"The Last of the Romantics," Part One, Glee, Kurt/Blaine (brief hint of unrequited Karofsky/Kurt)
Title: The Last of the Romantics
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine (brief mention of unrequited Karofsky/Kurt)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Emotional abuse, possessiveness, manipulation, darker Blaine, unhealthy relationship, coerced consent.
Length: Aprox 17,600 (WUT)
Spoilers: Up to 2x19, but written before "Prom Queen"
Summary: Kurt Hummel has always wanted romance. Now that he has Blaine, he's practically giddy with excitment over finally landing the boy of his dreams. But sometimes getting exactly what you want can prove to be more than you can handle.
Notes: Following in the esteemed fandom tradition, this fic features Dalton Academy as a boarding school. (Because four hours per day is rather a lot of commuting time, and let's not kid ourselves that the uniforms don't look the part anyways.)
Thank you so much for reading! This idea has been tickling at my brain for a while now, and I'm pleased to finally have it done. This is a very long story for me! :D Please do let me know what you think, guys. <3 Again, thanks so much.
Blaine Anderson is everything Kurt Hummel has ever wanted in a boyfriend. He is gentlemanly and charismatic, well-groomed and an amazing singer. He is the kind of boyfriend who sends Kurt apology text messages if he is so much as five minutes late for a date - and he always pays for their evenings out no matter how many token protestations Kurt makes. And, god, is he ever attractive. Slim and dapper, Blaine is all sparkling brown eyes and winning smile and surprisingly well-muscled arms. Aside from a brief infatuation with musical athletes, Blaine is like a conglomeration of every romantic fantasy Kurt has had since he was nine years old.
Every time Blaine holds a door open for him, or calls him just to say goodnight, or smiles at him in that secret-special-us way, Kurt’s stomach flips. Heat rushes into his chest, his fingertips tingle, and Kurt can practically feel his entire body fill with utter certainty. Because here is the boy who has stepped right out of Kurt’s dreams - only now, he is close and warm and wonderful. No longer distant, or uninterested, or unavailable. Kurt’s.
And it’s perfect.
“It reminds you of your mom’s funeral, doesn’t it?”
The small pile of earth is understated compared to the ostentatiously decorated casket it conceals. Kurt feels his gaze dragged up from the ground to stare at Blaine semi-incredulously. The curly-haired boy is still looking contemplatively at Pavarotti’s grave, a look of sympathy and understanding on his face. His thick eyebrows are furrowed together contemplatively.
God, who actually says that? Kurt catches himself thinking before the notion can be smothered. They’ve only been dating for a few days, and the hurt of the defeat at Regionals is still fresh in Kurt’s mind. He’s already testy, he tells himself. Irritable. Blaine is just trying to be kind.
But the thoughtlessness of the remark still rankles him.
A snide comment and a quick subject change are enough to clear the air, and when they turn and walk away from the clearing Kurt’s stomach is once again doing flip-flops at Blaine’s ‘winning each other’ speech. His hand is tingling at being held so gently, so preciously, by Blaine’s ever-so-slightly rougher one. But the unexpected bluntness of Blaine’s remark still stings at the back of Kurt’s mind.
It makes Kurt profoundly uncomfortable to even begin to entertain negative thoughts about Blaine; as though allowing them to slink into the edges of his mind is enough to poison their relationship, to sully it somehow. Like if he lets any complaints, any pet peeves about his new boyfriend in, it will wither the romance and tarnish long-desired perfection.
But every once in a while, Kurt is able to admit to himself that Blaine sometimes says things or does things that are ever-so-slightly... off. Unusual or unexpected, as though his brain-to-mouth filter is calibrated incorrectly for the world outside of Dalton. As though, separated from a sea of matching blazers and too many smiling faces, Blaine is very much out of place.
It is at this moment that Blaine turns to Kurt, squeezes his hand, and smiles with a perfect combination of infatuation and consolation that makes it impossible for Kurt not to smile back.
“I’m so happy I met you, Kurt Hummel,” says Blaine, voice warm with affection. He is handsome and caring and his eyes are shining with happiness.
And it might as well be seventy-six trombones and a dozen red roses for all it renders Kurt utterly aflutter.
--
Friday night dinners at the Hummel residence have always been quasi-ritualistic in nature, and the addition of Carole and Finn Hudson to the household has only strengthened their importance. Now with four busy family members instead of two, Burt had declared weeks ago that the need for a special weekly gathering had never been more pressing. Come hell or high water - emergency glee club practice or getting called into work - all four of them were expected to make an appearance for ‘family time’ without fail. The little matter of Kurt now living at boarding school in a town two hours away was certainly no excuse for his absence.
Consequently, Kurt makes the two hour drive from Westerville to Lima every Friday afternoon. He generally stays until Saturday evening or Sunday morning; the last day of weekend is designated as ‘catching up on homework’ time in the peace and quiet of his dorm room. After a long period of whining and cajoling, his fellow Warblers have come to grudgingly accept that no, Kurt will never be available to attend end-of-the-week parties or practices, no matter how much steam they might potentially blow off. And although Kurt rolls his eyes and sighs at his dad’s insistence with the rest of his classmates, he is secretly grateful for the excuse it provides him to regularly return to Lima. Living alone with his dad for years has granted them a closeness that cannot fully be described to an outsider, and suddenly finding himself two hours away from the nearest fatherly hug was a shock to his system at first.
Plus, the year’s prior events have made remarkable argument for spending as much time with loved ones as possible. Just in case.
“Here we are!” exclaims Kurt cheerily, pocketing his keys as the front door swings open. “Chez Hudmel, now accepting guest lodgers for a limited time only.”
“I can’t believe your dad actually invited me to Friday night dinner,” says Blaine, hefting Kurt’s vintage-style one-night suitcase over the threshold. His own small backpack is slung over one shoulder. “I’m fairly certain I should feel honoured. Or perhaps intimidated.”
“Either of those emotions would likely fair you well,” admits Kurt impishly, hanging up his light grey jacket on the hallway coat rack. “I suggest a healthy combination of fear and gratitude in order to survive the ordeal.”
Blaine winces, lowering Kurt’s suitcase to the ground and turning to close the door behind them. “I suspect I didn’t make the best possible impression with your dad,” he admits, beginning to unfurl his long red scarf.
“Admittedly, finding you lying in his son’s bed with a massive hangover wasn’t quite the introduction I would have chosen. And the awkward sex talk soon afterward may not have sent out the right message.”
His boyfriend groans miserably as he hangs his scarf and coat on the rack next to Kurt’s. He then tilts his head backward and lets out a sigh in a show of great wretchedness. “Again, not my smoothest move on record.”
