Fic: Fidelity - Chapter 10, part 2
* * *
Kurt goes to Blaine’s on Saturday afternoon before they head to Scandals. The ostensible reason for the visit is so that Kurt can teach Blaine how to make bowties, but they only get as far as selecting fabric from Mrs. Anderson’s scrap pile before both parents leave for a squash game at the club. (Kurt becomes attached to a green silk herringbone, and Blaine finds a light cotton fabric with tiny kittens the size of polka dots; Kurt almost rejects it out of hand as something Rachel would wear, but then he looks at the way Blaine’s face is lit up and remembers the picture of the old family cat above Blaine’s desk - the one that died the summer before they met - and he kisses Blaine on the cheek and tells him it's perfect.)
As soon as the front door closes, Kurt abandons the kitten fabric on the cutting table. "So," he says. "What you said on Thursday - I keep thinking about it."
Blaine furrows his eyebrows. “What did I say?”
"Um, it was about -" Kurt stops. This is harder to say than he expected. "About, um - About watching me? When I’m by myself."
Blaine smiles meekly. “I remember.”
“And I guess, I was thinking -” He bites his lower lip. “It doesn’t have to be just a fantasy, like the other thing is.
“Oh.” Blaine’s eyes are wide and seem to be changing color by the second, lighter and then darker, gold and then chocolate. His lips are trembling, and there's a fine tremble in his arms, too.
It makes Kurt feel weak and strong at the same time. It makes him want to give everything to Blaine. “I could - I could do that for you.”
Blaine’s silent for a moment. "I don't want you to do this for me."
Kurt looks down at the cutting table. There’s the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. “Oh,” he says. “Just fantasy, then?”
Blaine shakes his head. "No, I - I’d love to watch you.”
Kurt looks up, eyes sparkling with hope, but eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“I mean, what I want, when I think about it - I want you to be doing it for you. Not for me. Because it feels so good that you can't stop yourself. I want to watch you when you're not thinking about making me feel - things.”
“Oh,” Kurt says inaudibly, tugging unconsciously at his collar. "But - you're not a distraction, Blaine."
"That’s not what I mean. Just - the idea of watching you come at your own pace and with your own hands - it would be a different way of seeing you. Without getting so lost in myself. I would see things about you I haven't before, and I think that would be another way to feel closer to you. And -"
"What?"
"In my other fantasy, I think about that, too. I wonder what it would be like to see your whole body when you come, like if it starts in your cock and moves outward or if it moves from your head to your toes or if it waves up and down your body like -"
"Blaine?"
“Yeah?”
Kurt reaches out his hand to take Blaine's trembling fingers. "Let's go upstairs."
*
"I never used to do this, you know, before you."
Blaine knows, of course. Kurt's told him before, more than a few times, mostly because Blaine likes to hear about it. Because he is the man who turned Kurt Hummel into an anally fixated monster, and he doesn't mind having that designation bestowed on him one bit.
But this is different. Kurt's never shown him before.
Kurt's wet fingers are teasing over the perfect pink lines that radiate out from his hole like the points of a star. Blaine is squatting at the foot of the bed, breathing deep, watching the star quiver under Kurt's touch. He feels that quiver through his body and brain more strongly than if Kurt's fingers were on him.
Kurt's voice is quivering, too, breaking with want. "But you made me curious, the way you lost it when I touched you." He lets out a rough moan, pulls his thighs closer to his chest to spread himself wider.
"It feels so good, Kurt," Blaine says, and he's not sure if he's talking about what it feels like when Kurt's fingers are inside him, or if he's talking about this moment, right now, the way that Kurt's words and body, unfolding before him, make Blaine feel more naked than he's ever felt before.
Kurt wends his index finger in a slow spiral around the star, letting the fingers of the other hand caress his balls and thighs and the base of his cock. "The first time we did it, afterward, I couldn't stop thinking about the noises you made, and how you felt around my fingers. You were hungry for me."
"It's always for you, Kurt."
"And I wanted you to take me inside you again. I wanted to feel you around my fingers. So I - " Kurt bites his lower lip as he presses the tip of his middle finger into the center and Blaine watches it sink, the tip swallowed slowly by that shining star. "I did the next best thing. And it felt - Like you were there around my fingers, but also - I got an idea of what it felt like for you, and why you made those noises, and why you wanted it so much."
