Fic: I Was Not Magnificent (Kurt/Blaine, NC-17) | For the KB Holiday Exchange!
Title: I Was Not Magnificent
Recipient: vesper212
Author/Artist: animal-sweaters
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 16,720
Summary: A fairy tale set in a vague dystopian future, from the prompt: Blaine is a ruthless king that conquers land after land. To scout out his next conquest he goes undercover as a beggar in this kingdom and somehow meets Kurt, the young prince...
Notes: I’d never done an exchange before, so it was a challenge for me to work from such a specific prompt (full prompt not posted since it would be spoilery!). I ended up going some place unexpected and a little crazy with it, which my recipient thankfully didn’t mind. I set out to make this a satire with some serious sociopolitical commentary, but it just wasn’t happening, and it ended up being more of a fairy tale. Thank you to the people who already read this and commented! I’m so happy to claim this and share it with everyone now ♥
You can also read/like/reblog this on Tumblr :)
--
No one knew the weight of an inheritance as well as Blaine Anderson. He sat at his father’s deathbed on a warm spring evening and felt no sorrow, even as his mother wept in a dramatic heap on the floor. The next day, Blaine would be crowned king of an unruly mess of territories held together by nothing more than a web of corrupt and opportunistic power-controllers jockeying for the king’s favor.
Blaine’s father had been the figurehead since the beginning, when Dalton was more of a company than a kingdom, and Blaine was expected to lead the country in new beneficial mergers with smaller independent territories scattered across the continent. When he was fourteen, Blaine wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life learning the history of Dalton’s origins, but all of his father’s advisers patted him on the head and told him to forget the past and create his own future.
At sixteen, as he experienced first-hand the meaning of the phrase death rattle, Blaine internally debated which of his father’s laws to repeal first. Should his coronation also be his coming out party? Would his mother die of grief to lose a husband and the prospect of grandchildren in the same week?
“He’s gone,” the doctor said. He closed King Anderson’s eyelids and set about blessing the body in an elaborate ceremony derived from at least three different religions and designed to appease everyone. The Queen wailed and tore at her vintage Chanel suit, a member of the PR team taking pictures of the entire mourning spectacle for the state-controlled media.
Blaine sat in his pajamas, feeling a strange calm in the midst of the chaos surrounding his father, and wondered what people would say of his own legacy when he’s the one dying.
--
There are rumors of unrest in the suburbs. For as long as Blaine has been alive, there have been rumors of unrest in the suburbs, but now they’re apparently his fault.
“You really must do something,” David says, frowning down at Blaine. David takes his job as Adviser of Internal State Affairs very seriously, since at any given time at least one part of the nation is in some sort of despair.
“It’s not always my fault,” Blaine says, frowning back just as hard, but David’s face has a lot more practice looking disappointed. Blaine sighs, defeated, and slumps further in his chair as Wes joins in on the frowning. As Head Adviser to the King, Blaine thinks Wes should be a little bit more supportive of him.
“You’re the king, Blaine, of course it’s always your fault," Wes says.
With Wes and David’s constant disapproval, though, Blaine didn't feel much like a king. More like a child being chastised by his parents. "And as the king," he says coldly, "I say some people pouting in the suburbs isn't worth our concern. Don't we have more to worry about with the integration of the Carmel territory?"
"All opposition has been suppressed quite successfully," David says, "though the firebombing of that arts compound is largely the source of the suburban unrest. It seems news of that managed to get out."
"Well that's wonderful,” Blaine says dryly. “Where's Thad?"
Thad is his Advisor of Public Relations and oversees the state media, so misunderstandings like this don’t happen very often. He’s very good about helping the people see what they’re supposed to see.
"You agreed a personal appearance in the affected region would be best, Blaine, remember? He'll be in Carmel until Tuesday." Wes seems to grow even more disappointed, crossing his arms and accompanying his frown with a glare. "What is with you? You're not usually this--"
"Clueless?" David supplies.
"Careless," Wes clarifies. "You can't just ignore these things, Blaine. Your job is to take care of the country. It's your birthright."
“It's not like I asked to be king!” Blaine snaps. “I deal with it to the best of my ability, which never seems good enough." Blaine holds up his hand when David looks like he’s about to speak.
"Shut up, both of you,” he says. “I will take care of it. I'll go down to the whiniest village I can find and ask them what their goddamn problem is. If their asshole king isn't taking good enough care of them."
"I'm sure that will go over well," David says. "How many knights will you need to bring to avoid being assassinated?"
"I'm going alone." Blaine stands up and storms over to the conference room double doors. He throws them open dramatically, causing a stack of paper to flutter off a table.
"You'll be kidnapped," Wes says flatly.
"Or killed," David adds. "Or kidnapped and killed, with a strong possibility of molestation.”
"You two are the worst." Blaine pulls his phone out and dials his assistant, ready to make the necessary preparations for his impromptu trip. "I'll go in disguise. I'll make a connection with the common man and come back a better king."
The words are hardly out of Blaine's mouth before he’s laughing, knowing the only thing could learn from the suburbs would be how to be ungrateful and small-minded.
--
It turns out that a lot more than whining is happening in the village of Saliton, which Blaine picks as the site of his visit because it’s the furthest point south-east of Central Dalton.
Blaine’s just beginning his secretive skulking, looking for a leader or gathering place of the rebellious citizens, when a dirty child thrusts a pamphlet at him and then runs off. The paper is handmade and features a crayon drawing of a family under the headline Your king doesn’t love you, but at least you have each other!
Blaine blinks and looks around. Was this some sort of joke? He’d dressed in the homeliest clothes he could find, left his hair curly, and grown a shadow of stubble. He looks nothing like the polished king whose portrait hangs in every public establishment in Dalton, so surely that child thought he was nothing more than an average citizen. Which means that all of his people are privy to this sort of propaganda.