Laughing softly, both boys remove their shoes and place them on the rubber matt by the door. When Kurt turns back toward his boyfriend, knee-high black boots safely off, he is struck afresh by how very different Blaine looks in civilian clothes compared to his Dalton uniform. He looks... exposed somehow. Unwound. Even his posture slightly less stiff than when he is at school. Blaine’s hair is even beginning to curl after the long drive, despite the large amount of gel that generally keeps it in place.
Mmmm, thinks Kurt. Because the slightly ruffled casual look is working for him. Blaine’s long black-sleeved shirt is practically sleepwear compared to his usual level of formality, and the way his on-the-way-to-unruly hair curls around his ears is... rather appealing. Blaine catches his eye and smiles, stepping awkwardly over the suitcase to pull Kurt into a warm embrace. Kurt wraps his own arms around Blaine’s shoulders, letting his eyes fall shut as they stand there in the hallway and breathe.
I can feel his heartbeat, Kurt thinks distantly, enjoying the feel of his small, compact boyfriend’s arms wrapped securely around his waist.
“Hey, you,” says Blaine, giving him a squeeze.
“Hey,” says Kurt, and he feels his whole body relax into the hug when Blaine starts to rub little circles in his lower back. He groans softly at the touch, leaning into it.
“Feeling the two hour drive?” asks Blaine, to which Kurt replies with a wordless nod and another small groan. It’s not that Blaine is kneading any particularly sore muscles - Kurt tends to carry tension mostly in his shoulders. It is the fact that Blaine’s hands are there at all that is currently rendering Kurt both speechless and boneless. It feels intimate in a quiet, tender way.
“Wait, where is everyone?” Blaine’s hands stop their movement, almost nervously, and Kurt lets out a small sigh into his boyfriend’s shoulder before pulling away.
“Dad must still be at the garage, and Carole works until five thirty on Fridays,” explains Kurt. “Finn has football practice until about the same time, too, so there won’t be anyone to welcome us for at least an hour. Getting a move on as soon as class ended gave us a bit of a head start.”
“Oh,” says Blaine, glancing down at the backpack and suitcase lying haphazardly in the entrance hallway. “Shall we take these up to your room, then?”
A little fissure of nerves and tentative excitement jolts in Kurt’s stomach.
“I don’t know if my dad will actually let you sleep in my bed,” he says, rather weakly. And then mentally kicks himself, because hello. Mood killer.
“We should still get them out of the hallway,” returns Blaine, darting forward to pick up both his and Kurt’s luggage. Before Kurt can protest the action - he really can carry his own suitcase - Blaine is heading up the staircase toward Kurt’s room. With a deep breath and a smile, Kurt follows.
His boyfriend has already placed their bags on the bedroom floor by the time Kurt makes it up to his bedroom. There is a long moment where the two of them pause and stare at each other, standing unmoving in Kurt’s immaculate bedroom. But then they are both moving forward, and then they are kissing.
Blaine’s hands are sliding into Kurt’s styled hair - he should care that it’s going to be unfixable, but he just can’t manage to get upset about it - and their bodies pressing together, and this is good. This is amazing, all soft lips and warm mouths, kissing like the two teenage boys they are. Kurt is still learning, hands ghosting awkwardly over his boyfriend’s sides. But Blaine’s hands are both gentle and firm as they comb through Kurt’s hair, his body both solid and encouraging. Kurt can hear himself making small desperate noises as Blaine kisses him, mouth hot and wanting.
Despite essentially living together at Dalton, they haven’t had too many opportunities to be truly intimate together since their relationship took a romantic turn. They don’t sleep in the same dorm, and both of their rooms are occupied by three or four other boys. Finding time to be do more than steal kisses in the hallways or at the coffee shop has been difficult, in no way aided by Burt’s hesitancy in allowing Blaine to stay the night and Blaine’s discomfort in his own family home.
Also - if he wants to be honest with himself, which he grudgingly admits is often a good idea - Kurt has been reticent to pursue the sexual side of his and Blaine’s relationship. Kurt has always sought and fantasized about romance; but the practical physicality of being with another boy is still unfamiliar. They’ve kissed, and cuddled, and even managed a few light make out sessions. But Kurt has still had a difficult time letting go, a difficult time allowing himself to show sensuality without feeling guilty or awkward. It is one thing to acknowledge that you are attracted to a certain gender; it is quite another to actively pursue a carnal relationship with someone.
But Kurt doesn’t feel reticent now. This is amazing, and unbelievably sexy, and god, they’re only kissing.
Blaine seems to have realized the same thing, because his boyfriend is starting to walk slowly backward toward the large bed, body leading Kurt along. The kiss doesn’t stop as they walk, noses bumping awkwardly with the movement, but still so good, still so desperate. When Blaine bumps into the bed, he lowers himself into a lying position, moving a firm hand to Kurt’s back in order to pull him along. A small amount of positioning later, and Blaine is lying on his back and Kurt is straddling him, leaning down so that their mouths can still press together in hasty kisses.
Vaguely, he realizes that Blaine’s hips are angled awkwardly for their current position. When he realizes why, he feels his face burn and lets out a small, involuntary noise. Blaine takes it for encouragement, pressing kisses along Kurt’s jaw line before reaching of Kurt’s neck. Kurt gasps at the sensation of Blaine’s lips ghosting along the sensitive skin, crying out involuntarily when Blaine bites down gently and begins to suck. Kurt he lets out a small, breathy moan as Blaine’s hands slide up under his shirt to splay across his back.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
They jolt apart from each other sharply at the unexpected noise, and it takes them both a moment to realize that Kurt’s cell phone is going off in his pocket. Both of their breath is coming hard, uneven. Kurt hesitates, unsure of the proper protocol.
“Go ahead and answer it,” says Blaine, as though able to read Kurt’s mind. He looks like he’s trying to compose himself, which only works so well with his faced flushed and his hips still angled awkwardly. Kurt smiles gratefully, then shimmies the phone out of his jeans pocket while carefully extricating himself from his position. Answering his cell phone while straddling his boyfriend seems like a weird thing to do, and it’s probably decried in a Ms. Manners handbook somewhere anyways. Settling himself next to Blaine on the bed, he opens his phone, sees it is a text message.
Hey buddy so excited to have you for the whole weekend! Will be home @ 6 - have to stop into the doctors for a checkup on my way home from the garage. Dad.
Kurt stares at the text. The sexy, exciting atmosphere of only moments before is suddenly gone. A feeling of dull unease is beginning to grow in his stomach.
“Kurt? What’s wrong?”