Kurt lets out a moan and arches, lifting the small of his back off the bed just for a moment before thrusting his hips up and his finger is swallowed just a little more, until it's halfway there.
"I want you so much, Blaine. Always."
Blaine looks up through Kurt's open thighs at his face, strokes his ankle in reassurance. "I'm right here."
Kurt's eyes are relaxed bright like today's cloudless sky. "I know."
Kurt closes his eyes then, lets out a little gasp and Blaine looks back down at Kurt's hand, his perfect pink ass and oh the finger is all gone now, all inside, wrapped in Kurt's velvet heat and Kurt groans again.
"Fuck, Blaine. I want so much."
"What do you want?" He watches Kurt slide the finger incrementally in and out, watches the star flicker around it.
"I want to feel this forever. This - it feels so good. Inside me. And you." Blaine feels Kurt's eyes on him again and he looks up. "You here. With me. It feels so good, Blaine."
Kurt slides his finger out and then there are two silicone-slick fingers teasing at his hole, two fingers being taken and swallowed, and a sweet glow of perspiration breaks out at the crease of Kurt's hips and on his collarbone. Blaine's cock is tingling and hard but he hardly notices, his body more aware of Kurt's every move and breath than of his own.
The noises out of Kurt's throat are purer than music. Blaine's not sure he'll ever tell Kurt this, but the sounds he makes when he's like this break Blaine's heart open even more than his singing.
The first time he heard Kurt sing "Blackbird," it shattered the locks on Blaine's heart and it opened, crying for Kurt to come inside.
It's like that every time Blaine hears Kurt's intimate cries, but a hundred times more.
Blaine watches Kurt's hand twist and - "Oh, there, right there," Kurt murmurs. Kurt rings his other hand around his cock and begins to stroke slowly, lightly, but soon it's a firm grip and a tugging and Kurt has three fingers inside himself now, not all the way but still stretching him so beautifully, his ass clamped down tight on them as they try to move in and out, but Kurt's not quite letting them go. "Oh, fuck, Blaine, I don't know what to do. It feels so good. I want more and I want to come and I want more and I want - Oh, god, Blaine. Oh god."
Kurt's hips lift off the bed and his eyes shock wide and his mouth twists with the throes of pleasure and his rim quakes and his cock churns and pushes and the come flows warm and thick and unstoppable over his fingers. Blaine looks at Kurt's feet, toes curling and flexing, and everything about Kurt is so gorgeous and strong that Blaine's vision becomes blurry. He can still see the outline of Kurt, though, can touch his hand to Kurt's calf and feel it pulse with the shocks of orgasm. He can kiss the hinge of Kurt's knee, the sweet knuckle of bone at the side.
"You're so beautiful, Kurt," he says, and Kurt continues to pulse and quake, his body wringing every last delight out of the orgasm.
"You - " Kurt starts, and then stops, the word turning into a gasp and then a moan. Blaine brushes his fingers everywhere he can reach - the arches of Kurt's feet, the Achilles' tendons, the full circumference of calves and knees and thighs, the appealing jut of hips, the outside ridges of ribs. Blaine feels the muscles wobble and stiffen and relax and seize up again, amazed that a body can stand all this upheaval.
Finally, finally, Kurt comes down, his muscles watery and weightless, words ready to wash ashore. "You make me feel beautiful, Blaine. It's so beautiful."
Blaine lowers himself next to Kurt then, wraps an arm and a leg over him, kisses his temple and his lips and thinks he will never let go, he can't let go, because his heart has broken open and Kurt has stepped inside, and he'll be inside there always - the electrical pulse that makes Blaine's heart beat.
"Come inside me, Blaine."
"You look exhausted, Kurt.
"I'm not exhausted. Just - content."
Blaine is overflowing with Kurt, waves of joy radiating through his flesh. Maybe later, when Kurt's gone and the magnitude of what has happened strikes him, he'll need to jerk off, need to feel Kurt's pleasure beating out its song through his own body. But right now, he's satisfied. He doesn't need any more. "I'm fine. It's enough to watch you. And lie here with you. Really it is."