It takes Blaine three days to find the source of the pamphlets, managing to weasel the information out of a mouth-breathing teenager with frizzy hair by pretending to worry about the printers being prosecuted.
“You don’t need to worry about them,” Jacob says, his nasally voice grating against Blaine’s already worn-thin nerves. “The actual printers are in Yelnik; they drop the pamphlets off once a month for us to distribute.”
“How charitable of them,” Blaine says calmly, thankful for the years of his youth spent learning to mask his emotions.
As usual, luck is on Blaine’s side, and the troublemakers from Yelnik are expected to drop off more pamphlets in just two days. Blaine spends the time trying to figure out how they’re even getting into Saliton, as the tiny town border town is separated from the neighboring country of Yelnik by an expanse of desert filled with dirty mines leftover from the war. The desert is the main reason Dalton has yet to forcibly merge with Yelnik. Blaine knows they will never agree to a peaceful merger-- his father had told him multiple times that the small country was full of backwards-thinking, savage people who refused to even meet with him.
The answer comes in the form of Brittany. She’s travelling with another Yelniker, a cherubic boy who never stops smiling, but he’s easily distracted by the cleavage of some passing women and Blaine uses chocolate to lure Brittany into a secluded alley.
“There’s an animal trail at the end of the woods,” she says around her mouthful, and Blaine tries very hard to not look grossed out. “Kurt says it was probably just trial and error until they learned how not to die, but I think the animals can smell the evil in the dirty bombs, like how Lord Tubbington avoids me when I’m on my period.” Brittany licks her fingers clean, pulling them out of her mouth with a loud pop. “What I want to know is, why does everyone call them dirty? Of course a bomb going off is going to be dirty, duh. There’s going to be an explosion, and dirt going everywhere, so why not just call it a regular bomb?”
“The dirty part means they’re contaminated with-- you know what, never mind.” Blaine fishes another piece of chocolate out of his satchel and holds it up between his fingers, watching Brittany’s eyes cross while she stares at it. That this girl is the one sowing discord in Blaine’s kingdom is absolutely mind-boggling. “What time are you guys headed back?”
“Tomorrow morning.” Blaine holds his hand like he’s offering a dog a treat, and Brittany leans forward and picks up the truffle with her teeth.
“Thank you, mystery candy man,” she says, voice muffled around the truffle before she sucks the piece into her mouth.
“No, thank you,” Blaine purrs. He pats her on the head and goes straight to the government outpost, where he sends a message to Wes, since this desolate region doeesn’t have phone reception or wirenet access.
Have discovered propaganda denouncing my benevolent rule, courtesy of Yelnik. Have also discovered a way across the desert and into that wretched land. Will go and gather intel and send word shortly.
PS-- Fire everyone responsible for watching this town. They’re either treasonous, corrupt, or colossal idiots.
Brittany and her overly friendly companion had ridden into town on mules, but Blaine would never taint himself with such a creature. He knows how to ride a horse thanks to a teenage obsession with polo, although the one he acquires is nondescript and nowhere near as well-bred as his horses in the royal stables.
He mounts up at the edge of Saliton, riding through the scraggly forest until the trees thin out and he hits dry soil. It takes him until sundown to find the path, and most of the night to cross the desert. The ground is well worn, and the light from the moon and stars shines eerily bright, so Blaine doesn’t have much trouble navigating the narrow path.
Blaine sleeps when he finally finds water for him and his horse, a little stream next to a large outcropping of rocks, and he rides and rests in a depressing cycle with a growing sense of trepidation. He talks to his horse and sings until he hates the sound of his own voice, which is quite an impressive feat considering Blaine would rather listen to himself than any other sound. It’s not until he passes his first farm and a helpful farmer’s wife that he knows he’s going in the right direction.
The capitol of Yelnik is nothing like Blaine imagines. He rides in on his sad brown horse expecting to find an even sadder group of people, but instead he follows the sound of live music to a crowded market. He stands on the edge of it, taking in the variety of stalls selling everything from produce to fabric, and feels extraordinarily out of his element.
“Hello.”
Blaine startles and turns to the source of the voice, seeing a boy about his age clutching a basket of vegetables.
“Hi,” Blaine says, wincing as his voice cracks from disuse. He clears his throat and flashes his most charming smile. “I’m just passing through, and I’m not actually sure where I am. Would you mind enlightening me?”
“Not at all,” the boy says with a small smile. He shifts the basket to his other arm and strides toward Blaine, looking Blaine and his horse over with a curious and only slightly judgemental eye. “My name’s Kurt Hummel,” he says, shaking Blaine’s hand, “and you’re in Highland Square, the center of Yelnik. I’m assuming you at least know what country this is.”
“I would hope so,” Blaine murmurs, “but it’s been a long journey. All of this may be a hallucination brought on by dehydration and saddle sores.”
“Oh dear,” Kurt says, though he doesn’t sound very concerned. “Let’s get you some water and the softest feather pillow in all the land for your sore bottom.”
That coaxes a surprised laugh out of Blaine. He looks at Kurt with a peculiar face, trying to make sense of him. The horse-- Blaine refuses to name the beast, as she’s the most stubborn and ungrateful thing he’s ever had between his legs-- shifts tiredly next to him and whinnies.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, flapping a hand and flushing a little. “I really will get some water for you and your horse. Do you want to tour Tara?”
“Is that like a ski resort?” Blaine asks after a moment of confusion, wondering how the climate and topography around here allows for that. It seems more the plains-and-rolling-hills type of country, though he could be mistaken as he’s never actually seen a map of the place.