Damn it. He curses his own face for being so damned expressive, for showing every thought and feeling and emotion as clearly as if they were written in flashing neon letters. Kurt coughs delicately in an attempt to make the tight feeling in his throat go away. “It’s nothing,” he says, but he can hear the tremble in his own voice and oh, god.
Apparently the denial is exactly as unconvincing as Kurt suspects it to be, because now Blaine is sitting up and turning to face him, thick eyebrows pulled together in an unmistakable expression of concern. “Kurt?” he says, voice tentative but somehow strong, too. He reaches over and places a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt’s eyes are starting to sting persistently; he blinks them once, twice, three times.
“It... it really is nothing, just -” Kurt inhales sharply, a sob threatening to break loose. “I’m just so scared for my dad sometimes, you know?” He feels a hot wetness on his cheek. “I mean, it’s always like this now that I don’t live at home full-time. I’ll go for days - days, Blaine - without thinking about his medication, or cooking without salt, or the way he looked in the hospital room. And then -” He chokes on the words, bottom lip trembling. “A-and then I’ll just remember, and it’s like it’s happening all over again. And I don’t know what I’d do if he died, Blaine, I just -”
Kurt can’t speak anymore, words lost to shaky breaths. He closes his eyes, and now tears are rolling slowly down his face. Blaine wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Kurt curls into him.
“Oh, Kurt, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Blaine’s hand is rubbing gentle circles on Kurt’s clothed upper arm; he presses a gentle kiss to the top of Kurt’s head. Holds him tight, and warm, and safe. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
Kurt’s breathing is just beginning to calm when Blaine pulls away from the embrace; he starts when he feels a hand along his face, gently cradling his jaw. Kurt opens his eyes and Blaine is right in front of him, staring at Kurt’s face as though captivated. There is a slightly odd look in his eyes; fixed and focused, as though Kurt is the most beautiful and mysterious creature alive.
“You’re so beautiful when you cry,” he mumbles, then leans forward and begins pressing a series of kisses over Kurt’s face. They are reverent, worshipful. Warm lips press against his forehead, the corner of his eye, his cheek. “So gorgeous, Kurt. My Kurt. Like you would break if I touched you.”
Blaine’s mouth is on his now, firm and hot and salty with the taste of Kurt’s tears. He opens Kurt’s mouth with his own, tongue sliding inside and claiming, taking. The curly-haired boy’s weight is heavy against his side, hand still firm along Kurt’s jaw; holding him in place, keeping him close.
Kurt’s insides roil. Confusion, arousal, and a dim note of hurt war with each other until finally, tentatively, he begins to kiss back. Blaine groans, rolls on top of Kurt so that their bodies are lined up and his weight is fully on top of him. So much contact, bodies splayed together while Blaine’s tongue slides deep into his mouth.
“So beautiful,” Blaine murmurs again between warm, wet kisses, and Kurt can feel something hard pressing against his thigh. He shudders helplessly beneath Blaine as his boyfriend kisses, and touches, and moves his hand down to stroke Kurt’s side through the thin fabric of his shirt.
A door shuts downstairs, and Carole’s shouted greeting is enough to make Blaine break away. He smiles down at Kurt, kisses his nose softly, and clambers off of the bed. His boyfriend raises a hand to help Kurt up.
“Shall we attempt to have me make a good first impression on at least one of your parents?” he asks playfully, and Kurt forces a small smile as he takes Blaine’s hand.
They head out the door and down the stairs to greet Carole, Blaine already standing straighter. He looks composed. Dapper. Preparing to be agreeable and polite and make small talk with his boyfriend’s new stepmother for the rest of the evening.
And Kurt cannot help but feel that Blaine’s whispered, desperate words had not been what he’d needed to hear at all.
--
Apparently, Blaine has trouble dealing with more than just his brain-to-mouth filter outside of Dalton. Senseless displays of poorly-thought out violence are also a pressing issue.
“What on earth were you thinking tonight, Blaine?” Kurt asks, voice slightly irritable to his own ears, as they drive through downtown Lima on their way home after the McKinley charity concert. It’s a long drive back to Dalton, and the sky is already long dark. Rain is pounding persistently against the windshield, and he has turned the wipers to high in a feeble attempt to combat the onslaught.
Kurt chances a look at Blaine in the passenger’s seat - there really aren’t that many cars on the road in a small town after ten o’clock - and catches his boyfriend’s look of blinking confusion.
“What are you talking about?” Blaine starts, appearing unsure. “I wanted to come to the show, remember? And Mercedes did an amazing -”
“I don’t mean the show, I mean the - the psycho, ‘hands-off-my-man’ vibe you were giving off all evening.” At Blaine’s blank look, Kurt sighs and continues. “Blaine, you shoved Karofsky. Karofsky, who spent the better part of my high school career thus far making my life a living hell by physically harassing me. Who has about a hundred pounds on you. Who - do you even realize how badly that could have ended if Santana hadn’t come along?”
“He insulted you.” Blaine’s voice is very quiet now, very precise. Even with both eyes mostly on the road, Kurt can see the tension in Blaine’s frame, the way his hands are clenched in his lap. “He used to threaten you - Kurt, I don’t understand why you’re upset about this.”
“Because he could have really hurt you, Blaine.” An image of Blaine sprawled on the hallway floor, hands raised above his head and blood streaming down his face, comes unbidden into Kurt’s mind. Of himself trying desperately to hold Karofsky’s arm back mid-punch, too small and not strong enough to stop it from happening. A shiver threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. Sits up straighter in the driver’s seat instead, puffing himself up slightly. “And because that’s just not how you handle that crap in a place like McKinley. Not when you’re -” Like us, he wants to finish. “- not a Neolithic jock.”
Blaine is turning to face him in his seat now, seatbelt extending as he shifts. His dark eyes are crackling with frustration, incomprehension. “I don’t see why I should feel guilty for trying to defend my boyfriend against someone who used to hurt him.”
“But it wasn’t just Karofsky!” says Kurt, the worry and annoyance he had repressed so successfully during the performance rising to the surface. Gaining momentum. “You practically bit Sandy Ryerson’s head off when we came back from intermission, and he wasn’t even being rude to me specifically.” Kurt had always imagined that having another person on his side - prepared to defend him unquestioningly - would feel powerful, gloat-worthy. Instead, it had felt ever-so-subtly belittling. “I felt like I should have had you on a leash all night.”
Kurt glances sideways, and the look of hurt on Blaine’s face makes him immediately regret the blunt wording. With a sigh, Kurt continues. “I’m sorry, it’s just... I know that I was a complete mess when we first met, and that you’ve only really known me while my life’s been insane and unpredictable. But Blaine, I went to McKinley for years. I dealt with all of the crap there, and I did it almost entirely by myself. I know I look it, but I’m not actually breakable. I can take care of myself.”