"I'm not asking just for you, Blaine. I'm asking for me."
Just those four words, and simply being together is no longer enough for Blaine. Because it's not enough for Kurt.
Blaine is suddenly hyperaware of his own hardness, of Kurt's cock still wet and half-hard against his thigh. He kisses Kurt, at first soft and sweet, like waves lapping the shore. But soon they grow into tidal waves, full of salt and turbulence, surging into Kurt.
Blaine moves his lips to Kurt's neck and he drags his fingers across Kurt's stomach and cock, stroking through the come that still lingers there. Kurt looks down, watching Blaine's hand gather it up and spread it from Kurt's cock to his own, rubbing it up and down his shaft, a delighted choking sound gurgling from his throat. "Oh, Kurt. Fuck, Kurt. You feel so - "
"Now," Kurt says breathily, pulling Blaine on top of him, guiding Blaine's cock toward the place it has to go.
"I - let me get a condom. I - " Blaine says, but he doesn't move.
Kurt looks into Blaine's eyes steadily, pure blue Pacific. "If you want."
Blaine thinks he might drown in those eyes, or - no, not drown, but become a thing of the sea, not content to walk on land anymore, but to swim and breathe the cool water and live. "No, I don't want. I want - I want you to feel me when I come. I want you to know what you do to me, Kurt."
"I already know that, Blaine." He pulls Blaine down for a soft, lingering kiss. "But I want - I want that, too."
Blaine kisses Kurt again, longer and harder and full of want, his muscles trembling so hard he wonders if they might give out. He feels so weak sometimes in Kurt's presence, but in a marvelous, contradictory way that makes him feel stronger than he ever feels anywhere else.
Kurt murmurs sweetness to him, like the soft lull of waves. The release and clench of his muscles pulls Blaine in, a tidal wave churning.
Inside, Kurt is like a mullein leaf after rain, sensuous and pliant. Blaine breathes, tries to memorize the perfection of it, tries not to get lost in the way his own body feels.
Kurt's eyes are blue and gray and fluttering like two bluejays. He reaches up and cups his hand behind the curve of Blaine's skull, pulls him down and their mouths tug back and forth, mingling like the ocean and the river at tide.
"Oh god Blaine, everything you do. Everything. You make me feel how much you love me."
Blaine's eyes go blurry again but he can hear Kurt's sighs and crescendoing moans, can feel Kurt's breath against his ear and the sinews of his neck against his lips, can grasp Kurt's cock in his hand and feel it swell and grow harder. He can feel the slick grasping warmth of Kurt's perfect ass around him, feel the joy throbbing through it, feel Kurt pull him in, push him out, pull him in again and thrust and twist and shout Blaine's name so loud that Blaine's skull rings - but that's fine, that's fine if Blaine goes deaf now because he'll have that, the memory of his name on Kurt's lips - but, wait, Blaine can still hear, and Kurt is still calling, calling, calling his name over and over, making it sacred.
Blaine moves and stills in response to Kurt's cries, focuses on Kurt's every motion and need and ignores the longing in his balls, and it's so easy, so easy to ignore because of the way that Kurt is unraveling, opening up for Blaine all over again. Until -
"Come for me, Blaine. I need to feel you come inside me."
The tide rumbles between Blaine's ears and Kurt's thighs, a glorious churn of water and silt and sea, and Kurt roars out Blaine's name with the force of the ocean and Blaine spills into him, waves onto the shore.
* * *
When they get to Scandals, Kurt opts for a Long Island iced tea. “They taste really good,” he says when Blaine raises an eyebrow. “Anyway, I’m just going to have the one this time, now that I know what it is.”
Blaine orders a Fanta and they go to their favorite table to wait for Dave.
Kurt looks around for Cher/Satine so he can introduce her to Blaine, but she’s not around tonight. The Duke is, though, and one of the other guys who was checking out Dave last week, so Kurt points them out.
“That one’s too old,” Blaine says, looking at the Duke. “The other guy might be in the ballpark, though.”
Kurt shrugs. “Dave says he’s not interested in dating, anyway.”
