Fic: Fidelity - Chapter 5
Chapter summary: Sometimes Kurt feels like fending Sebastian off of Lima’s gullible gay teens is becoming a full-time job. Blaine really likes Pride & Prejudice, and Dave turns out to be a little more interested in it than the average kid who was forced to read it in high school. Kurt and Blaine discuss hair gel, and then they have sex because they just seem to keep doing that, don’t they? ~7,900 words
Notes: If you aren’t familiar with the plot of Pride and Prejudice, I wrote a handy, short summary of relevant points here. Thanks to all my betas, and particularly to nachochang for for a hair gel-related moment of snark.
Pairings in this chapter: Kurt/Blaine; Dave/Sebastian, kind of
Rating: NC-17
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Chapter 5
Two visits to Scandals after the Michigan-Ohio State game, Kurt and Blaine walk in to find Dave sitting at a small round table next to Sebastian. There are three empty beer bottles on the table and a partially finished one in Dave’s hand - Kurt's not sure if that's enough to make Dave qualify as drunk if he's the one who drank them all, but it would certainly qualify Kurt as drunk if he had - and Sebastian is leaning into Dave, his hand on his thigh. Kurt's seen the panoply of Dave’s miserable expressions and a few of his happier ones, but he’s never seen this particular one: blushing and coy, resisting and not resisting at the same time.
"Oh, look," Kurt says, gripping Blaine's hand more tightly. "Sebastian, you've met our friend Dave."
Sebastian throws an arm around Dave's shoulder, and the look on Dave's face goes from flattered to confused. "Dave and I have a long and intimate acquaintance. You all know each other?"
"I went to McKinley with Kurt," Dave mumbles under his breath.
"Interesting." A smirk spreads across Sebastian's face. "The closeted football player and the flamboyant femme. So how did that work? I take it you two weren't public about your friendship. Was it all secret locker room trysts?"
Dave goes pale and drops his bottle to the table with a loud thwup. It totters precariously, but Sebastian catches it before it spills over. He leans back in his chair with smug self-satisfaction. “So there were secret locker room rendezvous!”
"That's not at all -" Blaine starts, but he doesn't get anything else out because Kurt reaches across the table with his free hand, grabbing Dave's forearm and pulling him up out of the chair.
"Come on, Dave, we're gonna play pool," Kurt says with quiet authority. There is no resistance - it's like picking up a sleeping chihuahua.
Kurt hooks his wrist around Dave's elbow and doesn't let go of either Dave or Blaine until they're on the opposite side of the pool table from where Sebastian still sits, eyebrow crooked in disbelief.
Kurt's hands start shaking. He stuffs them into his pockets.
"I didn't know you guys knew Sebastian," Dave says.
Kurt and Blaine speak at the same time. "He goes to Dalton," says Blaine.
"He's been stalking Blaine," says Kurt.
Blaine scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know if I'd call it stalking. I mean, he hasn't shown up at my house or anything."
"He makes you uncomfortable, Blaine." Kurt says, his throat tightening.
Blaine shrugs, picks up the 6-ball from the triangle in the center and rolls it across the table. "Well, yeah."
Kurt doesn't want to get into this in front of Dave. Or at all. "Why don't you guys go get us some drinks, and I'll set up the balls, okay?" They leave for the bar and Kurt bends over the table to get the game ready.
Not a minute passes before he feels a pinch on his ass and turns to find Sebastian leering at him.
"I thought I smelled a rat," Kurt says.
"I’d rather be a rodent than a fruit." Sebastian pulls the 2-ball out of the rack and starts tossing and catching it with one hand.
"Fruit tastes better." Kurt snatches the ball mid-air and replaces it in the rack.
“Eaten much rat?” Sebastian smirks and juts his hips forward. The implications aren’t very subtle.
Kurt lets out an unimpressed sigh. “Never have and never will.”
Sebastian leans in close enough that Kurt can smell his aftershave. “Never? Many cultures consider it quite the delicacy. Lean, tender, savory - everything you could want in a piece of meat.”
“Okay, I’m not sure if this is still an innuendo, or if you’re actually trying to sell me on the idea of eating rat meat.”
Sebastian doesn’t come back with a retort. He looks over toward the bar and fixes his gaze on Blaine and Dave. "I don't know why you picture yourself as such a playboy when you don't even look like a boy.”
“And yet again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sebastian gives a mocking pout. “Trying to keep the hotties from me, Kurt - it’s not very benevolent. You can’t have them all to yourself."
"Hmmm," Kurt says, cocking his head and stretching his mouth into a wide, condescending smile. "And you can't have any of them."
"Play by the rules," Sebastian says. "Pool's a 2-player game."
"I assume you're trying to make another innuendo with that, but it's misplaced," Kurt says. "Not everything is about sex. Some people have this thing called friendship. You should try it sometime." He nods his head toward Dave and Blaine. “They’re not your jizz socks, you know.”
"Oh, but I’d like them to be," Sebastian says. "'Friendship' and 'romance' are just nice ways of saying 'inconvenient emotional entanglement.' I like to focus my energy on things like, oh, humiliating the competition at regionals. Well, on humiliating people in general."
Kurt looks away from Sebastian to focus on lining the rack up on the table. "If you show up to regionals with that hair, the only person you're going to humiliate is yourself."
Sebastian guffaws loudly behind him. "Really? That's the best you can come up with? I thought your repartee was a bit more refined than that."
Kurt looks at Sebastian with withering disdain. "It is, but I’m tired of wasting it on you. Now go find a manther and prey on each other. Oh look, there's one." Sebastian's head turns to where Kurt's pointing toward a tall, 40-ish man with toffee-colored skin and prematurely salt-and-pepper hair who makes Kurt think of a skinny version of The Rock.
"Not a bad pick," Sebastian says approvingly, straightening up and taking one step toward the man before stopping to glare back at Kurt. "But don't think I'm done with you and your pretties just because I'm easily distracted by biceps." He makes a beeline toward his new intended victim; Kurt has a slight pang of guilt before reminding himself that if a 40-year-old can't defend himself against Sebastian, he deserves what’s coming to him.
*
Dave returns to the pool table with a beer and a bottle of water that he sets down on the nearby tall table. He holds out something that looks like pink lemonade in a martini glass to Kurt.
Kurt lifts his hand to take it, but stops. "Virgin?"
Dave's face turns bright red. "Sorry?"
"The drink. Is it -?" Kurt can feel his own face starting to redden now.
"Oh, yeah. It's like, cranberry juice and Sprite. Blaine ordered it."
"Thanks." As Kurt reaches to take the glass from Dave by the stem, Dave's fingers crawl slowly up the flute away from Kurt's hand, like he's actively avoiding contact. "Where's Blaine, anyway?"
"Oh, he's talking to Tom." Kurt takes a swallow of his drink and follows Dave's gesture to see Blaine at the bar, talking to an older guy Kurt vaguely remembers meeting on game day. "Don't worry. He's harmless." Dave gestures to the dowdy, orange-mustached guy who has one hand on the small of Tom’s back. "That's his husband, and they're not into threesomes."
Kurt nearly spits his drink all over the pool table, but he catches it just in time, clamping down his lips and swallowing, a bit of the carbonation rising up into his nose. He lets out a tearful, choked cough.
"You okay?" Dave holds out a napkin.
Kurt takes it and wipes his mouth. "Just … went down the wrong way."
"Anyway, they got started talking about Real Housewives of New Jersey and I was a little lost, so I left them to it."
"You don't watch Real Housewives?"
Dave arches his eyebrows. "Do I look like I watch Real Housewives?"
"I thought you didn't like me making assumptions about you based on your looks. I've made mistakes that way before."
Dave looks down at the floor and shrugs. "Okay, no, I don't watch Real Housewives."
"You should give it a chance."
Dave grabs the bottle of water from the table and twists off the cap. "So I can be a better gay?"
Kurt blushes, because that was, in fact, what he was thinking. "Okay, maybe not. I just watch it to judge everybody on it, anyway."
They sip their drinks in slightly uncomfortable silence. So this is what it's like to be on equal footing with David Karofsky. Kurt gets to be called out on his shit.
Dave walks over to the wall and grabs two cues. He holds one out to Kurt. "I meant to say thank you for earlier," Dave says. "I don't really like Sebastian."
Kurt takes the cue. "Neither do I."
"But I get confused around him." Dave rubs the block of chalk against his cue tip.
"He seems to have that effect on people."
"I just - it's nice to get the attention. But I never feel good about it afterward."
"You're not - You two aren't … an item, are you?"
Dave snorts. "Sebastian's not an item with anybody."
"Yeah." Kurt takes the block of chalk from Dave. "You know what I mean, though. Not that it's any of my business."
"We're not - not really." Dave shrugs. "No."
Kurt could ask more questions, but he doesn't. It really isn't his business. So instead, he says, "You're worth more than that, you know."
The surprise on Dave's face is heart-twisting.
Dave shakes his head. "I don't think I'd go that far. You know, given my history with locker room rendez-” He blinks and swallows. “Locker room assaults. I’m not sure how doing that kind of thing puts me on the cosmic list of people who deserve happiness."
Kurt frowns. “It doesn’t,” he says. “But maybe some of the stuff you’ve done since then does.”
Dave looks down at his hands. “I don’t know. It seems to me that something that bad kind of cancels everything else out.”
“Look, I’m not gonna stand here and say that what you did doesn’t matter. But what matters more to me is what you do now.” Kurt grabs a pool cue from the wall, rolls it between his palms. “I mean - honestly? When it first happened, I thought about it a lot, and I hated you. But - I don’t know. It just got exhausting to hold onto that.”
“You don’t think about it anymore?”
“Not really,” Kurt says truthfully. “I kind of stopped thinking about any of it when I stopped being scared of you last spring.”
“It hasn’t disappeared for me. Everything I did to you still eats at me.”