There is a long, drawn-out pause. After a few moments, the gentle weight of Blaine’s hand on his knee is unexpected, but pleasant. They’re now driving along a long, deserted road. Kurt glances down - the soft grey and green of their jackets perfectly complement each other - before looking up at Blaine’s face. The tension is gone, now, and his eyes are much softer than before.
“I’m sorry, beautiful. You’re completely right; of course you can take care of yourself. I didn’t mean to weird you out or anything. It’s just...” Blaine takes a deep breath, and there is real emotion in his voice when he speaks again. “Having you at that school again, where things were so bad for you for so long, it just... put my hackles up, I guess.” He laughs softly, hand squeezing Kurt’s knee tenderly. “It just took me so long to see what was right in front of my face, you know? To see what a gorgeous, brilliant, sexy guy you are. To see that you’re the only one for me.”
And, oh. That hits Kurt right in the gut, and his next breath is somewhat uneven. His hands on the steering wheel tighten slightly. To be wanted - and to be wanted by someone as kind and attractive and sought-after and wonderful as Blaine - seemed inconceivable for so very long. The reality of being with someone who cares about him in such a profound way is unexpected, providential.
Perfect.
Blaine is still speaking. “It was just hard to see you in such a hateful environment. I want to keep you safe, Kurt. I want you happy and out of harm’s way. I can’t just stop myself from feeling this way about you.” He smiles bravely, giving Kurt’s knee one last squeeze. “Forgive me?”
And Kurt’s heart melts.
“Of course,” says Kurt, exhaling. He laughs, breaking the tension. “Of course I forgive you. It was silly of me to get so worked up. I suppose being at McKinley put me a little on the defensive, as well.”
“For sure,” says Blaine, and he leans over and presses a warm kiss to Kurt’s cheek, straining against the seatbelt to do so. He leans his head against Kurt’s shoulder for a moment, although the position can’t be an overly comfortable one. Kurt breathes in deeply, the subtle smell of freshly-laundered clothes and hair product and Blaine making him feel so entirely safe, and cared about, and special.
Finally Blaine pulls away, grinning. “How’s about a little Katy Perry for the road?” He reaches below his seat and pulls out an iPod and an auxiliary cord from his bag.
“Oh, no,” moans Kurt, but they are both laughing. They spend the rest of the drive back to Dalton playfully debating music, criticizing vocalists, and talking about the evening’s performance in turns. Blaine’s hand skims across Kurt’s knee every few minutes, each time making warm shivers run up Kurt’s spine.
--
“What do you mean, you’re going back?” demands Blaine, standing up suddenly and leaving Kurt perched by himself at the foot of the bed. His voice is loud and incredulous in the empty dorm room.
Kurt winces. Already, the conversation is going worse than he’d hoped. He’d taken special care in planning the evening out beforehand; he’d even asked all three of his roommates to steer clear for a few hours so they could have some privacy. A niggling voice at the back of his mind had warned him that Blaine might require some special consideration. He was his boyfriend, after all, and Kurt hadn’t expected him to be happy, per se, about his imminent transfer back to McKinley. But regardless of all of Blaine’s insistence that he wanted what was best for him, that Kurt’s safety was the most important factor, somehow Kurt is unsurprised by the explosion of emotion.
As he looks at the frantic expression on Blaine’s face, it occurs to Kurt that despite the history of bullying, despite the distant father, Blaine is still a privileged young man who is accustomed to getting what he wants. The thought is vague, fleeting. Unimportant compared to the show of anxiety on his boyfriend’s face.
Blaine looks nothing like the caring, supportive boy who had sat next to him in the Lima Bean only a few days ago. He looks slightly wild. Absently, Blaine rakes a hand through his gelled hair, ruining its immaculacy.
Kurt sighs. “We’ve talked about this, Blaine,” he says, words slow and purposeful. “You told me you would be fine with me going back to McKinley as long as I could be safe there. And I really do think the danger’s passed. When we were getting coffee with my friends, you even said -”
“Yeah, well, I -” interjects Blaine, cutting him off before swallowing heavily. He is shifting in place uneasily, as though he would like to pace back and forth and is barely restraining himself. “I didn’t think you’d actually...”
“Blaine,” says Kurt. “I miss McKinley. I do. Yes, it was very hard for me there for a long time, but I have so many friends there that I really, really miss.” He laughs suddenly, fondly. “Well. And a few hair-raising diva competitors and poorly-dressed acquaintances, but...”
Blaine is looking at him as though he has gone insane.
“You’re willing to risk your own personal safety because you miss a few people? Because - because you want to walk to home room with your friends?” Contempt and disbelief are practically dripping from his Blaine’s words now. “Kurt, you can visit them. You already spend weekends in Lima. And we have no idea of knowing whether Karofsky is telling the truth, or if he’s playing everyone, or - Jesus, Kurt.”
A spark of irritation rises in Kurt’s chest. Yes, he expected concern, but he’s not a child.
“Karofsky’s on a pretty short leash right now,” he spits out, rising to his feet to stand in front of Blaine with his back to the bed. “And I told you, they’re implementing an anti-bulling policy. You know how much that means to me, how much I believe in it. It was Dalton’s own policy that made this place a safe haven in the first place.”
For a moment, Blaine looks at a loss. Then he recovers. “What about all the money your family spent sending you here? Your dad -”
“- is getting a partial refund because of the extenuating circumstances and because I’m not finishing the semester here.”
And now Kurt is almost positive he isn’t imagining the panic in Blaine’s eyes now. He feels a stab of regret; it had never been his intention to make Blaine belligerent or upset. Going back to McKinley was just... necessary. It had never been a question of if; it had always been one of when, if only in Kurt’s own mind.
But the nervous energy radiating off of his boyfriend is almost palpable, and Kurt takes advantage of Blaine’s speechlessness. He steps forward and puts his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, the material of his Dalton blazer slightly coarse under Kurt’s hands. They are both still in uniform.
“Blaine,” says Kurt, “you know I adore being at Dalton. The zero-tolerance policy, the Warblers, you... it’s been amazing here.” He takes a deep breath. “But McKinley let me express myself in ways I just can’t here. Dalton is smothering me. The sea of matching blazers, owning three of the same tie... it’s just not me. And I miss being able to express myself through glee club, too. There’s so much less emphasis on procedure there; so much more focus on showcasing yourself and your emotions.” Plus I have a better chance at getting solos there than here, and that’s saying something, he thinks, but doesn’t say the last part out loud.
“I just have so much unfinished business there,” Kurt continues. “And besides - we’ll have afternoons and weekends, right? It won’t be so bad.”