Kurt snorts and raises an eyebrow. “Does this look like the Alps?” Blaine shakes his head, though he’s not actually sure where the Alps are. “It’s our capitol building and my family’s home. It’s a colonial-style farmhouse that’s been added on to so many times, it doesn’t know what it is. My mother renamed it Tara. You know, after the plantation in Gone With the Wind?”
“I-- I don’t know what that is,” Blaine answers.
“I’ll lend it to you.” Kurt shifts the basket to his right arm and takes a step back, watching Blaine with an inquisitive tilt to his head. “I need to get my bicycle before we head back. Don’t move.”
“Okay.” Blaine waits, feeling unusually helpless for a king who normally holds a sprawling nation in the palm of his hand. Yelnik isn’t his to control, and Blaine has no place in it. He pets the neck of his pathetic horse and waits for Kurt.
--
Tara is perched on the greenest hill Blaine has ever seen. It isn’t very far outside of the square, even with Blaine walking his tired horse while Kurt pushes his bicycle-- bright red with a basket hooked to the handlebars, this boy is ridiculous-- alongside them. They could see the sprawling white building long before they reach the wrought-iron gates.
“They’re always unlocked and open,” Kurt adds offhandedly as they stroll up the gravel pathway. “My dad says it fosters a better sense of community if the king isn’t afraid of his own people.”
Blaine stops, frozen, hand clenching tight to the horse’s reigns. “Your father’s the king of Yelnik?”
“Well, if you want to use that word, yes.” Kurt pivots to look back at Blaine, resting his head on his arm where it’s propped on the handlebar of his bicycle. “Does it offend you? We don’t really mean it in the old-fashioned sense. Everyone calls him Papa Burt, and sometimes he’s referred to as a benevolent dictator, but that’s mostly a joke.” Kurt looks pensive for a moment, then adds, “I think the city council would call him ‘President for Life’, but that implies he wouldn’t step down if the country ever called for it.”
“I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of royalty,” Blaine chokes out, wondering how much Kurt knows about the rulers of his neighboring kingdoms. It would be unbearably depressing if Blaine is discovered as a spy because the first person he met happened to be the prince. Prince Kurt seems alarmingly trusting, though, and Blaine thinks he can probably find out everything he needs to know for a successful merger with Yelnik. Most likely, all he’ll have to do is ask leading questions and bat his eyelashes for Kurt to divulge the country’s secrets.
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Kurt pouts at him, clearly misconstruing Blaine’s discomfort as he starts walking again. Blaine has no choice but to follow. “We’re all very down-to-earth here. Yelnik is so small that being around the royal family isn’t a big deal.”
Kurt leads Blaine to a large building set away from the main house, whistling as they approach. As Blaine hands his horse over to Sam, the stable boy, Kurt stows his bicycle in a large shed-- which is filled with all sort of vehicles foreign to Blaine, though Kurt promises to show him later. For now, they enter a carved wooden door on the eastern wing of the house that leads into a small entrance room.
“I have this wing to myself,” Kurt says as sits on a bench to carefully remove his boots. The room is lined with coat hooks and little storage cubbies, and Kurt retrieves two pairs of slippers, holding one out expectantly. Blaine kicks off his shoes and steps into the slippers while Kurt tsks. “Just because it’s a mudroom doesn’t mean one should treat it like a pigpen,” Kurt scolds, though he’s smiling. Blaine smiles back uneasily, not sure what to make of all the strange terms Kurt throws around, as he moves his shoes to sit primly next to Kurt’s boots.
Kurt’s fingertips are soft and hesitant as they slide across Blaine’s palm. He fits their fingers together and tugs Blaine through the doorway into a warm hallway, smile turning fond as he leads Blaine to a guest room.
“I hardly ever have anyone stay over,” Kurt says. “There aren’t many visiting dignitaries anymore, with the way Dalton’s been swallowing the world up.” Blaine must make a noise at that, because Kurt looks concerned and grabs Blaine’s other hand. “Is that where you’re from? There are a lot of refugees here who managed to escape Dalton, you know. We even have a group from Carmel that arrived just before the border wall was finished.”
Blaine nods, mind reeling, but he quickly tamps down his defensive anger. Kurt doesn’t know what actually goes on inside Blaine’s country. Blaine is a good king, and his people are safe and well-cared for, if sometimes ungrateful and prone to protests over the most ridiculous things. In his few days in Saliton, he’d heard many people complaining about their lives and wishing for escape to Yelnik, which was upheld as some sort of utopia. Blaine’s a realist, he knows the grass is always greener on the other side-- though in this case, the grass really is greener in Yelnik-- but there’s a lot more to a country that the meadows.
“Why don’t you get cleaned up while I get you some food?” Kurt says as he opens the chifforobe and retrieves some towels. “You can make yourself at home, and tell me if you need anything.” Blaine agrees gratefully, and Kurt shows him how to work the shower before he saunters off with the promise of food.
When Blaine emerges half an hour later, there’s a fine silver tray of warm bread and fresh fruit on the bed, and Kurt is lounging on the plush window seat. He hops up when Blaine sits down and twists his hands together.
“You’re probably tired. You can take a nap, if you want, or if you’re not tired then you can eat and I can show you around more,” Kurt rambles, biting his lip. “Do you need anything? I haven’t fostered any refugees in a while, so I just-- don’t know what you need?”
“I’m pretty set with the basics,” Blaine says with a shrug, pointing to the pack he’d taken off his horse. “I’d love a nap. As long as it’s okay that I stay here?” He’s not sure what will happen when King Hummel discovers a strange boy in his son’s wing. Then again, as courteous as Kurt has been, perhaps he brings home strays on a near daily basis.