Kurt lifts the triangle from the table. “I know, David. I wish it wouldn’t.” He sights his cue the way that Blaine showed him the last time they were here and hits the white cue ball into the center of the rack. He has no idea what he's doing, but the sound of the balls smashing apart helps his heart untwist just a little.
*
Once the pool game starts, the rest of the evening goes a lot better. Blaine rejoins them and teams up with Kurt against Dave (who still beats them). They explain to Dave the beauty of Real Housewives, and Dave explains to them the beauty of Breaking Bad. Kurt keeps an eye out for Sebastian, but within 15 minutes of the game starting, he leaves with the manther.
It's easier to laugh then, and to breathe, and to discuss the finer points of Pride and Prejudice, which Blaine recently read for English and Dave and Kurt read last year. Blaine thinks Mr. Darcy was quite dreamy in his mercurial, aloof moods, but that Wickham was a little more accessible with his flirtatious, easy demeanor, so he sympathized with Elizabeth Bennett's trouble choosing between the two.
"Even after you found out that Wickham is a player?" Dave says, pocketing the 9-ball.
"It took me a while to get over that. But I was glad that it meant that Elizabeth ended up with Mr. Darcy. I had a bigger crush on him than Mr. Wickham. Mr. Darcy is … noble." Blaine's eyes glaze a little on the last word, so it's no surprise that when he aims the white cue ball at the 6, it misses its object completely.
"I felt bad when Lydia married Wickham, though," Dave says. "Even if she was awful, she didn't deserve to have to spend the rest of her life with Wickham. He's going to cheat on her all the time." He sinks the 12.
"You're right, Dave," Kurt says as Blaine helps him line up. "Anyone deserves better than Wickham." Kurt gives Dave a meaningful look before taking his shot. Dave blushes and looks down at his hands.
"I think," Dave says after a moment, "this is the gayest conversation I've ever had."
*
"I love hanging out with Dave," Blaine says as they watch Dave drive away from the Scandals parking lot. He kicks his feet against the asphalt in a little tap dance.
"Me, too." Kurt offers Blaine his hand. "Care to join me for a promenade around the building?"
Blaine takes it. "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Darcy."
"I'm Mr. Darcy?"
"I'm young and reckless and foolish in the ways of love, and you’re older and noble and a patient teacher."
"I'm not sure whether to laugh or blush."
"Oh, you should blush. You're so handsome when you blush."
They start their stroll around the building. Kurt would like to walk farther - there's a park a few blocks away - but it's late at night and he wants to be able to hold Blaine's hand. So a walk around the gay bar it is.
"I'm sorry about getting testy with you earlier tonight," Kurt says.
"When?" Blaine says.
"About Sebastian."
Blaine shrugs. "He's not a good guy."
Kurt wants to agree. He wants to say he worries about Sebastian's influence on Blaine, that if Blaine hears often enough that he's just a sex object and a toy, he'll start to believe it, just like Blaine believes the things his parents say and don't say. But he doesn’t know how. So, instead, he says, "I guess you could call him a bit of a Wickham, maybe?"
"A bit sluttier than Wickham." Blaine looks at Kurt hesitantly. "Am I Elizabeth?"
"I don't know. Does Wickham charm you?"
"I - Mr. Wickham doesn't really care about anyone but himself. That makes some things a little easier for Elizabeth, I think."
Kurt nods for Blaine to continue.
"Mr. Wickham wants to play. But Mr. Darcy wants to love Elizabeth for who she is. I think Elizabeth knows that, even before he tells her. And I think - I think it frightens her, a little."
"Why?"
"Because - what if Mr. Darcy gets to know her better and finds out something he doesn't like? He might not love her anymore. There's not that risk with Wickham, since he never loved her in the first place."
Kurt’s heart rises into his throat and squeezes at his eyes. "But Mr. Darcy knows Elizabeth's character. He's never going to stop loving her. Even if there's little things he doesn't know about her yet - I don't think any of them could make him stop loving her."
"Well, I think that's what the story's about. Elizabeth coming to understand that."
Kurt stops and turns to Blaine. "Do you understand that, Blaine?"
"Most of the time," he says. "I just - I get scared sometimes. Nobody's ever loved me the way you do. And I know you meant it when you said you were never going to say goodbye to me, I know. But there's still this voice in my head sometimes that tells me you don't really know me yet, and it's all going to go away."
"Oh, sweetheart." Kurt’s eyes feel that squeeze again. He wants to ask whose voice it is - Blaine's mother's, or his father's, or Blaine's own. He doesn't. "I wish there was something I could do."
"You do everything already." Blaine kisses Kurt’s cheek. "Just … be patient with me?"
Kurt sniffles. "As long as I can keep defending your honor from that weaselly Mr. Wickham."
A small smile opens on Blaine's face. He squeezes Kurt's hand. "I rather like it when you do that, Mr. Darcy."
* * *
The next Thursday, when Dave comes over to Blaine's, the door opens before he even knocks. Kurt's looking at him, a conspiratorial look on his face, and Clementi's Sonatina in C Major, Op.36, No.3 is pouring out of the front room and onto the porch.
"Hey, Dave." Kurt waves him in, whispering. "I've been watching out the front window for you. Blaine's practicing piano in front of me for once. Be really, really quiet or he'll get up to say hi to you and I won't hear him play again for another couple weeks. Not the classical stuff, anyway."
Kurt and Clementi are both shocks, and it feels like a minute passes before Dave can speak, but Kurt doesn't give him any weird looks, so maybe it's not that long. "Hey," Dave says, finally, hanging his coat on a hook near the door. "I didn't know you'd be here."
Kurt shrugs. "My dad gave me the afternoon off from the shop.”
Dave follows Kurt to the entrance of the front room and tries to ignore the way his heart is going pitter-patter. They stand at opposite sides of the doorframe, listening to Blaine play. The song is almost over - Dave remembers from playing it back in middle school - but he closes his eyes and tries to get just as lost in it as if he had the full eight minutes of it to enjoy.
Blaine's not bad - a little bangy on some of the eighth notes and a little rushed on the sixteenths - but overall the song sounds clean and spritely, as it should. All Blaine really needs is a metronome and a lighter touch.
Kurt raises a finger to his lips when Blaine plays the closing notes, and Dave stands perfectly still, trying not to breathe. "I know you guys are standing there," Blaine says, not turning his head. "I heard Dave come in."
"Well, it was nice of you to keep playing." Kurt walks over to the piano bench and hugs Blaine from behind, laying a kiss at the back of his ear.
"But now I need to go find the music in Euclidian geometry." Blaine pulls the cover over the keys and stands to give Dave a greeting punch on the shoulder.
Dave nods at Blaine. "I didn't know you played. I thought the piano was just for decoration."
"Yeah." Blaine shrugs. "On and off since I was eight. I don't practice as much as I should - to be really good, I mean. Just enough to have fun with it, and for my piano teacher not to kill me. It annoys her that I want to play pop songs most of the time."
Dave thinks of telling Blaine that he used to play, too, but then they might ask him to play for them now. Even though it's a Steinway and tempting - it's complicated. He's not ready to touch a piano again yet, especially not when people are paying attention. He doesn't even know if his hands would be able to find the notes anymore.
*
In the kitchen, Kurt sits at the table mouthing his French homework silently to himself while Dave helps Blaine with his geometry at the bar. Blaine's doing a little better than he has been the past few times; he doesn't slam his book shut in frustration, and he even says, "Oh!" a couple times like a lightbulb has gone off in his head.
When Blaine becomes confident enough to work on his own, Dave goes to the refrigerator to get another Mountain Dew. Kurt catches his eye. (Well, okay, Kurt would catch his eye under pretty much any circumstance. Dave's felt Kurt there on the edge of his vision the whole time he's been working with Blaine, trying not to glance up every five seconds to catch that look of intense concentration that Kurt gets on his face when he's reading, because sometimes he sticks out his tongue just the slightest bit and - Yeah. It’s over-the-top sexy.)
But this time, Kurt is trying to catch his eye. He waggles a finger at Dave in a "come here" gesture, and when Dave walks over to the round table and pulls out a chair opposite Kurt, Kurt shakes his head and pats the chair next to him.
So Dave sits next to Kurt and gives a silent prayer of thanks that he thought to put deodorant on again after school today, because his apocrine glands have just churned into overdrive.
"He's right," Kurt says in a hushed undertone, nodding toward Blaine. "You do make math kind of poetic. I've just tried to help him memorize everything, but you make it make sense."
Dave shrugs and tries not to blush. Of course, he fails. He's a pink sweaty mess right now. He's hopeless. "No, it makes sense on its own. Teachers just don't explain it very well sometimes. But I think it's funny that when something makes sense, you guys call it poetic. Poetry doesn't usually make much sense to me."
"Jane Austen makes sense to you."
"Well, I watched the movie, too. That helped." Oh, god, he is making such a fool of himself.
"Looking at Matthew Macfadyen for two hours never hurt anyone." Kurt smiles, or smirks - Dave can't quite tell. "But Blaine says the mini-series is better. I haven't seen it."
"Oh, you should. Colin Firth is …" Shit.
Kurt starts laughing - whether at Dave or with him, Dave's not sure. Still, Kurt's beautiful when he does it. His irises become the same piercing blue of the evening Arizona sky that Dave loved when he was little, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up in little ridges like the sand on the desert floor gathering and shifting in the wind.
"I read the book, too,” Dave says in meek defense. “The movies just … helped."
Kurt reaches across the space between them and lays his hand on the exposed skin of Dave's forearm. The hairs there stand on end. "I'm not laughing at you," Kurt says, and just as quickly the hand is gone, folded back in Kurt's lap. "I'm laughing at myself."
"What for?"
Kurt shrugs and shakes his head until his laughter subsides. "I just … I made a lot of wrong assumptions about you. That's all."
Dave looks down at his own hands. "I kind of wanted people to."
Kurt's smile grows smaller, his eyes dim. "That's okay," he says. "I don't let everyone know everything about me, either. Sometimes you have to hide a few things to stay safe. There's nothing wrong with that."