“Oh?”
“I think he wants to wait until he’s more comfortable with himself.” Kurt takes the first sip of his tea.
“Too bad,” says Blaine. “He’s got a really nice ass. Someone should tap that.”
Kurt’s jaw drops. “Oh my god. I can’t believe you.”
“What? He does. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
Kurt smirks and does that thing with his eyebrows that makes Blaine melt. “So are you telling me you have a thing for your best bro-friend?” He lowers his voice and leans into Blaine’s ear. “Should I start talking about watching you in the bedroom?”
Blaine laughs. “No, it’s not like that. I mean, yes, he has a nice ass, but I don’t personally want to tap it. I mean, all football players have nice asses. It kind of goes with the territory.”
“Ah.” Kurt winks and stirs his drink with his straw. “So that’s why you’ve always been such an enthusiastic athletic supporter.”
Blaine smiles at the Grease reference. “Only part of it. The games are interesting, too.”
They sit in comfortable mostly-silence for a while, watching the other bar patrons. Kurt is three-quarters of the way through his tea when he says, “Blaine?”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever -” Kurt stops to look over his shoulders, as if someone might be listening in. He scoots closer to Blaine and whispers. “Do you ever think about me with real people? I mean -” He darts his eyes down toward the table. “People that we know. Other than Señor Martinez.”
This isn’t the best place to be talking about this, but Blaine’s not going to throw away this opportunity. “It started out with Nick," Blaine whispers back.
"Nick?" Kurt raises his eyebrows. It’s surprise, of course, but there’s also something satisfied about it, or even pleased. "Warbler Nick? Really?"
Blaine strums his fingers nervously on the side of his tumbler. "Yeah. I'd have these dreams about walking in on you and Nick making out in the practice room - sometimes it was Jeff - "
"Jeff?"
"Yeah?"
Kurt shakes his head. "Wow. That's really kind of hot even though I would never do Jeff."
"No?"
Kurt wrinkles his nose. "No. I mean, he got the first solo I tried out for, even though I was much better than he was. Also, he needs to work on his hair. Well, and the Warblers in general seem to have gone to the dark side."
“Yeah, well this fantasy started a long time before that happened.”
“Really? How long?”
“Um,” Blaine can feel his face warming. “Before we started dating.”
“But - But I thought you thought I was a baby penguin.”
“I never said that. You did.”
Kurt furrows his eyebrows. “But you didn’t think my sexy faces were convincing, either.”
Blaine shrugs. “They weren’t when you were trying. But you were sexy other times.”
Kurt takes another sip of his tea. “I can’t believe you’ve never told me this.”
“Sorry?”
Kurt puts his hand on Blaine’s. “No, it’s okay. I just - I’ve been learning a lot about you lately. It’s nice.”
Blaine can’t help but kiss Kurt’s cheek.
“So,” Kurt says coyly, “tell me a little more about these dreams you had about me.”
Blaine looks down at their joined hands. "Well, it started out with dreams about you and Nick, and I couldn't tell at first if maybe they upset me, but then I started to really enjoy them - like, really - and when I woke up I would, um, let my mind supply more details."
"For example?" Kurt says. His voice is low and sweet like maple syrup.
"Um, well, you would tell him what to do and then he'd do it, and he'd be - he'd be so eager to do it, whatever it was. And you would - if I was there, in the fantasy - you'd tell us both how it felt, and how well he was doing, and sometimes you'd ask me to come closer so you could squeeze my hand as you came."
Kurt's cheeks and ears and neck are the most delicious shade of pink. His breath is shallow and he's blinking and licking his lips and rubbing his foot against Blaine’s ankle ever-so-gently.
“And I think it’s part of why I was confused about my feelings about you for a while. Because I really liked it, and I thought that if I was in love with you, I should feel jealous.” Blaine shrugs. “I mean, that’s what I’d always believed: that when you fall in love, you want the person all to yourself. So I thought - I thought that I loved you as a friend, and that I thought you were sexy, but that I couldn’t be in love with you because thinking about you with someone else should tear me apart. You know, like in Moulin Rouge.”