“It’s fine,” Kurt says as he waves a hand, dismissing Blaine’s concerns. “We’ve had a lot of refugees stay here while they get on their feet. It’ll be nice to have someone around. Now get some rest.” Kurt waves over his shoulder as he pulls the door closed.
Blaine slumps back on the bed, sighing heavily. What is he getting himself into? He’d intended to do some low-key reconnaissance, and now he’s staying in the king’s castle and befriending the prince. He really should get a message to his advisers, but Dalton inspects incoming mail from outside territories, and the only way he can guarantee it actually gets to the castle is to send it on royal stationary. He can’t do that without arousing suspicion from the locals.
Fuck. Blaine yanks the covers over himself and decides to sleep now and worry about it later.
--
It’s pitch black when Blaine wakes. He has no idea what time it is, and only the still-bright hall tells him anyone is awake. He wanders the wing, following the soft and surprisingly high sound of Kurt singing until he finds him in a giant closet. As he watches Kurt flit around the wardrobe, he learns two things: Kurt has a bizarre yet dedicated sense of fashion, and Yelnik must be the most accepting place on earth if this is their prince.
“They actually call me the princess,” Kurt corrects when Blaine voices his observation. Kurt nods decisively at a row of fur stoles he’d been fiddling with, which now hang by order of length. “I had them arranged by type of fur, but that doesn’t really matter, does it?” Kurt muses.
He spins on his heel and marches toward a door inside the closet. “I also have a truly impressive collection of tiaras.” Kurt opens the door, and the inner room is lined with shallow shelves holding all manner of tiaras and crowns, from glittering jeweled monstrosities to dainty wreaths made of dried flowers.
“That doesn’t offend you?” Blaine asks, stepping into the room to get a closer look at the collection.
“A king is more of a symbol than a man,” Kurt says. ”For a long time I was the only child, and people did refer to me as the prince. But then my dad remarried, and my stepbrother Finn is more the type of prince you would expect. He goes out and slays the imaginary dragons while I stay here and take care of things. I can be tough when I need to, but I much prefer being creative and nurturing.” Kurt pauses, looking at Blaine. “I’m playing the part for my country.”
“But they’re calling you a girl.” Blaine picks up a pink tiara covered in tiny rhinestones and looks at Kurt, trying to imagine him wearing it. Kurt is wearing tight grey trousers and a light blue dress shirt with a black vest and patterned bow-tie-- not what the typical Dalton man would wear, but masculine nonetheless. Kurt takes the tiara and places it on his carefully styled hair. He looks up at Blaine through his eyelashes, eye sparkling, and he really should look demure and silly but Blaine finds the whole thing surprisingly naughty. He gulps.
“Duty has no gender, Blaine,” Kurt says, somehow both sing-song and serious. “Besides, I am still very much a man. Granted, I’m a man who likes dressing up and making appearances, but people appreciate that about me. Everyone needs something outside themselves to believe in. They need symbols, and I am more than happy to be one for them.”
“Okay,” Blaine says softly, “I can see your point.” He uses both hands to gently pluck the tiara from Kurt’s head and place it back on the shelf. When he looks back, Kurt’s face is in profile as he admires a golden crown that looks more like something Blaine’s father would have worn. Blaine himself finds the crowns he inherited silly and only wears them when his advisers make him, mostly at official functions. Kurt seems to treat them like they are a physical representation of honor.
“What do you think?” Kurt asks, and Blaine refocuses to see him now wearing a spiky black crown that looks vaguely demonic. Kurt himself, however, looks nothing but regal and disarmingly attractive as he reaches up and adjusts the base so it sits slightly off-center.
“Very nice,” is all Blaine’s brain supplies, because he’s completely overtaken with how much he wants to stalk over to Kurt and devour him. Blaine’s not usually one to deny his carnal whims, but Kurt is just smiling at him like he has no idea how gorgeous he looks, no clue that he’s alone in a room with a boy who wants to positively ravage him, and for the first time in his life Blaine stops himself from simply taking what he wants. The thought unsettles him.
“Does your dad wear a crown, then?” Blaine blurts out, mostly to stop himself from saying something predatory.
Kurt snorts. “God, no. He would kill me if I tried to put one on his head. He prefers old baseball caps.” At Blaine’s quickly blanching face, Kurt grins. “I know, right? Hideous.”
Blaine isn’t thinking about fashion at all, though he’s glad for the cover-up, because in Dalton baseball is something people play in the slums. Telling that to Kurt probably would only earn him some ill-placed sympathy, so Blaine instead asks about the governmental structure of Yelnik.
Kurt, as it turns out, loves to talk about history. He also keeps a mini wine cellar in his closet.
“What?” Kurt giggles as he pours them each a generous portion into some overly ornate goblets. “You never drink wine and play dress up?”
“I’m more of a ‘drink wine and stare morosely into the fire’ kind of guy,” Blaine admits, and Kurt feigns shock as he collapses onto the velvet sofa in the main part of the closet. Blaine sits carefully next to him and Kurt curls up, tucking his feet under himself as he takes large sips from his goblet.
Kurt lowers his voice and regards Blaine critically. “This is your abbreviated history lesson of Yelnik,” he says. “At first, we were a bunch of loosely connected communes that sprung up when the world went crazy. That was right after the war, and Great-Grandpa Hummel sort of became the unofficial judge. People went to him with their problems, and he was so helpful to everyone that he kind of became the leader.” Kurt takes another sip and snuggles down into the pillows. The wine has already brought a rosy flush to his cheeks and stained his lips red. Blaine would really like to crawl on top of him and lick the taste off his mouth, but Kurt has this adorably nostalgic expression as he speaks so Blaine sits on his hand not occupied with the goblet and listens.