A pressure starts to build in Dave's eyebrows, the way it does when he wants to cry or smile or say something important, but can't. He clears his throat. "So, tell me a poem that makes sense," Dave says. "Other than Shel Silverstein or Dr. Seuss."
Kurt laughs again. Dave did something right. "Because the meaning of ham-ikka-schnim-ikka-schnam-ikka-schnopp is so self-evident," Kurt says.
Dave finds himself laughing, too. "There are pictures in Dr. Seuss. They make everything self-evident."
"Okay. Well here's one that you don't need pictures for." Kurt pulls himself up ramrod straight in his chair and tips his head to the side. "We never know how high we are/Till we are called to rise;/And then, if we are true to plan/Our statures touch the skies." Kurt smiles. "Emily Dickinson."
"I understood that."
"Of course you did. It's in plain English, unlike most of Shakespeare. Or Dr. Seuss."
Dave shakes his head in disbelief. "I like that."
"I thought you would." Kurt smiles earnestly. "Because you will, you know. Touch the skies." He lays his hands on the table almost as if he's about to reach for Dave's, but he doesn't - just lets them lay there, curled loosely next to each other.
* * *
None of the outfits that Kurt tries on Friday morning are working. He's aiming for something festive and Christmasy, but not too Christmasy, and nothing he chooses is working right. He wants to wear his green button down, but a red bow tie with it would just be obvious and tacky, and yellow isn’t right, and anyway, he doesn’t really want to wear a tie at all because he wants to have the shirt unbuttoned all the way to his navel during glee practice so that by the time they’re let out, Blaine will be so hungry for it he might let Kurt jerk him off in the car.
(The early nightfall this time of year has the distinct advantage of affording teenage lovers the cover of darkness well before dinnertime.)
Kurt opens his handkerchief drawer, hoping to find something there to complete his outfit. He smiles when he spots the plaid kerchief folded neatly there since May, when Dave returned the wedding cake topper. Kurt hasn’t worn it once - it’s poly-blend, after all - but he likes seeing it among his other kerchiefs, a mundane reminder that the world isn’t always as hopeless as it looks, and that people can change. That Dave has changed.
He thinks of the way that Dave is starting to smile at him more often now, looking less fearful, and Kurt finds himself smiling, too. He pulls the kerchief out of its spot in the back of the drawer. The feel of the fabric can hardly be called exquisite, and the drape definitely leaves something to be desired, but the overlapping weave of green and red interspersed with gold is perfect for the season. Kurt folds the kerchief so that the Boy Scouts emblem doesn’t show and sticks it into the back pocket of his jeans, turning his ass toward the mirror to see how it looks.
Pretty perfect, if he may say so himself.
*
Kurt and Blaine keep going back to Scandals to hang out with Dave.
Kurt likes that Blaine is comfortable dancing with him here, closer than he does at New Directions parties and much closer than he did at prom.
He likes that he can hold hands with Blaine and no one will blink an eye, except for the occasional queen or hag who leans in to coo, "Young love," before continuing on her way.
Kurt hopes that New York will be like this for them - most of it, anyway. (They'll pretend that the religious neighborhoods don't even exist, or maybe they'll bicycle through them provocatively on a rainbow-painted tandem in tight shorts and shoulder-revealing shirts.) He knows it won't be paradise, but it will be so much better than living in Lima, and so much better than being a kid who's just waiting to grow up.
To his own surprise, Kurt has also come to like PDA - at least when he and Blaine are the ones doing it. Kurt tries not to let it get too out of hand, but it’s nice when Blaine gets handsy and kiss-hungry the way he is right now, planting his lips up Kurt’s neck and behind his ear as Kurt grows hard under the table. Kurt would totally let himself get lost in it if it weren’t for Dave sitting across from them, very politely looking away and sipping his Mountain Dew with the concentration of a connoisseur.
Kurt pulls away from Blaine reluctantly. “We have company,” he whispers.
Blaine nuzzles Kurt’s ear. “Dave doesn’t mind. Do you, Dave?”
Dave looks at Blaine and looks at Kurt and blushes and shrugs. “It’s not as bad as the straight people I see making out in the hallway at school every day.”
Blaine laughs and pinches Kurt’s thigh. “See? We should make porn. Everyone would want to watch it.”
Kurt covers his face with one hand and pushes Blaine's half-empty beer bottle across the table toward Dave. “Okay, Blaine. I think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight.”
“Um, that's my first one, but if you say so.” He smiles and bats his eyes and kisses Kurt on the cheek. “I’ll go get myself something nonalcoholic to ingest. Either of you want anything?”
Kurt wants to say Just you, but instead he asks for a glass of water.
Kurt sips his virgin crantini slowly as Blaine walks away. The ice in his glass is cold, but his face just keeps getting hotter and hotter now that he’s alone with Dave and truly cognizant of the fact that he was just making out in front of him with Blaine. “Well, this is awkward,” he finally says as he drains the last of his glass.
“It’s okay,” Dave says. “It’s sweet, actually.”
Kurt dares a glance up. Dave is blushing a little, his eyelashes fluttering downward the way they always do when he gets bashful. “Sweet and embarrassing,” Kurt mumbles under his breath.
“You guys are cute together. It’s … nice.” Dave shifts in chair. “I like that you guys are comfortable around me."
Kurt's blush swells again. "Maybe a little too comfortable?"
Dave shakes his head, his eyelashes continuing to flutter. "You’re lucky, you know?”
Kurt looks at Dave sitting alone across the table - no one to hold hands with; no one to look at him with wonder and awe; no one to tell him that he’s perfect, and all they’ve ever wanted. He remembers what it was like, before he found Blaine - how sometimes he felt he had so much love to give that his heart would burst with it, but it didn’t matter, because there was no one who would accept it; and how the pain of holding it inside was worse than the ache that would eventually befall him when he tried to give it to the wrong people, to straight boys like Sam and Finn. “You’re right,” he says. “I am lucky.”
Dave takes a swig from Blaine's beer bottle. “Tell me what it’s like to be in love.”
Kurt grabs the bottle and pulls it back toward himself. “Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink, too.”
Dave laughs. “That was my first sip all night! C'mon. Tell me. I want to know. I’ve never - Well. You know.”
“I don’t think it’s something I can tell you.”
“Fair enough.” Dave takes another sip of beer. “I just think … it must be nice to know somebody that well, and for them to know you.”
Kurt shrugs. There's so much he actually doesn't know about Blaine. Like the reason behind the ever-increasing amounts of hair gel, and the multitude of things Blaine won't talk about - like Sadie Hawkins and his brother. “I understand him some days better than others. It’s not why I love him. I mean, I think maybe it's because I love him that I understand as much as I do, if that makes sense."
Kurt’s heart is pounding just from talking about being in love. He feels strangely vulnerable. He’s never even talked to Rachel or Mercedes about the way he feels about Blaine - not this intimately, without giggles and jokes and stammering. Maybe he’d be willing to, but he can’t even imagine getting there. Within seconds of Blaine’s name coming up at any of their sleepovers, the girls always turn the conversation to “Blaine’s delectable little bubble-butt.”
But Dave doesn’t laugh. He just smiles earnestly, the blush starting to fade from his cheeks.
"I’m really glad you have that, Kurt," he says. “You deserve it after everything you’ve been through.”
Kurt tilts his head to the side and considers. “I don’t know that I deserve it. I mean, not that I don’t deserve it, either - but we don’t really earn love, do we?”
Dave laughs wryly. “I sure haven’t.”
Kurt feels a sudden flare of irritation in his chest. It’s the first time that Dave’s self-deprecation has ignited anything close to anger in Kurt, and it feels so sudden and overwhelming. “You need it as much as anybody, Dave,” he says, but the tone is dangerously close to insulting.
Dave looks down at his Mountain Dew for a moment. “I want it,” he finally says. “I really do.”
The annoyance flickers and fades as quickly as it came. It leaves Kurt empty and slightly ashamed. If it were Rachel he’d snapped at, he might reach across the table and touch her hand in apology. But it’s not Rachel. So instead he says, softly, “You’ll have it eventually. I know you will.”
*
Later that night, when Kurt and Blaine step out of the shower and Blaine reaches for his hair gel even though the next thing they're planning to do is sleep, Kurt feels bold. "Would you mind -" And then, suddenly, not so bold. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.
Blaine leans against the sink. "Would I mind what?"
Kurt swallows. "Would you mind not putting anything in your hair?"
Blaine shrugs, flustered. "But that's what I always do."
Kurt steps closer, puts a hand on each of Blaine’s arms. "Blaine, I love that you’re my 1940s leading man. But sometimes I just - I want to see you."
Blaine rubs his hand over his hair. The water is still heavy on it, holding it tamely in place, except for those stubborn loose tendrils that always fight it at the base of his neck. "This is me."
"Not all of you."
Blaine looks down at the floor, shaking his head. “I feel naked without it. But … more than naked. It’s not - It’s hard to explain.”
"Hey. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know -” Kurt rests a hand on Blaine's shoulder. “You've said you’re afraid that I won't love you anymore when I find out new things about you, but I want you to know that I still will." He tilts his head to the side and smiles. "I think you're pretty without any makeup on. I think you're funny when you get the punch line wrong. You know I'll stay here, when you let your walls come down."
Blaine leans into Kurt, burying his face into the side of Kurt's neck. "How do you know, though?"
"Know what?" Kurt murmurs against Blaine's scalp.
"That I'll be pretty without any makeup on?"
Kurt’s heart lunges into his throat. "Because I love you. Nothing you've ever done has ever made me love you less."
"Not even making out with Rachel?"
"Not even making out with Rachel."
"Not even the Gap Attack?"
"Nope."
"Not even when I got drunk that first time at Scandals and I … " Blaine doesn’t finish that one.
"No. Because it made me understand how scared you were of being seen, and being loved, and of mattering." Kurt sighs and kisses Blaine's temple. "And then I loved you even more. You're perfect to me, even when you don't feel like you're perfect."