“Sweetie -”
“But then you sang ‘Blackbird’ and when you got to the part where it says ‘take these sunken eyes and learn to see,’ it hit me. My love for you didn’t look exactly the way I thought it should, but I was so in love with you, Kurt. And I could see it clearly for the first time.”
Kurt doesn’t answer with words. He just Blaine’s jaw in his hands and looks at him steadily. His eyes are shining and his smile is broad. “I’m so lucky to be loved by you,” he says, and kisses Blaine.
* * *
Dave arrives at Scandals late, and Blaine and Kurt are already there, sitting in their usual place - a small table in the corner that’s meant for two, but where the three of them fit comfortably as long as no one hogs the leg space beneath.
They don’t see him when he walks in. They’re huddled close together, shoulders touching, Blaine whispering something in Kurt’s ear and Kurt smiling - that awesome smile where Kurt’s face scrunches up so brightly that it could light up every major metropolitan area in Ohio. Kurt turns and pecks Blaine on the cheek, and Blaine’s cheeks turn pink and his eyelashes blink slow and dark and sultry, and Kurt kisses him again, but on the lips this time, and it’s … breathtaking. Literally. Dave stops breathing, and the noise of the bar seems to fade into the background, and in that incredible stillness Dave imagines he can hear the sigh that Kurt makes when Blaine raises his fingers to Kurt’s jaw and traces it softly. They smile with each press of their lips together, and sometimes their eyes are closed and sometimes they squint joyfully and sometimes they’re wide, studying the close contours of each other’s faces.
Dave feels a twinge in his heart and pelvis as Blaine’s arm shifts and he rubs his hand slowly up Kurt’s thigh, creeping closer and closer to the jackpot, and Kurt gets more and more lost in the kissing with each inch, his eyes closing and his mouth moving a little more desperately. When Blaine is just about there - Dave can’t actually see Blaine’s hand now, but he can tell by the position of their bodies and their near-franticness that he is so, so close - Kurt bursts out giggling, pushing Blaine’s hand back to his knee and giving Blaine a playful bite on the chin.
They are wrapped in their own cocoon, haunting and lovely and private and safe, and - no, he won’t disturb them. So he walks over to the bar without saying hello first. There will be plenty of time for that when they emerge.
Dave orders his beer, and as he waits, a man he’s seen plenty of times before but never talked to squeezes in next to him and waves to get the bartender’s attention. A beautiful man, tall and older - thirty, maybe - with a chiseled jaw that’s shaved so smooth it’s like marble, and hair that’s chestnut brown like Kurt’s, and fingers that are long like Kurt’s, and eyes and a nose that look nothing like Kurt’s and maybe - maybe they’re just different enough.
Dave leans forward to settle his elbows on the bar, brushing against the beautiful man’s arm as goes.
The man turns. “Hi,” he says. His teeth flash white - brighter than Kurt’s, and squarer, and big and straight like that guy from the vampire movies, but without the fangs.
“Hi,” says Dave.
“Gavin,” the man says, holding out his hand, and Dave takes it. It’s cool and dry and well-manicured, and there’s a platinum ring on his index finger. There are more words after that, although Dave’s not sure how that happens. Words about nothing, really: the weather, and the music pounding from the speakers above them, and what they like to drink. But Gavin is pleasant, not skanky like Sebastian or needy like Jerry; he drops a ten-dollar bill in front of the bartender when she brings Dave his beer, and puts up a hand and shakes his head when Dave tries to say, “Thanks.”
He asks if Dave came with anyone.
“Just some …” Dave starts, searching for the right words. “Some friends, I guess.” His heart squeezes painfully against his ribcage.
They talk some more, with hints and gestures that Dave can only half-comprehend. But he understands enough to know what Gavin is offering, and that it’s something the person he longs for would never offer.
Dave heads to the bathroom first. He waits at the sink, rubbing his hands together under the water - waiting, breathing, counting the seconds and listening for footsteps. His pants get tighter and tighter around his cock, and the water gets so hot it’s almost scalding, but Dave keeps his hands under the stream.
And then Gavin is there, leading him into one of the stalls, pressing him against the sign on the stall divider that says "No Sex In Bathroom." The light directly over the stall is burned out, making it grey and dusky inside, and Dave closes his eyes.