There is a long pause. Kurt notices that his boyfriend is less twitchy under his hands. Blaine glances away, and for a minute Kurt think he sees something... assessing in his dark brown eyes. It’s gone in an instant, though, and replaced so quickly by a deep, deep sadness that Kurt thinks he must have imagined it. Blaine blinks. He licks his lips, and then looks up at Kurt through thick lashes.
“Don’t you love me, Kurt?”
The words are like a slap in the face. “What?” Kurt asks, stunned.
Blaine steps forward, hands coming up to rest ever-so-lightly on either side of Kurt’s face. His eyes are shining slightly.
“Because I love you.” There it is again, that word. Small, and simple, and full of so much significance that it hurts Kurt’s heart. It is a new word; raw and untested. “I love you so, so much, and I want you to be safe more than anything. But...” Blaine trails off, blinking furiously. One of his thumbs is tracing some unknowable pattern against Kurt’s jaw as he speaks; the touch is unthinking, instinctive. “But I just found you, Kurt. I’ve been looking for you my whole life, and now you’re leaving me.”
Shocked regret floods Kurt’s chest. “Blaine,” he begins unevenly. “Blaine, I’m not leaving you. I -”
“But you are!” Blaine’s hands slide down to Kurt’s shoulders, gripping them tight. “You - you came into my life and made it better, Kurt. Everything - classes, the Warblers. Even coffee tastes better with you to enjoy it with.” He laughs softly, bitterly. “And I thought - I really thought that being here with me at Dalton was a big, important thing for you. And now you want to throw it all away?”
“I’m not - Blaine, I’m not -”
But his boyfriend is coming closer now, sliding a hand up to the back of Kurt’s neck. Blaine gently guides his head down until their foreheads are touching. They are standing so close they are breathing each other’s air. Kurt can feel by the heat in his face that he’s flushed, feels his tongue dart out and lick his lips nervously.
“I need to know that you love me, Kurt.” Blaine’s mouth is inches away from Kurt’s own, and he can feel the heat of his breath against the dampened skin. “I need to know if you go back to McKinley, you’ll still care about me more than anything. I just - I need you.”
Blaine’s eyelashes are glistening, and Kurt thinks about how new this all is. How he’d almost given up on Blaine by the time the curly-haired boy had finally kissed him. About the fact that he moves Blaine now. Moves him and Blaine loves him, he said so. He thinks of how they haven’t even made it past making out yet, but the other day the two of them had been sitting with Wes and David and Blaine had said ‘when we graduate, Kurt and I’ and how on earth is this going so quickly?
He thinks of Blaine. His bright smile, his gentle hands. The warmth that fills Kurt up whenever he does something selfless, or kind, or caring. The way he looks at Kurt like he is everything, everything that matters.
The love in his eyes.
“Of course I do,” Kurt hears himself say. There is a pause, and he swallows. “I love you, Blaine.”
The words feel thick on his tongue, but the look of relief and delight on Blaine’s face makes them worthwhile. The shorter boy leans forward and kisses him, hand firm on Kurt’s neck. It’s heated, and hungry, and oh god Kurt is glad he asked his roommates to stay away for the rest of the evening. He kisses back as best he can; he wants to touch Blaine so badly. To hold Blaine tight in his arms and savour this most important of new words.
He makes a small noise and moves to raise a hand to rest on Blaine’s waist, but the other boy growls in response. Blaine holds him tight and steps forward once, twice, and Kurt has no choice but to move with him until the back of his calves hit the end of the bed. Kurt stumbles and begins to fall, but Blaine is there to hold him, to lower him firmly but gently onto the standard-issue sheets.
“Love you so much,” whispers Blaine, crawling on top of Kurt and beginning to unbutton the large brass buttons of his blazer. “So much, and I just want you to be safe. You know that, don’t you?” The navy blue jacket is undone now, and Blaine is gently pushing the fabric to either side of Kurt’s chest as though opening a present. Then, he begins to loosen Kurt’s tie.
“Blaine,” inhales Kurt, and the word is breathier and more uneven than he’d intended. His boyfriend leans up and captures his lips in a searing kiss, hot and wet and marked with teeth. Kurt gasps when he breaks away, and barely notices as Blaine pulls the loosened tie over his head. Kurt’s head is swimming by the time Blaine’s hands ghost over the small buttons of his white button-up, but the action makes him stiffen nonetheless.
This is too fast, he thinks as Blaine’s dexterous fingers begin to work. Exposing him bit by bit: first his stomach, then his chest. He wants to ask Blaine to slow down, to tell his boyfriend that he’s just not ready yet - but the look of pure need on Blaine’s face makes the words catch in his throat. When Blaine’s fingers reach the top button, he tilts his head back in order to grant him access - and then the shirt is falling open, leaving him defenceless and so, so exposed.
Blaine lets out a shaky, desperate sound at the sight of Kurt’s naked chest. All at once he’s leaning forward, and his lips are on Kurt’s neck while one hand trails lightly down the bare skin of his lean stomach. From the corner of his eye, he can see that Blaine’s hand is ever-so-slightly darker, a contrast against the white-pale of Kurt’s own skin. He gasps as he feels Blaine’s teeth bite down firmly below his jaw, and he reaches one hand up to clench in the fabric of Blaine’s blazer. Blaine is still fully clothed, he realizes, before crying out and squirming as Blaine begins to suckle and tease at the spot on his neck.
He gasps because it feels good, and intimate, and because Blaine knows where to touch him to make his hands clench and his body twist helplessly. After a few moments his boyfriend releases the sensitive skin and begins to trail warm, wet kisses down his neck, his chest, until Blaine’s tongue swipes over his nipple.
“Ah!” he cries out, and the sensation of Blaine’s teeth grazing over the hardening skin makes him bite down hard on his lip to prevent more such needy sounds from escaping.
Abruptly, he becomes aware of Blaine’s hand on his zipper. Kurt stiffens, jolts back to himself. Places a hand against Blaine’s chest and pushes him away feebly.
“Blaine,” he chokes out. “Blaine, I don’t think I’m - I’m just not -”
“Shhhh. ” Blaine moves back in to run his tongue over Kurt’s swollen lower lip, then kisses him chastely once, twice. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m going to take care of you.” His hand begins to move again on Kurt’s pants, slowly unbuttoning the fly and pulling the zipper down. “ ‘m always going to take care of you.”
And then he is reaching into Kurt’s pants, his briefs, and pulling him out and oh god, oh god- Blaine’s hand is wrapped around his cock.