Blaine blinks, brushing his eyelashes against Kurt's skin, then straightens up to look at him. "I don't think I'm ready yet," he says. "But I'll think about it."
Kurt smiles and squeezes Blaine's hand. "Do whatever you're comfortable with, okay? I wasn't trying to pressure you." And even though he could add the perfect quip - ‘But when it makes all your hair fall out by the time you’re 30, you’ll wish you had let up on it.’ - he doesn’t. Kurt smiles inwardly at his own restraint. Maybe he’s finally learning how to do this relationship thing.
Blaine kisses Kurt on the cheek. “You help me be braver, you know that?” He reaches for the hair gel and squeezes half as much as usual into the palm of his hand.
*
Blaine's hair, the next morning, is more like it was back when they were both at Dalton. It's fuller at the top, and almost loose enough that Kurt can imagine running his fingers through it without them getting caught in a web of dried gel. The tiniest ringlets are visible behind Blaine's ears when he shifts on the pillow.
Blaine's eyes open as Kurt slips back under the covers after a quick dash down to the Anderson kitchen to start the coffee. (A quick naked dash, since the parents are gone again - Kurt can’t even remember where this time.)
"Good morning, beautiful," Kurt scoots close to Blaine and runs his hand over the soft hairs that trail below Blaine’s belly. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Mmm, that's okay. I've been in and out. I got up earlier to pee." Blaine turns and presses his face against Kurt's neck, inhales deeply. "I love smelling you first thing in the morning."
Kurt smiles. "I feel like I should be self-conscious about that."
"You shouldn't. I love the way you smell."
"I love the way you everything."
"I love the way you fuck me." Blaine brushes his bare morning wood against Kurt's thigh.
"Didn't get enough of that last night, huh?"
"There's always room for more with you."
Kurt giggles and strokes Blaine's hair. It feels indulgent, reminding him of when he was little and would hide in his Aunt Mildred’s front closet just to have some uninterrupted time running his hands over her shearling coat. "While that's flattering, I was thinking -" He stops, suddenly aware of what he's doing with his hand, and removes it from Blaine's head. "Sorry. Is that okay that I'm touching your hair? I should have asked first, after last night."
"Actually, it's nice," Blaine says. "It feels good. But you know this isn't what my hair looks like naturally, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," Blaine says. "As long as we're clear. … So what were you about to say, before you interrupted yourself with my hair?"
Kurt blushes. "Oh. Um, I was thinking that maybe … I like being inside you, but I thought we could try something … different?"
Blaine raises an eyebrow. "Like … ?"
"Um, the opposite?"
"Oh." Blaine's eyes go as round as his perfect, pink mouth.
"If that's okay with you? I mean, not everything at once. We could try fingers first? Your fingers. If you want."
Blaine bites his bottom lip. "I'd like that, if you would."
"I would. I - I've tried it now. A few times. When I, um, think about fingering you."
Blaine rolls onto Kurt, bringing their erections together, and kisses him hard. They both smell like eight hours of sleep, but Kurt finds he likes it. There's something so elemental and Blaine about the taste flooding his mouth. He remembers the first time - the only time - he tried to initiate a kiss with Blaine in the morning, and how Blaine turned away in embarrassment, and the juxtaposition between that moment and this is enough to make his heart pound in his cock and for him to fall in love a little bit harder.
So he kisses Blaine back, kisses him needy and breathless, feels the heat thrum with increasing urgency at the base of his spine as the head of his cock drags against Blaine's foreskin. "Blaine." It's hard to get the syllable out; it's hardly a syllable, really, the way that Kurt pronounces it into Blaine's mouth - just a collision of consonants and vowels against Blaine's tongue.
Kurt wraps one leg around Blaine's thigh, teasing the back of Blaine's knee with his foot, then sliding it up, up, up to Blaine's ass, farther up to the small of his back. His other leg follows a mirrored path until both feet are resting lightly against Blaine's back, and then Kurt lets his thighs fall open a bit more, lays his hands on Blaine's hips and guides them so that Blaine's cock is nestled in the cleft of his ass, smooth skin against smooth skin.
Kurt gasps, closes his eyes and opens them again to see Blaine gazing wide-eyed at him. Kurt doesn't understand why this feels so good, why his hole flutters and clenches from the teasing touch of Blaine's cock the way his heart does from Blaine's soft, smitten look - but it does.
"Touch me," Kurt says.
Blaine rolls off of Kurt and reaches for the lube - still under the pillow where they left it last night - and Kurt's heart kathunks as he watches Blaine cover his fingers, rub them wet and slick and warm. "God, Kurt." Blaine's breathing is stilted, his voice rough with need. "You're so -"
Blaine's touch is light, barely there, just a hint of wet and want, but it's on Kurt's hole and it's everything, heat and desire, and it's sending sparks up Kurt's spine, wave after wave of electricity, and he tries to hold still but the current is too strong. It arches his back and flows from his mouth with a loud, shameless groan.
"Wow," Blaine whispers. He presses his fingertips more firmly to the edges of Kurt's pucker, glides them in small circles over it. "You're so beautiful, Kurt. It's pink like your lips, but the skin is even smoother - god, how can it be smoother? - and it's like an asterisk but … Oh my god, I'm babbling."
Kurt shakes his head as his brain grasps desperately for language. "No, it's not - it's not babbling. I like - love hearing you talk."
"You sure?"
Kurt inhales sharply as the need surges in his thighs. "Yeah. Tell me anything you want."
Blaine rubs a fingertip around Kurt's hole. The sparks skitter hot over Kurt’s skin and up through his throat, lighting a sigh of ecstasy.
Blaine kisses the inside of Kurt’s thigh. "I love the sounds you make. They’re so beautiful, and they make me so hard, and your skin's so soft and … and if it feels this good on the outside, I can hardly wait to see what it feels like on the inside."
Kurt sways his hips up and down, canting over the pads of Blaine's fingers again and again, letting the heat of Blaine's touch overtake his senses just a bit more with each glide, his hole becoming a little more lax with the rhythm. He hears himself begging, feels himself roll over onto his hands and knees, spreading his legs wider and pushing himself back as Blaine presses the tip of his finger into the gap, a sweet frictionless slide, does something that feels like the pleasant flicker of flame against Kurt's opening.
"Need you," Kurt murmurs, grabbing onto the headboard with his hands and then pushing back in one quick, desperate thrust over Blaine's finger until it's all the way in. He starts to rides it, smooth and perfect, as his muscle clenches deliriously. "Fuck."
Blaine drapes himself over Kurt's back, runs his free hand over the muscles of Kurt's chest and abdomen, rocks forward as Kurt rocks back. "Oh, god, you are -" Blaine bites the lobe of Kurt's ear. "So smooth. You feel like … like … fuck, I can't think of anything like this. You're amazing."
"More," Kurt sighs. "I want -" but he can't finish because Blaine is opening him wider, stretching him taut as he slides another finger inside with a slow, seductive drag.
"Fuck," Kurt barks out. He's uncouth and rough, feels almost animalistic in his pursuit of nothing but Blaine's touch and the spreading heat between his legs, his ego slowly being stripped away until all that's left of him is desire. "You feel so good, Blaine. So much better than - oh god - fuck - Blaine."
There's a burst of light behind Kurt's eyes. Not an orgasm, but something close -Kurt feels delirious, crazed, overwhelmed by the need to keep moving, keep squeezing, keep getting opened and fucked by Blaine's fingers, by Blaine.
Blaine is saying something, something beautiful and hot and inciting, and Kurt is panting, feels the sweat surfacing in the folds of his thighs and knees, under his arms and down his neck and the small of his back. He feels Blaine's tongue licking up his spine, Blaine's teeth biting down on the flesh just below his shoulder blade, Blaine's lips whispering fuck me against his skin.
So Kurt does. He fucks down on Blaine's fingers over and over, his own fingers digging into the headboard and his arms and thighs propelling him toward Blaine. Every muscle in his body sings for Blaine; every part of him is filled with Blaine and still wants more.
He must say more, or maybe Blaine just knows, because with the next slide there is a sudden, unmistakable, euphoric stretch and the light returns, white and blinding, and Kurt is shuddering, shaking, and it's definitely an orgasm this time, but different from any that Kurt has ever felt - a strange, ecstatic unfurling deep inside him.
And it doesn't stop. It doesn't stop as Blaine fucks his fingers deeper into Kurt, stretching him even wider, giving him more to clamp down on. It doesn't stop as Blaine reaches his other hand around Kurt and curls it around his cock, stroking it feather-light as Kurt begins to spill onto the sheets. It keeps going past the point that Kurt's balls are spent and his ass is sore from the clenching, Blaine carrying him through it, kissing and whispering against Kurt’s skin.
Kurt collapses onto the bed. Blaine's lips are on his arm, his neck, the back of his ear. He turns toward Blaine, kisses him with as much gratitude as his exhausted body can express.
"Jesus, that's the hottest thing I've ever seen," Blaine moans, working his cock against Kurt's hip.
"And you've watched a lot of porn, so that's saying something."
Blaine starts a laugh that ends as a moan. "Porn has nothing on you, Kurt. I am so -" Blaine slips his hand between them and wipes Kurt's come onto his own cock, shuddering as he presses it back against Kurt's hip. "So turned on by you."
A confession made evident in the next moment, when that look of pleasured struggle grips Blaine’s face and he comes hot against Kurt's stomach.
They're too wasted to do anything more than whisper soft praises into each other's ears and fall asleep for another hour.
Later, over toast with jam, and scrambled eggs with cheese, and refried beans from a can (they worked up an appetite, okay?), Blaine asks blushingly, "Was that as intense for you as I think it was?"
Kurt nods, stroking Blaine's ankle under the table with his foot. "The brochures my dad got for me didn't really explain how good it feels, or I would have tried it a lot sooner."
Blaine spits the piece of toast that was in his mouth across the table, and Kurt kisses him wetly on the cheek.