Gavin’s lips are on Dave's lips, his tongue on his tongue, his cock grinding into Dave’s cock through the fabric of their jeans. It’s not electric, and it’s not heaven - but Dave’s body cries out for it, anyway. "What do you want?" Gavin whispers, and Dave answers, "Your hand, just your hand. Please." It comes out, embarrassingly, as a whimper and a plea.
"Shhh, it's okay," Gavin whispers. "Let me take care of you, baby." It’s not Dave's favorite term of endearment, but he can ignore it if he concentrates on the lips against his neck and the hand against his fly; on the unzipping and the oh god of this stranger’s hand squeezing him, pulling him, coaxing sounds out of him that Dave didn't know he could make.
Gavin’s hand is too dry and too rough in its movements, but it doesn’t matter - Dave can’t stop himself from thrusting into it again and again, can’t stop himself from making small choked-off noises of need. Gavin licks too deeply into Dave’s ear and talks way too much - “You’re so good. You’re so hot. Fuck my hand, baby.” - but if Dave shuts those things out and concentrates on the shape of Gavin’s fingers moving on him, it’s suddenly good, and better than good, and then even better than that.
"Oh god,” Dave mutters. “I don't know if I'm going to last."
"Come for me, baby," Gavin says and - okay, Dave could ignore the first few babys, but suddenly he can’t. The only person in his real life who calls him that is his maternal grandmother, and all he can think of now is her, plopped in front of the TV with an ashtray in her lap, trying to smoke herself to death because she gave up on enjoying life years ago.
The main door to the men’s bathroom squeals open, letting the noise of the bar pour in. Gavin’s hand goes still, and Dave holds his breath.
“He must be around here somewhere.” It’s Blaine’s voice, concerned and confused, and Dave hears another set of footsteps follow, unmistakably Kurt’s.
“Are you sure you saw him?” Kurt says, the door shuddering shut behind him and fading the music down to a dull roar.
“Yeah. When we were, you know, making out.” Blaine lowers his voice on the last two words. “I looked at the bar for a second and I saw him there and I thought I should go say ‘hi’ to him but then I figured he’d come over to our table and I like kissing you so … I decided to keep kissing you.”
Dave hears pee splashing against a urinal. “Maybe we should text him.”
There’s some kind of movement - a soft sort of ruffling sound - and then Kurt’s voice again: “Why not?”
Blaine whispers, but Dave can hear every word: “I think he’s in here. The guy he was at the bar with - I think I recognize him from the marriage equality protests at the mayor's office, and not from our side. He comes in here all the time. With other guys. And I’m pretty sure it’s not just to pee." There's a pause. "Or share his tracts."
Silence for a moment, followed by Kurt’s familiar incredulity. “I don’t hear anything, Blaine. I think if he were in here doing that, we’d hear him.” Someone turns a tap on, and the water drowns out the next thing that Blaine says. But it becomes obvious from Kurt’s next words: “Oh my god, Blaine, he did not come in here with somebody. Dave is not that kind of guy.”
Shit.
Blaine’s voice is almost panicky. “But he doesn’t know he matters, like I didn’t know I mattered before I had you, and his first time shouldn't be with some self-hating bigot and - Oh my god, what if they’re not using protection?”
“Dave is not in here losing his virginity. Look, I’ll prove it to you.” Kurt’s footsteps march toward the stalls. And then, right in front of his, come to a sudden, deafening halt.
“Holy shit. Dave?” Dave doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kurt so hesitant. The little bit of blood that was left in Dave’s cock quickly rushes back to his heart. “Dave. Is that really you?”
All this while, Dave and Gavin have been still as statues. But suddenly Gavin lets go of Dave’s soft cock and sighs loudly. "Your friends sure know how to interrupt a good time." He doesn’t even try to whisper. He tucks Dave back into his jeans, zips up his fly, and turns toward the stall door.
To open it.
Fuckfuckfuck. Dave turns his face away from the light.
"Hey, I'm being good to your friend," Dave hears Gavin say. "But if you want to make sure, you're welcome to join us." Dave starts to laugh - he's not sure if it's from amusement or hysteria.