“Grandpa Hummel was the one who unified the groups. He set up the city council and made things a little more organized for trading, and then it just naturally fell to my dad to take his place. I worry about replacing him and making everyone happy, but I think I’ll be a good king. I have some impressive role models.”
“Do you think that’s important?” Blaine asks. “Having role models?”
“Of course,” Kurt says, looking at Blaine like he can’t believe he had to ask. “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have my dad mentoring me. God, I couldn’t imagine having to inherit a country without learning everything I could from my father.” Kurt keeps talking about his dad, how great he is and how much he’s learned from him. Blaine downs his wine, trying to dull the sharp feeling in his chest. Blaine spent the years his own father was alive avoiding him and trying to find his own answers, only to end up settling into the mold his father had carved for him.
--
Blaine spends a great deal of time listening to Kurt talk over the next few days. He pretends it’s because he’s being a good spy, and not because he likes listening to Kurt’s voice and watching the way different emotions play across his features. Blaine learns more than he ever could have hoped about the little country of Yelnik, almost feeling guilty about how easy it will be to take over.
The people will undoubtedly defend themselves to the death, but they have no organized army. Blaine expects there won’t be much damage if Burt sees the futility of resisting and agrees to the merger to spare his people any harm. Yelnik will be a good resource for Dalton, and the people will thrive if they sell their food into Dalton’s cities instead of practically giving it away locally. Expanding their markets will be a good thing, and Blaine can only hope that Kurt agrees when the time comes.
They spend the daytime exploring the house, which is full of antiquated furniture and art that Kurt talks about for hours, and the grounds, which sport an impressive garden and a large pond where Kurt teaches him to fish. In the evenings, Kurt cooks and Blaine dines with him and his family, trying to make up a reasonable life story without really lying. It’s very easy for him to deceive strangers and lobbyists, but with how earnest the Hummels are about everything, Blaine finds it very difficult to be too deceitful. His luck holds, and the Hummels don’t press him too much when he clearly doesn’t want to talk about his family-- they’re satisfied when he simply tells them he doesn’t want his father’s life, but he’s not sure what else to do with himself. Kurt pats his knee under the table, and Blaine’s heart lurches in his chest. He puts his hand over Kurt’s, and neither of them move for the rest of the meal.
--
“I’m sorry,” Kurt tells him as they mount a tandem bicycle, the early morning light haloing his body. “I’m being very selfish keeping you here. There are so many people you have to meet.”
“It’s okay,” Blaine reassures him. “There’s no way the rest of the citizens can compare to you, anyway.”
“Oh.” Kurt looks down, clearly flustered, and the bicycle wobbles on the gravel path. “I wouldn’t-- I mean, there are a lot of good people here, so I wouldn’t say that without meeting them first. You might actually find that you’ve wasted time in my company when you could have been tangoing with Mike Chang.”
Mike Chang, dancer extraordinaire, lives with his girlfriend Tina on his family’s chicken farm. Blaine learns this from Kurt while they peddle the absurd two-person bicycle-- which Kurt assures him is not the craziest method of transport he owns-- to the other side of town.
It’s not until they arrive and are properly introduced that Blaine learns the Chang family has turned their old horse barn into a dance and piano studio. There’s a worn but well-tuned upright at one end, which Tina plays as Mike leads Kurt in a tango. Blaine can’t help but be simultaneously jealous and turned on as he watches Mike and Kurt entwining their impossibly flexible bodies. They end with a low dip that has Kurt’s hat falling off and Tina catcalling, and as soon as Kurt is on his feet, Tina pushes her way into Mike’s arms and growls.
“You’re really good,” Blaine says lowly as Kurt sidles next to him, blushing at the praise.
Over the course of the past day they’ve practically dissolved all personal boundaries, Kurt pushing into Blaine’s touches like he craves the contact, but Kurt hasn’t given Blaine any indication that he wants more than casual touches. Blaine’s not sure when to start testing his luck.
“Aren’t they hot together?” Tina asks, and Blaine realizes she’s directing the question at him. “I love it when Kurt and Mike dance together.” She leans in and bites at Mike’s ear, giggling, and Kurt hides his face against Blaine’s shoulder.
“Stop it,” Kurt mumbles.
Blaine rubs Kurt’s back and waggles his eyebrows at Tina, who grins and gives him a thumbs-up. Mike detaches from Tina’s grip to pick up Kurt’s hat and fix it back on Kurt’s head with a graceful bow. Kurt pulls back from his hiding place and glares at Tina, but she seems immune to it.
“I’m going to put something on the phonograph so we can all dance,” Mike says, jogging over to a funny-looking contraption. He somehow makes crackly music pour out of the machine.
The song is a waltz, and Blaine at least knows how to connect with Kurt like this, pulling him close and taking the lead. Kurt looks surprised but happy that Blaine knows the cadence of the music, following him and improvising perfectly. Blaine doesn’t even look at what Tina and Mike are doing, focusing his eyes on Kurt’s, which are green in the interior of the barn. They were blue as they rode over, and grey in the hazy morning light as they’d eaten breakfast that morning.
Kurt’s lips part around a surprised breath as he freezes, Blaine stumbling slightly as he stops as well. They’re pressed together more closely than the dance calls for, Blaine’s hand on the small of Kurt’s back, and Kurt looks absolutely mortified. Blaine’s smile disappears as he realizes why Kurt looks so upset, but before he can do anything Kurt has pulled away and is running out the door.