* * *
The next week, on a snow day that shuts down the school but doesn't keep the two boys apart, Kurt rides Blaine's cock for the first time. Blaine's not sure what gets him off more: the feel of Kurt around him, or the unrestrained joy on Kurt's face.
He thinks it's probably the latter.
* * *
Notes: If you aren’t familiar with the plot of Pride and Prejudice, I wrote a handy, short summary of relevant points here. Thanks to all my betas, and particularly to nachochang for for a hair gel-related moment of snark.
Pairings in this chapter: Kurt/Blaine; Dave/Sebastian, kind of
Rating: NC-17
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Chapter 5
Two visits to Scandals after the Michigan-Ohio State game, Kurt and Blaine walk in to find Dave sitting at a small round table next to Sebastian. There are three empty beer bottles on the table and a partially finished one in Dave’s hand - Kurt's not sure if that's enough to make Dave qualify as drunk if he's the one who drank them all, but it would certainly qualify Kurt as drunk if he had - and Sebastian is leaning into Dave, his hand on his thigh. Kurt's seen the panoply of Dave’s miserable expressions and a few of his happier ones, but he’s never seen this particular one: blushing and coy, resisting and not resisting at the same time.
"Oh, look," Kurt says, gripping Blaine's hand more tightly. "Sebastian, you've met our friend Dave."
Sebastian throws an arm around Dave's shoulder, and the look on Dave's face goes from flattered to confused. "Dave and I have a long and intimate acquaintance. You all know each other?"
"I went to McKinley with Kurt," Dave mumbles under his breath.
"Interesting." A smirk spreads across Sebastian's face. "The closeted football player and the flamboyant femme. So how did that work? I take it you two weren't public about your friendship. Was it all secret locker room trysts?"
Dave goes pale and drops his bottle to the table with a loud thwup. It totters precariously, but Sebastian catches it before it spills over. He leans back in his chair with smug self-satisfaction. “So there were secret locker room rendezvous!”
"That's not at all -" Blaine starts, but he doesn't get anything else out because Kurt reaches across the table with his free hand, grabbing Dave's forearm and pulling him up out of the chair.
"Come on, Dave, we're gonna play pool," Kurt says with quiet authority. There is no resistance - it's like picking up a sleeping chihuahua.
Kurt hooks his wrist around Dave's elbow and doesn't let go of either Dave or Blaine until they're on the opposite side of the pool table from where Sebastian still sits, eyebrow crooked in disbelief.
Kurt's hands start shaking. He stuffs them into his pockets.
"I didn't know you guys knew Sebastian," Dave says.
Kurt and Blaine speak at the same time. "He goes to Dalton," says Blaine.
"He's been stalking Blaine," says Kurt.
Blaine scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know if I'd call it stalking. I mean, he hasn't shown up at my house or anything."
"He makes you uncomfortable, Blaine." Kurt says, his throat tightening.
Blaine shrugs, picks up the 6-ball from the triangle in the center and rolls it across the table. "Well, yeah."
Kurt doesn't want to get into this in front of Dave. Or at all. "Why don't you guys go get us some drinks, and I'll set up the balls, okay?" They leave for the bar and Kurt bends over the table to get the game ready.
Not a minute passes before he feels a pinch on his ass and turns to find Sebastian leering at him.
"I thought I smelled a rat," Kurt says.
"I’d rather be a rodent than a fruit." Sebastian pulls the 2-ball out of the rack and starts tossing and catching it with one hand.
"Fruit tastes better." Kurt snatches the ball mid-air and replaces it in the rack.
“Eaten much rat?” Sebastian smirks and juts his hips forward. The implications aren’t very subtle.
Kurt lets out an unimpressed sigh. “Never have and never will.”
Sebastian leans in close enough that Kurt can smell his aftershave. “Never? Many cultures consider it quite the delicacy. Lean, tender, savory - everything you could want in a piece of meat.”
“Okay, I’m not sure if this is still an innuendo, or if you’re actually trying to sell me on the idea of eating rat meat.”
Sebastian doesn’t come back with a retort. He looks over toward the bar and fixes his gaze on Blaine and Dave. "I don't know why you picture yourself as such a playboy when you don't even look like a boy.”
“And yet again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sebastian gives a mocking pout. “Trying to keep the hotties from me, Kurt - it’s not very benevolent. You can’t have them all to yourself."
"Hmmm," Kurt says, cocking his head and stretching his mouth into a wide, condescending smile. "And you can't have any of them."
"Play by the rules," Sebastian says. "Pool's a 2-player game."
"I assume you're trying to make another innuendo with that, but it's misplaced," Kurt says. "Not everything is about sex. Some people have this thing called friendship. You should try it sometime." He nods his head toward Dave and Blaine. “They’re not your jizz socks, you know.”
"Oh, but I’d like them to be," Sebastian says. "'Friendship' and 'romance' are just nice ways of saying 'inconvenient emotional entanglement.' I like to focus my energy on things like, oh, humiliating the competition at regionals. Well, on humiliating people in general."
Kurt looks away from Sebastian to focus on lining the rack up on the table. "If you show up to regionals with that hair, the only person you're going to humiliate is yourself."
Sebastian guffaws loudly behind him. "Really? That's the best you can come up with? I thought your repartee was a bit more refined than that."
Kurt looks at Sebastian with withering disdain. "It is, but I’m tired of wasting it on you. Now go find a manther and prey on each other. Oh look, there's one." Sebastian's head turns to where Kurt's pointing toward a tall, 40-ish man with toffee-colored skin and prematurely salt-and-pepper hair who makes Kurt think of a skinny version of The Rock.
"Not a bad pick," Sebastian says approvingly, straightening up and taking one step toward the man before stopping to glare back at Kurt. "But don't think I'm done with you and your pretties just because I'm easily distracted by biceps." He makes a beeline toward his new intended victim; Kurt has a slight pang of guilt before reminding himself that if a 40-year-old can't defend himself against Sebastian, he deserves what’s coming to him.
*
Dave returns to the pool table with a beer and a bottle of water that he sets down on the nearby tall table. He holds out something that looks like pink lemonade in a martini glass to Kurt.
Kurt lifts his hand to take it, but stops. "Virgin?"
Dave's face turns bright red. "Sorry?"
"The drink. Is it -?" Kurt can feel his own face starting to redden now.
"Oh, yeah. It's like, cranberry juice and Sprite. Blaine ordered it."
"Thanks." As Kurt reaches to take the glass from Dave by the stem, Dave's fingers crawl slowly up the flute away from Kurt's hand, like he's actively avoiding contact. "Where's Blaine, anyway?"
"Oh, he's talking to Tom." Kurt takes a swallow of his drink and follows Dave's gesture to see Blaine at the bar, talking to an older guy Kurt vaguely remembers meeting on game day. "Don't worry. He's harmless." Dave gestures to the dowdy, orange-mustached guy who has one hand on the small of Tom’s back. "That's his husband, and they're not into threesomes."
Kurt nearly spits his drink all over the pool table, but he catches it just in time, clamping down his lips and swallowing, a bit of the carbonation rising up into his nose. He lets out a tearful, choked cough.
"You okay?" Dave holds out a napkin.
Kurt takes it and wipes his mouth. "Just … went down the wrong way."
"Anyway, they got started talking about Real Housewives of New Jersey and I was a little lost, so I left them to it."
"You don't watch Real Housewives?"
Dave arches his eyebrows. "Do I look like I watch Real Housewives?"
"I thought you didn't like me making assumptions about you based on your looks. I've made mistakes that way before."
Dave looks down at the floor and shrugs. "Okay, no, I don't watch Real Housewives."
"You should give it a chance."
Dave grabs the bottle of water from the table and twists off the cap. "So I can be a better gay?"
Kurt blushes, because that was, in fact, what he was thinking. "Okay, maybe not. I just watch it to judge everybody on it, anyway."
They sip their drinks in slightly uncomfortable silence. So this is what it's like to be on equal footing with David Karofsky. Kurt gets to be called out on his shit.
Dave walks over to the wall and grabs two cues. He holds one out to Kurt. "I meant to say thank you for earlier," Dave says. "I don't really like Sebastian."
Kurt takes the cue. "Neither do I."
"But I get confused around him." Dave rubs the block of chalk against his cue tip.
"He seems to have that effect on people."
"I just - it's nice to get the attention. But I never feel good about it afterward."
"You're not - You two aren't … an item, are you?"
Dave snorts. "Sebastian's not an item with anybody."
"Yeah." Kurt takes the block of chalk from Dave. "You know what I mean, though. Not that it's any of my business."
"We're not - not really." Dave shrugs. "No."
Kurt could ask more questions, but he doesn't. It really isn't his business. So instead, he says, "You're worth more than that, you know."
The surprise on Dave's face is heart-twisting.
Dave shakes his head. "I don't think I'd go that far. You know, given my history with locker room rendez-” He blinks and swallows. “Locker room assaults. I’m not sure how doing that kind of thing puts me on the cosmic list of people who deserve happiness."
Kurt frowns. “It doesn’t,” he says. “But maybe some of the stuff you’ve done since then does.”
Dave looks down at his hands. “I don’t know. It seems to me that something that bad kind of cancels everything else out.”
“Look, I’m not gonna stand here and say that what you did doesn’t matter. But what matters more to me is what you do now.” Kurt grabs a pool cue from the wall, rolls it between his palms. “I mean - honestly? When it first happened, I thought about it a lot, and I hated you. But - I don’t know. It just got exhausting to hold onto that.”
“You don’t think about it anymore?”
“Not really,” Kurt says truthfully. “I kind of stopped thinking about any of it when I stopped being scared of you last spring.”
“It hasn’t disappeared for me. Everything I did to you still eats at me.”
Kurt lifts the triangle from the table. “I know, David. I wish it wouldn’t.” He sights his cue the way that Blaine showed him the last time they were here and hits the white cue ball into the center of the rack. He has no idea what he's doing, but the sound of the balls smashing apart helps his heart untwist just a little.