Kurt’s hand flies to cover his mouth and he throws his head back, keening into his palm as Blaine’s warm hand begins to move up and down. He’s already hard - hard and wanting, he wants this, he does - and no one has ever touched him there but himself. This... this is so much different than masturbating. Each movement of Blaine’s hand is a shock, every increase of pressure making him inhale sharply. When Blaine swipes his thumb over the head of Kurt’s cock, he can’t stop his hips from stuttering at the shock of sensation that leaves him weak and wanting for more.
He’s shaking, stammering. Each stroke feels as though his boyfriend is peeling back another layer of veneer; like Blaine is cutting him open and seeing what’s inside. He is still wearing most of his clothes, but it doesn’t matter as long as Blaine doesn’t stop moving and touching and knowing all of him. Dimly, he realizes that Blaine is shifting, but it isn’t until he hears the sound of Blaine’s zipper than he realizes exactly what is happening.
The comprehension makes his stomach bottom out and his body grow rigid. Kurt doesn’t know if Kurt wants... that, or something else, but he’s not ready for any of this regardless. Knows he isn’t ready at all. He raises his eyes to Blaine’s to tell him - to say they need to stop, to calm down.
But Blaine’s face - oh, god, his face. It is a picture of disbelieving desperation, his face flushed and breath coming too quickly. It is as though he has been given everything he has ever wanted, ever dared to dream of having, on a silver platter. His hand stutters and slows on Kurt’s cock.
“God, Kurt,” he says, shuddering. “I want you so badly.”
Kurt shuts his eyes as heat washes over him, up him. Being wanted... being desired by someone like Blaine... it feels heady, amazing. After so many years of being alone, of being told he was wrong and broken, the feeling is unprecedented. After pursuing Blaine so intensely and being rebuked at every turn, being needed by him feels just as good as the up-down slide of Blaine’s hand around him.
He can do this, he realizes. Blaine needs him. Wants him.
Needs Kurt to show him that he loves him.
“Okay,” breathes Kurt. Blaine smiles at him shakily, then unzips his fly and pulls his cock out of his pants. It’s hard, and dark, and thicker than Kurt is expecting - jutting out from amid a sea of dark hair and navy school uniform. The subtle ways in which it differs from Kurt’s own cock surprise him vaguely, although he supposes they shouldn’t. He stares at it for a long moment, feeling surreal and removed. Then Blaine reaches over, grasps Kurt’s hand, and manually wraps Kurt’s fingers around him.
The cock is heavy in his hand, and it takes Kurt a moment to begin; he’s uncertain, doesn’t want to embarrass himself with his inexperience. But when he begins to move - slowly, tentatively - Blaine groans and thrusts weakly into Kurt’s hand. His breath is coming harder than ever, uneven. Encouraged, Kurt tightens his grip and begins to establish a slow, steady pace. His boyfriend’ ministrations redouble, making Kurt cry out and his hand stutter. Lying here on his dorm room bed, the large room narrowed down to one tiny point, while he and his boyfriend jerk each other off is utterly unreal.
And Blaine’s hand is still moving, stoking - squeezing the head of Kurt’s cock and making him groan, turn his face into the sheets, and lose his rhythm. There is a delicious pressure building at the base of his spine, and Kurt tries to keep stroking Blaine but it’s so hard, so impossible when the whole world is narrowing down to Blaine’s hand on him, and his whole body is clenching, and Blaine twists his wrist just so, and -
And Kurt is coming, gasping for air, the impact of the release hitting him as it has never done before. It’s good, so good, and his mind is whiting out around the edges as the pleasure pumps through him and his toes curl. Blaine’s hand keeps moving, stoking him through it, until Kurt hears a loud groan and realizes that Blaine must be coming, too. There is a wet heat on Kurt’s hand.
He opens his eyes in time to see Blaine shudder as his orgasm ends, to see his cock pulse one last time over Kurt’s long, pale fingers. There is a splash of something white on Kurt’s blazer cuff, and Kurt shivers into the silence of the room.
A few moments later Blaine leans down and presses a kiss to Kurt’s cheek, then his lips, carefully avoiding Kurt’s stomach and their sticky hands.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, then reaches over to grab a handful of tissues from the box on Kurt’s dresser. Blaine cleans them both up as Kurt lies sprawled on the sheets, silent and breathless in his disarray; his blazer and button-up flung open and pants unbuttoned. He feels... dreamlike. Slightly numb. After they’re both passably tidied - though Kurt can still feel the stickiness on his stomach and hand - Blaine walks over to his dresser and brings back two pairs of Kurt’s pyjamas. The sight makes him blink, shake himself. Come back to himself a bit.
“You’re not really allowed to sleep here with me,” Kurt points out, staring pointedly at the two sets of sleep clothes. One pair is decidedly fancier than the other. The first - a designer cream-and-brown set -make the very, very old plaid pants and loose long-sleeved shirt look even grungier than they are. “And the legs are definitely going to be too long for you.”
“I know,” says Blaine, apparently in response to both questions. They change in silence, and Kurt keeps his back turned even though it really shouldn’t matter anymore. He’s feels exhausted, worn out and eyes slamming shut - both from the high emotion of the fight as well as what it led to. Blaine peels back the sheets and crawls underneath, holding them tented for Kurt to do the same. After going and turning off the main dorm light, Kurt does so. They lie so that Kurt’s back is pressed right up against Blaine’s stomach, one of his arms draped over Kurt’s torso. His face is nestled in the back of Kurt’s neck, breath tickling the short hairs there.
Kurt is almost asleep, drifting on the edge of consciousness when Blaine’s voice breaks the silence.
“Kurt?” he whispers, lips so close to Kurt’s ear that the words are perfectly audible.
“Mmm?”
“I trust you. If you say you’ll be safe at McKinley, I do believe you. I’m... I’m sorry about before.” Here, Blaine’s arm squeezes Kurt gently. “I just get so worried about you. But you’re right; I trust your judgement, and we’ll have after school and weekends to be together. We’ll just have to make those times count, right?” He laughs, softly. “And maybe invest in larger texting packages.”
Kurt makes a small committal noise and feels himself relax into Blaine’s embrace. It’s warm here, and comfortable, and Blaine is happy for him. It feels good.
There is a long pause before Blaine’s voice comes from the darkness again. “I love you, Kurt,” he says, certain and determined, but with a hint of nervousness wavering in his voice.
“... I love you, too,” whispers Kurt, the words strange and new on his tongue. But... nice. Important.
He falls asleep that way, in Blaine’s arms.
A week later, Blaine brings the Warblers to McKinley to serenade him farewell. It’s beautiful, and grandiose, and it makes Kurt’s heart sing and his breath catch at how very, very lucky he is. It is better than a scene from a movie.
Blaine smiles, and holds him close, and Kurt tells him he will never say goodbye.