"No, thank you," Blaine says, with the same polite and earnest tone he used on Dave the first time they met and Blaine tried to convince him to come out of the closet. Dave hears him shuffle closer. "But thanks for the offer."
Dave looks. There’s no point in pretending he’s not hear anymore. Blaine's face is as earnest as his voice, which is no big surprise. But Kurt - Kurt is a surprise. His face is as white as a sheet.
"I'm Blaine Anderson. Nice to meet you." Blaine holds his hand out.
"I really don't think you want to shake my hand right now," Gavin nods and puts both hands in his pockets. "But nice to meet you, too. I’m Patrick."
Dave shakes his head with the vigor of a dog shaking water from its ears. “Wait,” he snaps.
All three of them look at Dave, while Dave looks at the guy whose hand was just on his dick. “You told me your name is Gavin.”
Gavin-Patrick shrugs his shoulders. “Did I?”
“Yes.”
Gavin-Patrick saunters out of the stall and over to the sink. “Well, it’s not like it matters, does it?” The three boys stare at him as he washes his hands, dries them, and switches the platinum ring from his right index finger to the ring finger of his left hand.
Blaine gasps. “That’s - that’s a wedding ring.”
“No shit, Sherlock."
"It's not right to hide that from people." Blaine's voice is shaking like a pot of water about to boil. "Does your spouse at least know?"
"Right, of course. I tell her everything." The guy laughs nervously. "Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been lovely getting to know you boys, and thank you for ruining my evening.” The door swings shut behind him and Dave sinks to the floor.
“Holy screaming fuck,” are the only words Dave can come up with.
*
Dave realizes he's been leading Blaine and Kurt in laps around the parking lot for a while, and no one has said a word.
Dave finally breaks the silence. "Sorry," he says. "I'm a little confused right now. I guess I just need my head to clear." He turns to face both of them. Kurt looks fretful and Blaine has that familiar expression of open concern. Dave focuses on Blaine, because it’s easier. "You were right. My first time with a guy shouldn't be like that."
Blaine nods and swallows hard. "No, it shouldn't. That guy was a total asshole.” Blaine scrunches his eyebrows together. “No, wait. Assholes are awesome. That guy is a douchebag.”
“You can say that again,” Kurt mumbles under his breath, but he studiously avoids looking at either of them. His hands are in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the black asphalt beneath them.
Dave scratches the back of his head. “I - I think I should go home now. I’m kind of overwhelmed.”
“Can I give you a hug first?” Blaine says.
“Sure,” Dave says.
Blaine wraps his arms around Dave, squeezing tight. "You deserve better,” Blaine whispers, but Dave hardly hears it because he’s watching Kurt, who’s staring off into the night. He has a look on his face that Dave hasn’t seen in a long time: shocked and simmering with anger.
Dave can only assume it’s over his own whorish behavior. It’s the kind of thing that Kurt would get judgmental about. But he doesn’t need Kurt’s anger right now. He’s annoyed with himself enough as it is already.
* * *
"Are you okay?" Blaine says when they’re almost at the Hummel’s house. Kurt’s been silent for the whole drive, staring out the windshield and moving his lower jaw like he’s chewing something, even though there’s nothing in his mouth.
Kurt startles. "Wh - What?"
“Are you okay? You seem upset.”
Kurt leans his head against the passenger window. “I think I’m just tired. Maybe that Long Island iced tea was a mistake.”
Blaine hesitates. “You’re not upset about Dave?”
“Why would I be upset about that?” Kurt says snippishly.
Blaine drops it. He knows better than to push Kurt when he doesn’t want to talk about something. Sometimes he just needs to let things simmer for a while.
Kurt’s not completely distant, though. When Blaine walks him to his door, Kurt takes his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “I love you, you know.”
Blaine looks around to see if anyone is near. The street is empty. He kisses Kurt’s cheek. “I know.”
“I think I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“It’s okay if you don’t,” Blaine says. “I’ll love you no matter what.”
Kurt drops Blaine’s hand and throws his arms around him in a tight, clinging hug. He kisses Blaine’s ear. “That’s what I needed to hear."