*
Once the pool game starts, the rest of the evening goes a lot better. Blaine rejoins them and teams up with Kurt against Dave (who still beats them). They explain to Dave the beauty of Real Housewives, and Dave explains to them the beauty of Breaking Bad. Kurt keeps an eye out for Sebastian, but within 15 minutes of the game starting, he leaves with the manther.
It's easier to laugh then, and to breathe, and to discuss the finer points of Pride and Prejudice, which Blaine recently read for English and Dave and Kurt read last year. Blaine thinks Mr. Darcy was quite dreamy in his mercurial, aloof moods, but that Wickham was a little more accessible with his flirtatious, easy demeanor, so he sympathized with Elizabeth Bennett's trouble choosing between the two.
"Even after you found out that Wickham is a player?" Dave says, pocketing the 9-ball.
"It took me a while to get over that. But I was glad that it meant that Elizabeth ended up with Mr. Darcy. I had a bigger crush on him than Mr. Wickham. Mr. Darcy is … noble." Blaine's eyes glaze a little on the last word, so it's no surprise that when he aims the white cue ball at the 6, it misses its object completely.
"I felt bad when Lydia married Wickham, though," Dave says. "Even if she was awful, she didn't deserve to have to spend the rest of her life with Wickham. He's going to cheat on her all the time." He sinks the 12.
"You're right, Dave," Kurt says as Blaine helps him line up. "Anyone deserves better than Wickham." Kurt gives Dave a meaningful look before taking his shot. Dave blushes and looks down at his hands.
"I think," Dave says after a moment, "this is the gayest conversation I've ever had."
*
"I love hanging out with Dave," Blaine says as they watch Dave drive away from the Scandals parking lot. He kicks his feet against the asphalt in a little tap dance.
"Me, too." Kurt offers Blaine his hand. "Care to join me for a promenade around the building?"
Blaine takes it. "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Darcy."
"I'm Mr. Darcy?"
"I'm young and reckless and foolish in the ways of love, and you’re older and noble and a patient teacher."
"I'm not sure whether to laugh or blush."
"Oh, you should blush. You're so handsome when you blush."
They start their stroll around the building. Kurt would like to walk farther - there's a park a few blocks away - but it's late at night and he wants to be able to hold Blaine's hand. So a walk around the gay bar it is.
"I'm sorry about getting testy with you earlier tonight," Kurt says.
"When?" Blaine says.
"About Sebastian."
Blaine shrugs. "He's not a good guy."
Kurt wants to agree. He wants to say he worries about Sebastian's influence on Blaine, that if Blaine hears often enough that he's just a sex object and a toy, he'll start to believe it, just like Blaine believes the things his parents say and don't say. But he doesn’t know how. So, instead, he says, "I guess you could call him a bit of a Wickham, maybe?"
"A bit sluttier than Wickham." Blaine looks at Kurt hesitantly. "Am I Elizabeth?"
"I don't know. Does Wickham charm you?"
"I - Mr. Wickham doesn't really care about anyone but himself. That makes some things a little easier for Elizabeth, I think."
Kurt nods for Blaine to continue.
"Mr. Wickham wants to play. But Mr. Darcy wants to love Elizabeth for who she is. I think Elizabeth knows that, even before he tells her. And I think - I think it frightens her, a little."
"Why?"
"Because - what if Mr. Darcy gets to know her better and finds out something he doesn't like? He might not love her anymore. There's not that risk with Wickham, since he never loved her in the first place."
Kurt’s heart rises into his throat and squeezes at his eyes. "But Mr. Darcy knows Elizabeth's character. He's never going to stop loving her. Even if there's little things he doesn't know about her yet - I don't think any of them could make him stop loving her."
"Well, I think that's what the story's about. Elizabeth coming to understand that."
Kurt stops and turns to Blaine. "Do you understand that, Blaine?"
"Most of the time," he says. "I just - I get scared sometimes. Nobody's ever loved me the way you do. And I know you meant it when you said you were never going to say goodbye to me, I know. But there's still this voice in my head sometimes that tells me you don't really know me yet, and it's all going to go away."
"Oh, sweetheart." Kurt’s eyes feel that squeeze again. He wants to ask whose voice it is - Blaine's mother's, or his father's, or Blaine's own. He doesn't. "I wish there was something I could do."
"You do everything already." Blaine kisses Kurt’s cheek. "Just … be patient with me?"
Kurt sniffles. "As long as I can keep defending your honor from that weaselly Mr. Wickham."
A small smile opens on Blaine's face. He squeezes Kurt's hand. "I rather like it when you do that, Mr. Darcy."
* * *
The next Thursday, when Dave comes over to Blaine's, the door opens before he even knocks. Kurt's looking at him, a conspiratorial look on his face, and Clementi's Sonatina in C Major, Op.36, No.3 is pouring out of the front room and onto the porch.
"Hey, Dave." Kurt waves him in, whispering. "I've been watching out the front window for you. Blaine's practicing piano in front of me for once. Be really, really quiet or he'll get up to say hi to you and I won't hear him play again for another couple weeks. Not the classical stuff, anyway."
Kurt and Clementi are both shocks, and it feels like a minute passes before Dave can speak, but Kurt doesn't give him any weird looks, so maybe it's not that long. "Hey," Dave says, finally, hanging his coat on a hook near the door. "I didn't know you'd be here."
Kurt shrugs. "My dad gave me the afternoon off from the shop.”
Dave follows Kurt to the entrance of the front room and tries to ignore the way his heart is going pitter-patter. They stand at opposite sides of the doorframe, listening to Blaine play. The song is almost over - Dave remembers from playing it back in middle school - but he closes his eyes and tries to get just as lost in it as if he had the full eight minutes of it to enjoy.
Blaine's not bad - a little bangy on some of the eighth notes and a little rushed on the sixteenths - but overall the song sounds clean and spritely, as it should. All Blaine really needs is a metronome and a lighter touch.
Kurt raises a finger to his lips when Blaine plays the closing notes, and Dave stands perfectly still, trying not to breathe. "I know you guys are standing there," Blaine says, not turning his head. "I heard Dave come in."
"Well, it was nice of you to keep playing." Kurt walks over to the piano bench and hugs Blaine from behind, laying a kiss at the back of his ear.
"But now I need to go find the music in Euclidian geometry." Blaine pulls the cover over the keys and stands to give Dave a greeting punch on the shoulder.
Dave nods at Blaine. "I didn't know you played. I thought the piano was just for decoration."
"Yeah." Blaine shrugs. "On and off since I was eight. I don't practice as much as I should - to be really good, I mean. Just enough to have fun with it, and for my piano teacher not to kill me. It annoys her that I want to play pop songs most of the time."
Dave thinks of telling Blaine that he used to play, too, but then they might ask him to play for them now. Even though it's a Steinway and tempting - it's complicated. He's not ready to touch a piano again yet, especially not when people are paying attention. He doesn't even know if his hands would be able to find the notes anymore.
*
In the kitchen, Kurt sits at the table mouthing his French homework silently to himself while Dave helps Blaine with his geometry at the bar. Blaine's doing a little better than he has been the past few times; he doesn't slam his book shut in frustration, and he even says, "Oh!" a couple times like a lightbulb has gone off in his head.
When Blaine becomes confident enough to work on his own, Dave goes to the refrigerator to get another Mountain Dew. Kurt catches his eye. (Well, okay, Kurt would catch his eye under pretty much any circumstance. Dave's felt Kurt there on the edge of his vision the whole time he's been working with Blaine, trying not to glance up every five seconds to catch that look of intense concentration that Kurt gets on his face when he's reading, because sometimes he sticks out his tongue just the slightest bit and - Yeah. It’s over-the-top sexy.)
But this time, Kurt is trying to catch his eye. He waggles a finger at Dave in a "come here" gesture, and when Dave walks over to the round table and pulls out a chair opposite Kurt, Kurt shakes his head and pats the chair next to him.
So Dave sits next to Kurt and gives a silent prayer of thanks that he thought to put deodorant on again after school today, because his apocrine glands have just churned into overdrive.
"He's right," Kurt says in a hushed undertone, nodding toward Blaine. "You do make math kind of poetic. I've just tried to help him memorize everything, but you make it make sense."
Dave shrugs and tries not to blush. Of course, he fails. He's a pink sweaty mess right now. He's hopeless. "No, it makes sense on its own. Teachers just don't explain it very well sometimes. But I think it's funny that when something makes sense, you guys call it poetic. Poetry doesn't usually make much sense to me."
"Jane Austen makes sense to you."
"Well, I watched the movie, too. That helped." Oh, god, he is making such a fool of himself.
"Looking at Matthew Macfadyen for two hours never hurt anyone." Kurt smiles, or smirks - Dave can't quite tell. "But Blaine says the mini-series is better. I haven't seen it."
"Oh, you should. Colin Firth is …" Shit.
Kurt starts laughing - whether at Dave or with him, Dave's not sure. Still, Kurt's beautiful when he does it. His irises become the same piercing blue of the evening Arizona sky that Dave loved when he was little, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up in little ridges like the sand on the desert floor gathering and shifting in the wind.
"I read the book, too,” Dave says in meek defense. “The movies just … helped."
Kurt reaches across the space between them and lays his hand on the exposed skin of Dave's forearm. The hairs there stand on end. "I'm not laughing at you," Kurt says, and just as quickly the hand is gone, folded back in Kurt's lap. "I'm laughing at myself."
"What for?"
Kurt shrugs and shakes his head until his laughter subsides. "I just … I made a lot of wrong assumptions about you. That's all."
Dave looks down at his own hands. "I kind of wanted people to."
Kurt's smile grows smaller, his eyes dim. "That's okay," he says. "I don't let everyone know everything about me, either. Sometimes you have to hide a few things to stay safe. There's nothing wrong with that."
A pressure starts to build in Dave's eyebrows, the way it does when he wants to cry or smile or say something important, but can't. He clears his throat. "So, tell me a poem that makes sense," Dave says. "Other than Shel Silverstein or Dr. Seuss."