--
“Oh, my sweet Lord,” says Kurt conspiratorially, leaning forward and swirling his passion fruit and guava smoothie with a straw. “Could you even believe what she was wearing at the awards show? I mean, girl, you got a set of lungs on you. But that dress with those shoes? And that... shawl contraption?” He shudders. “Disaster.”
Mercedes throws back her head and laughs, hearty and full. It attracts a few sideways glances, but the onlookers quickly look away. The mall food court is bustling with dozens of boisterous students, all piled onto tables and shouting and laughing. There are far more interesting things to watch than the two friends talking quietly by themselves.
“Seriously,” adds Mercedes, wiping a tear from her eye. “All that yellow, she looked like a bit of an umber-ella-ella-ella herself, yeah?”
The jibe sets them off again. Still chuckling a few moments later, Kurt takes a sip of his smoothie and Mercedes skewers a tater tot with a plastic fork. The silence while they partake of their lunch is comfortable, pleasant. Familiar. Kurt had tried his best to see Mercedes frequently while he was going to Dalton - she’s his best friend, closest confidante, and fellow follower of musical starlet fashion nightmares. But there is nothing quite like the level of closeness that can be maintained when you see someone every single day in class, in the halls, in the mall for afterschool hangouts. It’s difficult to replicate.
Mercedes seems to be thinking something similar, because once his friend has finished her bite she reaches over and places her hand over his. The contrast between their hands - elongated and pale, compact and dark - is highlighted by the garish purple of the food court table tops.
“I’m so glad you’re back, boo. McKinley just wasn’t the same without you, you know?” Her smile is warm and all-encompassing, and it makes him want to grin right back. He knows that he made the right choice in returning, but it’s nice to have it validated by someone whose opinion he trusts.
“Oh, I know,” Kurt replies in a flip tone, before he softens and gives her hand a squeeze.”It’s good to be back, ‘Cedes.”
His phone takes the opportunity to interrupt their Kodak moment, buzzing insolently in his pants pocket. Kurt shoots her a grin and breaks their handhold to check it, having to raise his hips off the chair in order to work it out of the pocket.
So excited for our date tonight! What do you want to do? - xoxBlaine
Kurt smiles as he reads the message, heart fluttering at the tiny ‘xox’ his boyfriend has taken the time to type out in front of his name. It’s unnecessary, and all the more adorable for it. He quickly types back his reply.
Why, hello, handsome. Was thinking of perhaps trying out that nice little new French cafe that opened last month. Nice food, nice clothes. A bit of chic and fabulous to go with out escargot? - Kurt
As he hits the ‘send’ button, he looks up to see a strange look on Mercedes’ face. It seems to be a combination of determined encouragement with a small amount of self-pity. Kurt feels a flash of guilt at disrupting their conversation, but returning to McKinley has its downsides as well as its perks. If he’s going to have to go to school without Blaine, he’ll cling to his right to text his boyfriend twenty times an hour if necessary.
“That your boy?” she asks, as though broaching a topic she has very little interest in discussing. Mercedes and Blaine get on well, but Kurt remembers the soul-crushing loneliness that came with being on your own in a sea of couples.
“Yeah,” he responds, and there is a beat. He mentally grasps at straws for a change of subject. “So... how did that date with Anthony Rashad go, anyways? You never told me all the gritty details.”
Kurt knows he has chosen correctly when Mercedes groans loudly, showy and overblown frustration overpowering any genuine loneliness in her face. She loves a good complaint-fest.
“Oh, where do I even begin?” She flings her hand out in a dismissive gesture. “First of all, you know you’re in for a hell of a time when your date shows up with flowers... that still have the roots attached.”
“No!”
“Mmmhmm. Clumps of dirt on them and everything.”
She launches into the story of the disastrous first date with aplomb, and when Kurt’s phone buzzes on the table he reaches up and snakes it down to sit on his lap. It is a few minutes before he’s able to check it covertly while Mercedes is describing the first of the many migraine-inducing things Anthony Rashad had said to their waitress.
I was kinda thinking of catching Burlesque while it’s still in theatres. It IS a long drive down just for dinner, right? I seem to recall a nice Japanese place we could go to right across the street from the theatre, too! - xoxBlaine
Kurt stares at the text for longer than is strictly advisable, rereading the small black letters on the screen. There is a strange feeling building up inside of him, one that he can’t quite find the words to convey.
It isn’t that he doesn’t want to see Burlesque. He does; oh, does he ever. The opportunity to gush over how fabulous Cher still manages to be while reminiscing about growing up to the music of Christina Aguilera is just too good to pass up. Plus, the costumes and dance numbers look amazing. But despite this fact, the text message manages to rub him the wrong way. Kurt can’t quite put a finger on it.
“Hello, earth to Kurt Hummel!”
The hand waving in front of his face is enough to startle him out of that train of thought.
“What is up with you today, boy?” she asks, looking mildly irritated. “You’re all over the place.”
“I was listening,” insists Kurt, thinking back frenetically. “You were just describing the way he ate the spaghetti when it arrived. Ugh, cutting with a fork and knife? Tacky.”
Looking reassured, Mercedes proceeds to spend the next ten minutes regaling Kurt with tales from her terrible date. The thoughtlessly sexist comments Anthony had made to their waitress, the way he had unknowingly made fun of her denomination without realizing, the way he’d bragged about being happy to be part of something cool (like football) instead of something kinda lame (like glee club). He sighs, and gasps, and shakes his head in disdain at the jock’s atrocious date decorum - and his unpleasant personality.
By the time Mercedes takes a break to eat a few more of her tater tots, Kurt is bristling on her behalf - as well as practically laughing at himself at his overreaction to Blaine’s text message. He rereads it and comes to the conclusion that it is entirely innocent; he’d clearly been projecting some of his own anxiety onto Blaine, which wasn’t fair. Plus, conveying tone and inflection via text message is always tricky. The movie sounds fun, and he enjoys Japanese food. Why get upset over nothing?
He texts back while Mercedes is still occupied: Why not? That sounds delectable as well. Plus, I’ll probably be in the mood for something small anyways. Grabbing lunch at the mall foodcourt, and even this smoothie is pretty filling. See you at 7:00? :) - Kurt
Blaine’s response is almost instantaneous.
Who are you with?
Taking a long sip of smoothie - it really is filling, ugh, there’s probably a whole container’s worth of yoghurt in this thing - he texts back a response quickly.