“Kurt!” Blaine calls, sending an apologetic look to Mike and Tina as he runs after Kurt. He finds Kurt sitting on a hay bale next to the barn with his head in his hands. “Kurt, look at me,” Blaine says. He drops to a crouch and takes Kurt’s hands, but Kurt just lets his head hang. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why you’re upset.”
“I’m not-- I’m so embarrassed,” Kurt mumbles. “That was what I thought it was, right?”
“I got hard from dancing with you, yeah.”
Kurt makes a distressed sound and jerks away but Blaine holds his hands firmly. “How can you just say it like that?” Kurt asks miserably.
Blaine tips his forehead to rest against Kurt’s. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, but it’s really not a big deal. If I’d realized, I would have kept my hips away from you.”
Kurt pulls back, his eyes wide and watery. “Well, it’s kind of a big deal for me. I’m not comfortable. With that.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” Blaine wonders if this counts as the first time someone has turned him down. If he’d pressed his dick against anyone back home, they would have pressed back and let him do whatever he wanted.
“It’s okay,” Kurt says after a minute. He takes a deep breath and gives Blaine a thin smile. “You’re a good dancer. Maybe you should dance with Tina, since I’m guessing she won’t give you that problem.” Kurt’s eyes widen as he realizes what he’s just said. “I mean-- I don’t know, maybe she’d give you even more of a problem?” Kurt flaps his hand and makes a grossed out face. “Ignore me. Either way, Mike or Tina wouldn’t be as weird about it as I’m being.”
Blaine wants to tell Kurt’s he’s not being weird, but he kind of is. His flustered embarrassment is surprisingly endearing, though. Blaine takes Kurt’s hands again to haul him to his feet, and then lets go to rub his shoulder. “You’re adorable. Stop worrying about it.”
Kurt nods and Blaine’s hand drifts down Kurt’s spine, rubbing soothingly as Kurt blinks away the wetness in his eyes. As Kurt takes another breath and straightens his spine, all evidence of his minor breakdown suddenly vanishes. He pulls away from Blaine and stalks toward the barn door, looking at Blaine over his shoulder, haughty and superior. “Alright, Mr. Full-of-Surprises. Let’s see how well you fox-trot.”
--
The rest of the visit with Mike and Tina goes by in a blur of dancing, music, and laughter, and by the time they’re riding through town in the fading light of dusk, all traces of discomfort between Kurt and Blaine are gone.
Kurt actually sits down and makes a list of everyone Blaine needs to meet, which he presents to him on handmade paper at breakfast the next day. They’re eating outside, lounging on a horse blanket under an apple tree.
“Show me that in a minute,” Blaine says around a mouthful of warm buttery bliss. “I need to focus every single one of my senses on this, oh my god.” Blaine swallows his bite and waves the flaky bread around, even as Kurt mocks him with a raised eyebrow. “What did you call this again? I need this delivered to my mouth every single morning.”
“It’s a croissant,” Kurt says, amused. “I can probably arrange for that to happen. I’m on good terms with the baker.”
“Says the baker,” Blaine counters playfully, words muffled around the last bite. None of the food in Dalton tastes anywhere near as good as what Kurt makes. It’s all derivations of corn and soy and artificial flavor mixed with wood pulp, not at all like the simple ingredients Kurt magically turns into edible heaven. He eats another three croissants before Kurt makes an exasperated noise and shuts the lid on the picnic basket.
“You’re an animal.”
Blaine pouts, but Kurt counters it with the bitchiest expression Blaine has ever seen, and he can’t help but crack up laughing and tip over sideways. “How are you mad that I love your baking?” Blaine wonders aloud, smiling up at Kurt from where he’s laying on the blanket. Kurt’s expression turns soft.
“I’m not. I’m just excited to teach you about my country and show you around. Not everyone wants to know how it all works.” Blaine’s smile fades as thinks about what Kurt would do if he knew why Blaine was so curious.
Blaine lasts nearly a week of meeting an overwhelming amount of Yelnikers before he cracks. He’s riding in the sidecar of Kurt’s cream-colored scooter while Kurt rambles on about his friend Rachel and her family’s pygmy goat farm, and Blaine suddenly doesn’t want to interact with anyone ever again.
“All the soap you’ve been using is made from their goat’s milk,” Kurt tells him excitedly, “but wait until you try drinking it raw. It’s delicious, especially when it’s so fresh it’s still warm. Sometimes I bring Finn--”
“Hey, Kurt?” Blaine calls over the sputtering of the tiny scooter engine. “Can we maybe put a moratorium on meeting new people? I kind of want to just spend some time alone.” Blaine’s been waiting and waiting to meet someone awful, or find out something about Yelnik that will make him feel less guilty about forcibly annexing it, but either Kurt is purposefully only introducing him to amazing people or the country really is as great as it seems. Blaine just needs some time to think, to figure out how to get a message back home, and maybe plan out a way for Kurt and his dad to agree to a merger.
“Oh.” Kurt slows the scooter down and pulls off the smooth dirt path, the sidecar bouncing as they roll over the grass. He puts the stand down and shuts off the motor, looking at Blaine curiously. “Um. Do you want me to take you somewhere?”
Kurt’s wearing an old leather jacket with a sheepskin collar and a white scarf tucked around his neck that was flying artfully in the breeze as they scooted along. His head is covered in what Kurt had explained was styled after an old aviator cap, and he’s wearing these ridiculous goggles that he pushes up onto his forehead when Blaine doesn’t respond right away.
“In a minute,” Blaine finds himself saying. He gets out of the sidecar, wishing he looked a little more graceful, and walks through the grass, wildflowers brushing his calves. They don’t have wildflowers in Central Dalton.
Kurt catches up to him, hair wild, his cap and goggles left on the seat of the scooter. “Blaine?”