Kurt laughs again. Dave did something right. "Because the meaning of ham-ikka-schnim-ikka-schnam-ikka-schnopp is so self-evident," Kurt says.
Dave finds himself laughing, too. "There are pictures in Dr. Seuss. They make everything self-evident."
"Okay. Well here's one that you don't need pictures for." Kurt pulls himself up ramrod straight in his chair and tips his head to the side. "We never know how high we are/Till we are called to rise;/And then, if we are true to plan/Our statures touch the skies." Kurt smiles. "Emily Dickinson."
"I understood that."
"Of course you did. It's in plain English, unlike most of Shakespeare. Or Dr. Seuss."
Dave shakes his head in disbelief. "I like that."
"I thought you would." Kurt smiles earnestly. "Because you will, you know. Touch the skies." He lays his hands on the table almost as if he's about to reach for Dave's, but he doesn't - just lets them lay there, curled loosely next to each other.
* * *
None of the outfits that Kurt tries on Friday morning are working. He's aiming for something festive and Christmasy, but not too Christmasy, and nothing he chooses is working right. He wants to wear his green button down, but a red bow tie with it would just be obvious and tacky, and yellow isn’t right, and anyway, he doesn’t really want to wear a tie at all because he wants to have the shirt unbuttoned all the way to his navel during glee practice so that by the time they’re let out, Blaine will be so hungry for it he might let Kurt jerk him off in the car.
(The early nightfall this time of year has the distinct advantage of affording teenage lovers the cover of darkness well before dinnertime.)
Kurt opens his handkerchief drawer, hoping to find something there to complete his outfit. He smiles when he spots the plaid kerchief folded neatly there since May, when Dave returned the wedding cake topper. Kurt hasn’t worn it once - it’s poly-blend, after all - but he likes seeing it among his other kerchiefs, a mundane reminder that the world isn’t always as hopeless as it looks, and that people can change. That Dave has changed.
He thinks of the way that Dave is starting to smile at him more often now, looking less fearful, and Kurt finds himself smiling, too. He pulls the kerchief out of its spot in the back of the drawer. The feel of the fabric can hardly be called exquisite, and the drape definitely leaves something to be desired, but the overlapping weave of green and red interspersed with gold is perfect for the season. Kurt folds the kerchief so that the Boy Scouts emblem doesn’t show and sticks it into the back pocket of his jeans, turning his ass toward the mirror to see how it looks.
Pretty perfect, if he may say so himself.
*
Kurt and Blaine keep going back to Scandals to hang out with Dave.
Kurt likes that Blaine is comfortable dancing with him here, closer than he does at New Directions parties and much closer than he did at prom.
He likes that he can hold hands with Blaine and no one will blink an eye, except for the occasional queen or hag who leans in to coo, "Young love," before continuing on her way.
Kurt hopes that New York will be like this for them - most of it, anyway. (They'll pretend that the religious neighborhoods don't even exist, or maybe they'll bicycle through them provocatively on a rainbow-painted tandem in tight shorts and shoulder-revealing shirts.) He knows it won't be paradise, but it will be so much better than living in Lima, and so much better than being a kid who's just waiting to grow up.
To his own surprise, Kurt has also come to like PDA - at least when he and Blaine are the ones doing it. Kurt tries not to let it get too out of hand, but it’s nice when Blaine gets handsy and kiss-hungry the way he is right now, planting his lips up Kurt’s neck and behind his ear as Kurt grows hard under the table. Kurt would totally let himself get lost in it if it weren’t for Dave sitting across from them, very politely looking away and sipping his Mountain Dew with the concentration of a connoisseur.
Kurt pulls away from Blaine reluctantly. “We have company,” he whispers.
Blaine nuzzles Kurt’s ear. “Dave doesn’t mind. Do you, Dave?”
Dave looks at Blaine and looks at Kurt and blushes and shrugs. “It’s not as bad as the straight people I see making out in the hallway at school every day.”
Blaine laughs and pinches Kurt’s thigh. “See? We should make porn. Everyone would want to watch it.”
Kurt covers his face with one hand and pushes Blaine's half-empty beer bottle across the table toward Dave. “Okay, Blaine. I think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight.”
“Um, that's my first one, but if you say so.” He smiles and bats his eyes and kisses Kurt on the cheek. “I’ll go get myself something nonalcoholic to ingest. Either of you want anything?”
Kurt wants to say Just you, but instead he asks for a glass of water.
Kurt sips his virgin crantini slowly as Blaine walks away. The ice in his glass is cold, but his face just keeps getting hotter and hotter now that he’s alone with Dave and truly cognizant of the fact that he was just making out in front of him with Blaine. “Well, this is awkward,” he finally says as he drains the last of his glass.
“It’s okay,” Dave says. “It’s sweet, actually.”
Kurt dares a glance up. Dave is blushing a little, his eyelashes fluttering downward the way they always do when he gets bashful. “Sweet and embarrassing,” Kurt mumbles under his breath.
“You guys are cute together. It’s … nice.” Dave shifts in chair. “I like that you guys are comfortable around me."
Kurt's blush swells again. "Maybe a little too comfortable?"
Dave shakes his head, his eyelashes continuing to flutter. "You’re lucky, you know?”
Kurt looks at Dave sitting alone across the table - no one to hold hands with; no one to look at him with wonder and awe; no one to tell him that he’s perfect, and all they’ve ever wanted. He remembers what it was like, before he found Blaine - how sometimes he felt he had so much love to give that his heart would burst with it, but it didn’t matter, because there was no one who would accept it; and how the pain of holding it inside was worse than the ache that would eventually befall him when he tried to give it to the wrong people, to straight boys like Sam and Finn. “You’re right,” he says. “I am lucky.”
Dave takes a swig from Blaine's beer bottle. “Tell me what it’s like to be in love.”
Kurt grabs the bottle and pulls it back toward himself. “Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink, too.”
Dave laughs. “That was my first sip all night! C'mon. Tell me. I want to know. I’ve never - Well. You know.”
“I don’t think it’s something I can tell you.”
“Fair enough.” Dave takes another sip of beer. “I just think … it must be nice to know somebody that well, and for them to know you.”
Kurt shrugs. There's so much he actually doesn't know about Blaine. Like the reason behind the ever-increasing amounts of hair gel, and the multitude of things Blaine won't talk about - like Sadie Hawkins and his brother. “I understand him some days better than others. It’s not why I love him. I mean, I think maybe it's because I love him that I understand as much as I do, if that makes sense."
Kurt’s heart is pounding just from talking about being in love. He feels strangely vulnerable. He’s never even talked to Rachel or Mercedes about the way he feels about Blaine - not this intimately, without giggles and jokes and stammering. Maybe he’d be willing to, but he can’t even imagine getting there. Within seconds of Blaine’s name coming up at any of their sleepovers, the girls always turn the conversation to “Blaine’s delectable little bubble-butt.”
But Dave doesn’t laugh. He just smiles earnestly, the blush starting to fade from his cheeks.
"I’m really glad you have that, Kurt," he says. “You deserve it after everything you’ve been through.”
Kurt tilts his head to the side and considers. “I don’t know that I deserve it. I mean, not that I don’t deserve it, either - but we don’t really earn love, do we?”
Dave laughs wryly. “I sure haven’t.”
Kurt feels a sudden flare of irritation in his chest. It’s the first time that Dave’s self-deprecation has ignited anything close to anger in Kurt, and it feels so sudden and overwhelming. “You need it as much as anybody, Dave,” he says, but the tone is dangerously close to insulting.
Dave looks down at his Mountain Dew for a moment. “I want it,” he finally says. “I really do.”
The annoyance flickers and fades as quickly as it came. It leaves Kurt empty and slightly ashamed. If it were Rachel he’d snapped at, he might reach across the table and touch her hand in apology. But it’s not Rachel. So instead he says, softly, “You’ll have it eventually. I know you will.”
*
Later that night, when Kurt and Blaine step out of the shower and Blaine reaches for his hair gel even though the next thing they're planning to do is sleep, Kurt feels bold. "Would you mind -" And then, suddenly, not so bold. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.
Blaine leans against the sink. "Would I mind what?"
Kurt swallows. "Would you mind not putting anything in your hair?"
Blaine shrugs, flustered. "But that's what I always do."
Kurt steps closer, puts a hand on each of Blaine’s arms. "Blaine, I love that you’re my 1940s leading man. But sometimes I just - I want to see you."
Blaine rubs his hand over his hair. The water is still heavy on it, holding it tamely in place, except for those stubborn loose tendrils that always fight it at the base of his neck. "This is me."
"Not all of you."
Blaine looks down at the floor, shaking his head. “I feel naked without it. But … more than naked. It’s not - It’s hard to explain.”
"Hey. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know -” Kurt rests a hand on Blaine's shoulder. “You've said you’re afraid that I won't love you anymore when I find out new things about you, but I want you to know that I still will." He tilts his head to the side and smiles. "I think you're pretty without any makeup on. I think you're funny when you get the punch line wrong. You know I'll stay here, when you let your walls come down."
Blaine leans into Kurt, burying his face into the side of Kurt's neck. "How do you know, though?"
"Know what?" Kurt murmurs against Blaine's scalp.
"That I'll be pretty without any makeup on?"
Kurt’s heart lunges into his throat. "Because I love you. Nothing you've ever done has ever made me love you less."
"Not even making out with Rachel?"
"Not even making out with Rachel."
"Not even the Gap Attack?"
"Nope."
"Not even when I got drunk that first time at Scandals and I … " Blaine doesn’t finish that one.
"No. Because it made me understand how scared you were of being seen, and being loved, and of mattering." Kurt sighs and kisses Blaine's temple. "And then I loved you even more. You're perfect to me, even when you don't feel like you're perfect."
Blaine blinks, brushing his eyelashes against Kurt's skin, then straightens up to look at him. "I don't think I'm ready yet," he says. "But I'll think about it."
