so beautiful.”
They’re quiet for a while, just holding onto each other as Blaine continues to run his hands down Kurt’s spine, giggling quietly when he arches into the touch like a cat. After a while, Kurt finally glances down, then back up at Blaine, scrunching his face.
“We need to clean up,” he sighs, and Blaine flops dramatically against the back of the sofa, laughing when Kurt pokes at his stomach with a stern look on his face. “Come on. Up.”
“I suppooooose,” he drawls, but when Kurt stands up, he falls to the side, face buried in the cushions. “Can’t move. Leave me here.”
“Hm. Too bad,” Kurt shrugs. “I was going to suggest we go to bed and let you choose your cuddles. Have fun on the couch, though.” Blaine pops up as Kurt heads toward the bedroom to retrieve his pajamas.
“I’m up!” he calls, scrambling to his feet and tripping a little as he jogs down the hall. “Talk more about cuddles.”
“Too late,” Kurt shrugs, sticking his tongue out as they pass in the hallway. Blaine widens his eyes and sticks his lower lip out, and Kurt rolls his eyes and ducks forward to kiss his pout. “Fine. But it’s my choice of cuddles.”
Kurt’s already in bed when Blaine emerges from the bathroom, one arm folded behind his head and looking loose and sleepy and heartbreakingly perfect. He pads over to his side of the bed, looking at Kurt expectantly when he sits down, waiting. Kurt rolls his eyes again, huffs out a put upon sigh as he turns onto his side, holding his arms open.
“Yay,” Blaine says quietly, turning his back to Kurt and scooting back into his arms, immediately linking their fingers on his stomach. “This is what I was going to pick.” Kurt hums acknowledgement into his hair, and Blaine feels his smile.
“I know.”
Part 6