“I’m just a little overwhelmed,” Blaine says quietly. “We’ve been going from one thing to the next, and I’ve met so many people my head is spinning with names and faces.”
Kurt hums and bends over to inspect a flower, snapping the blossom off the stem and standing back up. He shuffles toward Blaine until their toes touch and tucks the flower over his ear.
“I know what you mean.” Kurt’s voice is soft and intimate, pitched lower than Blaine’s ever heard it. “I’m sorry for dragging you all over the place.”
“Don’t be,” Blaine says. “I’ve just hit my limit for now.”
Kurt nods and tries to take a step back, but Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist and pulls him closer. He’s come to rely on Kurt so much, Blaine can’t imagine being here without him. He doesn’t know what he wants from Kurt, but he knows he needs to be closer to him. Blaine tilts his face up and leans into Kurt as slowly as he can, to give him time to turn away if he doesn’t want it. Blaine’s not used to asking for inconsequential things like kisses, but it’s clear that Kurt has a much different approach to intimacy than he does. If he can’t make himself say the words, he’ll at least give Kurt a physical way out.
Kurt doesn’t take the out, though, just makes a tiny noise of surprise and lets his lips brush against Blaine’s. He turns his head after a few seconds of chaste contact, his breath fanning across Blaine’s cheek as his body trembles slightly in Blaine’s arms. Blaine’s about to ask if he’s okay when Kurt raises his arms and wraps them around Blaine’s neck, tucking his head down with a sigh.
Blaine nuzzles into Kurt’s jaw, pressing soft kisses down the sharp edge of it until he reaches Kurt’s neck, opening his mouth and kissing a little wetter. Kurt whimpers and drags his head up until their mouths can meet again, lips fitting together and dragging apart in a long series of gentle kisses. Blaine’s teeth graze Kurt’s lower lip and Kurt opens his mouth wider, eyes heavy-lidded, and Blaine pushes their mouths together again, sliding his tongue along Kurt’s. Kurt pulls back, startled, and hides his face in the space between his arm and Blaine’s neck.
“I’ve never done this before,” Kurt says brokenly. Blaine shushes him and strokes his back.
“Never made out in a meadow?”
Kurt lets out a dry chuckle and shakes his head, clinging tighter to Blaine. “Kissing. I’ve never kissed anyone.” His voice is barely audible, and it takes Blaine a moment to process his sentence.
“Really?”
Kurt shakes his head again, and Blaine knows he’s probably blushing.
“I’m sorry if I’m bad at it. You seem to know what you’re doing.” Kurt pulls back enough to look at Blaine’s face. “Have you kissed a lot of people?”
“Yeah. Though I usually don’t give that much time to just kissing, so this is nice.” Blaine cups Kurt’s face in his palm, thumbs stroking over his high cheekbones as he smiles down at him fondly. “This is really, really nice.”
Kurt’s face scrunches up. “What do you mean?”
Blaine kisses him again, sucking a little on his upper lip, before he continues with, “I’m not after anything more with you-- at least, not unless you’re offering-- so you don’t need to worry.”
“So you’re usually kind of slutty?”
“Little bit, yeah.” Blaine grins at him and Kurt tilts his head into Blaine’s palm.
“I can’t decide whether I’m offended or flattered.”
“You should definitely be flattered,” Blaine says. He slides his hand down to Kurt’s jaw, angling his face for another deep kiss, and this time Kurt responds, meeting the hot slide of Blaine’s tongue with gentle, careful movements.
“Lie down,” Blaine whispers, lips brushing Kurt’s mouth.
Kurt swallows and nods, slowly lowering himself until he’s stretched out in the soft grass, neither of them letting go as Blaine settles next to him.
Blaine would normally straddle Kurt and get right down to it, but he keeps himself propped on his side, hovering over Kurt and being careful not to let his hands stray too far. Despite his uncharacteristic gentleness, Blaine’s moves are assured and steady, discovering the places that make Kurt whimper and tremble beneath him. Every touch of Kurt’s is hesitant, his fingertips hovering before they land on each patch of unexplored skin. He kisses like he’s trying to memorize the moves, furrowing his brow as Blaine presses deep, tongue running along the roof of Kurt’s mouth.
“Stop thinking about it,” Blaine murmurs, pulling back just enough to breathe the words across Kurt’s lips before sinking back down. Kurt whines and drags his hands up Blaine’s back, twining them in Blaine’s hair as he presses their mouths together harder, and Blaine can feel the tension finally, slowly draining out of Kurt’s body.
--
They try to leave the meadow three times, delayed by the continued need for more kisses. When they finally make it to the scooter, Kurt nearly drives them off the path because he can’t stop turning to look at Blaine and grin this wide, uninhibited smile that Blaine has never seen before. Kurt pulls over in front of a large brick building and hops off his seat, pinning Blaine in the sidecar and pressing their lips together chastely, lingering for a long minute, just breathing together.
“When I was a kid and I needed to get away, I would come here,” Kurt says softly as he plants one final, firm kiss on Blaine mouth. He gestures grandly to the building behind him. “This is our library. I know it doesn’t look like much, but the shelves are packed.”
“You brought me to a library?” Blaine tilts his head, his eyebrows drawing together as he studies the building. “I haven’t been in a library since I was cramming for my last high school exams. We don’t really use books anymore, either. It’s a lot easier to access them from dataports.”
“That is sad,” Kurt says seriously, “but since you still don’t know what Gone With The Wind is, and you looked at me like I’d gone insane when I made a joke about my Narnia wardrobe, I’m assuming your literary knowledge is woefully lacking.”
“I’ve had a lot of more important things to worry about,” Blaine says. “Plus, my dad really discouraged anything that wasn’t directly related to my inheritance.”