Kurt smiles and squeezes Blaine's hand. "Do whatever you're comfortable with, okay? I wasn't trying to pressure you." And even though he could add the perfect quip - ‘But when it makes all your hair fall out by the time you’re 30, you’ll wish you had let up on it.’ - he doesn’t. Kurt smiles inwardly at his own restraint. Maybe he’s finally learning how to do this relationship thing.
Blaine kisses Kurt on the cheek. “You help me be braver, you know that?” He reaches for the hair gel and squeezes half as much as usual into the palm of his hand.
*
Blaine's hair, the next morning, is more like it was back when they were both at Dalton. It's fuller at the top, and almost loose enough that Kurt can imagine running his fingers through it without them getting caught in a web of dried gel. The tiniest ringlets are visible behind Blaine's ears when he shifts on the pillow.
Blaine's eyes open as Kurt slips back under the covers after a quick dash down to the Anderson kitchen to start the coffee. (A quick naked dash, since the parents are gone again - Kurt can’t even remember where this time.)
"Good morning, beautiful," Kurt scoots close to Blaine and runs his hand over the soft hairs that trail below Blaine’s belly. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Mmm, that's okay. I've been in and out. I got up earlier to pee." Blaine turns and presses his face against Kurt's neck, inhales deeply. "I love smelling you first thing in the morning."
Kurt smiles. "I feel like I should be self-conscious about that."
"You shouldn't. I love the way you smell."
"I love the way you everything."
"I love the way you fuck me." Blaine brushes his bare morning wood against Kurt's thigh.
"Didn't get enough of that last night, huh?"
"There's always room for more with you."
Kurt giggles and strokes Blaine's hair. It feels indulgent, reminding him of when he was little and would hide in his Aunt Mildred’s front closet just to have some uninterrupted time running his hands over her shearling coat. "While that's flattering, I was thinking -" He stops, suddenly aware of what he's doing with his hand, and removes it from Blaine's head. "Sorry. Is that okay that I'm touching your hair? I should have asked first, after last night."
"Actually, it's nice," Blaine says. "It feels good. But you know this isn't what my hair looks like naturally, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," Blaine says. "As long as we're clear. … So what were you about to say, before you interrupted yourself with my hair?"
Kurt blushes. "Oh. Um, I was thinking that maybe … I like being inside you, but I thought we could try something … different?"
Blaine raises an eyebrow. "Like … ?"
"Um, the opposite?"
"Oh." Blaine's eyes go as round as his perfect, pink mouth.
"If that's okay with you? I mean, not everything at once. We could try fingers first? Your fingers. If you want."
Blaine bites his bottom lip. "I'd like that, if you would."
"I would. I - I've tried it now. A few times. When I, um, think about fingering you."
Blaine rolls onto Kurt, bringing their erections together, and kisses him hard. They both smell like eight hours of sleep, but Kurt finds he likes it. There's something so elemental and Blaine about the taste flooding his mouth. He remembers the first time - the only time - he tried to initiate a kiss with Blaine in the morning, and how Blaine turned away in embarrassment, and the juxtaposition between that moment and this is enough to make his heart pound in his cock and for him to fall in love a little bit harder.
So he kisses Blaine back, kisses him needy and breathless, feels the heat thrum with increasing urgency at the base of his spine as the head of his cock drags against Blaine's foreskin. "Blaine." It's hard to get the syllable out; it's hardly a syllable, really, the way that Kurt pronounces it into Blaine's mouth - just a collision of consonants and vowels against Blaine's tongue.
Kurt wraps one leg around Blaine's thigh, teasing the back of Blaine's knee with his foot, then sliding it up, up, up to Blaine's ass, farther up to the small of his back. His other leg follows a mirrored path until both feet are resting lightly against Blaine's back, and then Kurt lets his thighs fall open a bit more, lays his hands on Blaine's hips and guides them so that Blaine's cock is nestled in the cleft of his ass, smooth skin against smooth skin.
Kurt gasps, closes his eyes and opens them again to see Blaine gazing wide-eyed at him. Kurt doesn't understand why this feels so good, why his hole flutters and clenches from the teasing touch of Blaine's cock the way his heart does from Blaine's soft, smitten look - but it does.
"Touch me," Kurt says.
Blaine rolls off of Kurt and reaches for the lube - still under the pillow where they left it last night - and Kurt's heart kathunks as he watches Blaine cover his fingers, rub them wet and slick and warm. "God, Kurt." Blaine's breathing is stilted, his voice rough with need. "You're so -"
Blaine's touch is light, barely there, just a hint of wet and want, but it's on Kurt's hole and it's everything, heat and desire, and it's sending sparks up Kurt's spine, wave after wave of electricity, and he tries to hold still but the current is too strong. It arches his back and flows from his mouth with a loud, shameless groan.
"Wow," Blaine whispers. He presses his fingertips more firmly to the edges of Kurt's pucker, glides them in small circles over it. "You're so beautiful, Kurt. It's pink like your lips, but the skin is even smoother - god, how can it be smoother? - and it's like an asterisk but … Oh my god, I'm babbling."
Kurt shakes his head as his brain grasps desperately for language. "No, it's not - it's not babbling. I like - love hearing you talk."
"You sure?"
Kurt inhales sharply as the need surges in his thighs. "Yeah. Tell me anything you want."
Blaine rubs a fingertip around Kurt's hole. The sparks skitter hot over Kurt’s skin and up through his throat, lighting a sigh of ecstasy.
Blaine kisses the inside of Kurt’s thigh. "I love the sounds you make. They’re so beautiful, and they make me so hard, and your skin's so soft and … and if it feels this good on the outside, I can hardly wait to see what it feels like on the inside."
Kurt sways his hips up and down, canting over the pads of Blaine's fingers again and again, letting the heat of Blaine's touch overtake his senses just a bit more with each glide, his hole becoming a little more lax with the rhythm. He hears himself begging, feels himself roll over onto his hands and knees, spreading his legs wider and pushing himself back as Blaine presses the tip of his finger into the gap, a sweet frictionless slide, does something that feels like the pleasant flicker of flame against Kurt's opening.
"Need you," Kurt murmurs, grabbing onto the headboard with his hands and then pushing back in one quick, desperate thrust over Blaine's finger until it's all the way in. He starts to rides it, smooth and perfect, as his muscle clenches deliriously. "Fuck."
Blaine drapes himself over Kurt's back, runs his free hand over the muscles of Kurt's chest and abdomen, rocks forward as Kurt rocks back. "Oh, god, you are -" Blaine bites the lobe of Kurt's ear. "So smooth. You feel like … like … fuck, I can't think of anything like this. You're amazing."
"More," Kurt sighs. "I want -" but he can't finish because Blaine is opening him wider, stretching him taut as he slides another finger inside with a slow, seductive drag.
"Fuck," Kurt barks out. He's uncouth and rough, feels almost animalistic in his pursuit of nothing but Blaine's touch and the spreading heat between his legs, his ego slowly being stripped away until all that's left of him is desire. "You feel so good, Blaine. So much better than - oh god - fuck - Blaine."
There's a burst of light behind Kurt's eyes. Not an orgasm, but something close -Kurt feels delirious, crazed, overwhelmed by the need to keep moving, keep squeezing, keep getting opened and fucked by Blaine's fingers, by Blaine.
Blaine is saying something, something beautiful and hot and inciting, and Kurt is panting, feels the sweat surfacing in the folds of his thighs and knees, under his arms and down his neck and the small of his back. He feels Blaine's tongue licking up his spine, Blaine's teeth biting down on the flesh just below his shoulder blade, Blaine's lips whispering fuck me against his skin.
So Kurt does. He fucks down on Blaine's fingers over and over, his own fingers digging into the headboard and his arms and thighs propelling him toward Blaine. Every muscle in his body sings for Blaine; every part of him is filled with Blaine and still wants more.
He must say more, or maybe Blaine just knows, because with the next slide there is a sudden, unmistakable, euphoric stretch and the light returns, white and blinding, and Kurt is shuddering, shaking, and it's definitely an orgasm this time, but different from any that Kurt has ever felt - a strange, ecstatic unfurling deep inside him.
And it doesn't stop. It doesn't stop as Blaine fucks his fingers deeper into Kurt, stretching him even wider, giving him more to clamp down on. It doesn't stop as Blaine reaches his other hand around Kurt and curls it around his cock, stroking it feather-light as Kurt begins to spill onto the sheets. It keeps going past the point that Kurt's balls are spent and his ass is sore from the clenching, Blaine carrying him through it, kissing and whispering against Kurt’s skin.
Kurt collapses onto the bed. Blaine's lips are on his arm, his neck, the back of his ear. He turns toward Blaine, kisses him with as much gratitude as his exhausted body can express.
"Jesus, that's the hottest thing I've ever seen," Blaine moans, working his cock against Kurt's hip.
"And you've watched a lot of porn, so that's saying something."
Blaine starts a laugh that ends as a moan. "Porn has nothing on you, Kurt. I am so -" Blaine slips his hand between them and wipes Kurt's come onto his own cock, shuddering as he presses it back against Kurt's hip. "So turned on by you."
A confession made evident in the next moment, when that look of pleasured struggle grips Blaine’s face and he comes hot against Kurt's stomach.
They're too wasted to do anything more than whisper soft praises into each other's ears and fall asleep for another hour.
Later, over toast with jam, and scrambled eggs with cheese, and refried beans from a can (they worked up an appetite, okay?), Blaine asks blushingly, "Was that as intense for you as I think it was?"
Kurt nods, stroking Blaine's ankle under the table with his foot. "The brochures my dad got for me didn't really explain how good it feels, or I would have tried it a lot sooner."
Blaine spits the piece of toast that was in his mouth across the table, and Kurt kisses him wetly on the cheek.
* * *
The next week, on a snow day that shuts down the school but doesn't keep the two boys apart, Kurt rides Blaine's cock for the first time. Blaine's not sure what gets him off more: the feel of Kurt around him, or the unrestrained joy on Kurt's face.
He thinks it's probably the latter.
* * *