Kurt shakes his head and offers Blaine a hand so he can climb out of the sidecar. “Someday you’ll tell me about this inheritance you left behind. At the very least, the library is quiet, and no one will bother you. Do you want me to pick you up, or will you walk home?” Kurt asks. “Tara’s about a half hour walk from here.”
“I’ll walk,” Blaine says. “Clear my head, smell the crisp country air, look at the stars--” he trails off, tone teasing, and Kurt rolls his eyes as he shoos Blaine up the steps.
If Blaine’s honest with himself, he’s being serious. He loves how the air smells, and Yelnik has some sort of energy conservation agreement where they only use lights after dark in emergencies, so the night sky is impossibly bright with visible stars. Blaine’s used to only seeing a smattering of the brightest stars that manage to break through the light pollution and fog surrounding Central Dalton.
--
Blaine’s head is so jumbled with facts and ideas that he barely registers the walk back to Tara. He’d picked up An Abridged History of North America because it was big and old-looking, and he frankly could not believe all of the gaps in history left over from his Dalton education. He remembers being young and inquisitive and getting shot down whenever he asked too many questions. To suddenly have the opportunity to answer all of the things he’s always wondered about is terrifying.
Blaine lets himself into Kurt’s wing and drags his feet down the hallway, overwhelmed by how much he doesn’t know. How can his country allow him to make the monumental decisions he’s entrusted with when he doesn’t even understand where his country came from?
The light is on in Blaine’s room, and Blaine sighs and closes his eyes when he sees Kurt sitting on his bed. He shuts the door softly and leans against it.
“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks, and Blaine shakes his head.
“I have a lot to process,” Blaine says after a moment, not opening his eyes. He hears Kurt uncross and recross his legs with a soft little breath that Blaine can’t interpret. Blaine slants his eyes open drowsily, and Kurt looks nervous, of all things, twisting his hands together and chewing on his lip.
“Are you alright?” Blaine asks.
“I have something to tell you, but you already seem upset and I don’t want to make it even worse.”
“Oh god, go ahead,” Blaine groans, peeling himself from the door before flopping face-down on the bed.
Kurt rests a tentative hand on his back, patting him a little. “I’m betrothed.”
Blaine snorts, rolling his head to the side so his face isn’t smushed into the duvet. “What.”
“I should have told you earlier before you kissed me, but I wasn’t thinking about him. I was a little... distracted.”
Blaine shifts up onto his elbow, dislodging Kurt’s hand as he peers at Kurt’s face. “You’re serious.”
“Yes,” Kurt whispers, sounding almost ashamed. He’s not looking at Blaine, instead watching his fingers tracing idle patterns on the duvet.
The hollow feeling that had been brewing inside Blaine since the library grows exponentially. “What’s his name?” Blaine asks coldly, and Kurt flinches.
“Dave. He’s-- his dad is a lawyer, sort of, but more of an accountant. He runs this organization that helps small businesses and family farms, and he’s really important to the community,” Kurt explains. “Our dads talked about it, and since Dave is also gay, we decided it would be best for us to get married.” Kurt folds his hands in his lap, his legs crossed tightly, and hunches his shoulders. “So. There’s that.”
“You’re engaged to a guy you’ve never kissed because your dad thinks he’s marrying you into a good family? What the hell, Kurt.” Blaine laughs humorlessly and shakes his head, letting his body fall back to the bed. “I really did not expect that from Yelnik, or from you.”
“I agreed to it,” Kurt snaps, spine going rigid. “You don’t understand the importance of family ties. This country works because we trust each other. Yelnik is expanding, and the far eastern side sometimes feels cut off and neglected. That’s where Dave’s family lives, and the people over there really admire his dad’s organization. This marriage will reinforce our country’s unity. Who am I to deny us that?” Kurt asks rhetorically. “I love Yelnik, and Dave and I get along. I’m happy to marry him.”
“As happy as you were to kiss me?” Blaine asks, cruel and mocking.
Kurt doesn’t say anything for a long time, and when Blaine sits up he sees that Kurt’s eyes are glassy. He pulls his knees up to his chest and takes in a shuddering breath. “I loved kissing you,” Kurt says, glancing sideways at Blaine. “I love spending time with you. I really care about you, and I know it’s selfish, but I’ve loved having a friend who has so much time to spend just with me. No one really has time for me anymore.”
“Kurt,” Blaine says softly. He knows there’s more he should say, but he doesn’t know how to continue, so he simply lays his arm across Kurt’s shoulders.
“Dave won’t care, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kurt says as he leans into Blaine, setting his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “We haven’t really talked about it, but I’m pretty sure he has a friend that he’s fooled around with. We haven’t set a date for the wedding or made any sort of promises to each other.”
“Except for the promise of marriage,” Blaine says. “That’s a pretty big one.”
“It didn’t seem so restrictive when I didn’t have any other options.”
Blaine doesn’t tell him that he’s not really an option, either. He hums and kisses the top of Kurt’s head, cuddling him closer. Kurt smells woodsy and comforting, and when Blaine shifts to lie down Kurt follows him easily. “Sleep with me,” Blaine murmurs into Kurt’s hair.
Kurt squirms closer. “You’re still dressed,” he mumbles back, tugging at the waist of Blaine’s cotton dress shirt. Kurt is already in his silk pajamas, and Blaine pets his back, feeling the soft slide of his skin over the fabric.
Blaine kicks off his slippers and wrestles the covers over their bodies. He ignores Kurt whining about his clothes by muffling his protests with a kiss, Kurt smiling against his mouth and sighing contentedly as Blaine presses him into the pillows.
--
Part 2