Mercedes. Getting to hear all about her faildate with Rashad. Sounds like complete catastrophe. @_@ -Kurt
His friend begins to talk again - this time about the dessert portion of the date - and Kurt has to force himself to suppress the grin that is attempting to take over his face. Instead, he winces and shakes his head and gasps in all the right places. But having a boyfriend - a real, honest, wonderful and talented boyfriend - is such a novelty compared to Mercedes’ tale of horror that he practically can’t help himself. He’s so lucky to have Blaine, to not have to worry about awful first dates. Or about being alone.
When Blaine’s response comes shortly after, he checks it stealthily under the table.
Glad you two are having fun! Love you! - xoxBlaine
And, smiling, he types back: Love you, too.
( Part Two)
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine (brief mention of unrequited Karofsky/Kurt)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Emotional abuse, possessiveness, manipulation, darker Blaine, unhealthy relationship, coerced consent.
Length: Aprox 17,600 (WUT)
Spoilers: Up to 2x19, but written before "Prom Queen"
Summary: Kurt Hummel has always wanted romance. Now that he has Blaine, he's practically giddy with excitment over finally landing the boy of his dreams. But sometimes getting exactly what you want can prove to be more than you can handle.
Notes: Following in the esteemed fandom tradition, this fic features Dalton Academy as a boarding school. (Because four hours per day is rather a lot of commuting time, and let's not kid ourselves that the uniforms don't look the part anyways.)
Thank you so much for reading! This idea has been tickling at my brain for a while now, and I'm pleased to finally have it done. This is a very long story for me! :D Please do let me know what you think, guys. <3 Again, thanks so much.
Blaine Anderson is everything Kurt Hummel has ever wanted in a boyfriend. He is gentlemanly and charismatic, well-groomed and an amazing singer. He is the kind of boyfriend who sends Kurt apology text messages if he is so much as five minutes late for a date - and he always pays for their evenings out no matter how many token protestations Kurt makes. And, god, is he ever attractive. Slim and dapper, Blaine is all sparkling brown eyes and winning smile and surprisingly well-muscled arms. Aside from a brief infatuation with musical athletes, Blaine is like a conglomeration of every romantic fantasy Kurt has had since he was nine years old.
Every time Blaine holds a door open for him, or calls him just to say goodnight, or smiles at him in that secret-special-us way, Kurt’s stomach flips. Heat rushes into his chest, his fingertips tingle, and Kurt can practically feel his entire body fill with utter certainty. Because here is the boy who has stepped right out of Kurt’s dreams - only now, he is close and warm and wonderful. No longer distant, or uninterested, or unavailable. Kurt’s.
And it’s perfect.
“It reminds you of your mom’s funeral, doesn’t it?”
The small pile of earth is understated compared to the ostentatiously decorated casket it conceals. Kurt feels his gaze dragged up from the ground to stare at Blaine semi-incredulously. The curly-haired boy is still looking contemplatively at Pavarotti’s grave, a look of sympathy and understanding on his face. His thick eyebrows are furrowed together contemplatively.
God, who actually says that? Kurt catches himself thinking before the notion can be smothered. They’ve only been dating for a few days, and the hurt of the defeat at Regionals is still fresh in Kurt’s mind. He’s already testy, he tells himself. Irritable. Blaine is just trying to be kind.
But the thoughtlessness of the remark still rankles him.
A snide comment and a quick subject change are enough to clear the air, and when they turn and walk away from the clearing Kurt’s stomach is once again doing flip-flops at Blaine’s ‘winning each other’ speech. His hand is tingling at being held so gently, so preciously, by Blaine’s ever-so-slightly rougher one. But the unexpected bluntness of Blaine’s remark still stings at the back of Kurt’s mind.
It makes Kurt profoundly uncomfortable to even begin to entertain negative thoughts about Blaine; as though allowing them to slink into the edges of his mind is enough to poison their relationship, to sully it somehow. Like if he lets any complaints, any pet peeves about his new boyfriend in, it will wither the romance and tarnish long-desired perfection.
But every once in a while, Kurt is able to admit to himself that Blaine sometimes says things or does things that are ever-so-slightly... off. Unusual or unexpected, as though his brain-to-mouth filter is calibrated incorrectly for the world outside of Dalton. As though, separated from a sea of matching blazers and too many smiling faces, Blaine is very much out of place.
It is at this moment that Blaine turns to Kurt, squeezes his hand, and smiles with a perfect combination of infatuation and consolation that makes it impossible for Kurt not to smile back.
“I’m so happy I met you, Kurt Hummel,” says Blaine, voice warm with affection. He is handsome and caring and his eyes are shining with happiness.
And it might as well be seventy-six trombones and a dozen red roses for all it renders Kurt utterly aflutter.
--
Friday night dinners at the Hummel residence have always been quasi-ritualistic in nature, and the addition of Carole and Finn Hudson to the household has only strengthened their importance. Now with four busy family members instead of two, Burt had declared weeks ago that the need for a special weekly gathering had never been more pressing. Come hell or high water - emergency glee club practice or getting called into work - all four of them were expected to make an appearance for ‘family time’ without fail. The little matter of Kurt now living at boarding school in a town two hours away was certainly no excuse for his absence.
Consequently, Kurt makes the two hour drive from Westerville to Lima every Friday afternoon. He generally stays until Saturday evening or Sunday morning; the last day of weekend is designated as ‘catching up on homework’ time in the peace and quiet of his dorm room. After a long period of whining and cajoling, his fellow Warblers have come to grudgingly accept that no, Kurt will never be available to attend end-of-the-week parties or practices, no matter how much steam they might potentially blow off. And although Kurt rolls his eyes and sighs at his dad’s insistence with the rest of his classmates, he is secretly grateful for the excuse it provides him to regularly return to Lima. Living alone with his dad for years has granted them a closeness that cannot fully be described to an outsider, and suddenly finding himself two hours away from the nearest fatherly hug was a shock to his system at first.
Plus, the year’s prior events have made remarkable argument for spending as much time with loved ones as possible. Just in case.
“Here we are!” exclaims Kurt cheerily, pocketing his keys as the front door swings open. “Chez Hudmel, now accepting guest lodgers for a limited time only.”
“I can’t believe your dad actually invited me to Friday night dinner,” says Blaine, hefting Kurt’s vintage-style one-night suitcase over the threshold. His own small backpack is slung over one shoulder. “I’m fairly certain I should feel honoured. Or perhaps intimidated.”
“Either of those emotions would likely fair you well,” admits Kurt impishly, hanging up his light grey jacket on the hallway coat rack. “I suggest a healthy combination of fear and gratitude in order to survive the ordeal.”
Blaine winces, lowering Kurt’s suitcase to the ground and turning to close the door behind them. “I suspect I didn’t make the best possible impression with your dad,” he admits, beginning to unfurl his long red scarf.
“Admittedly, finding you lying in his son’s bed with a massive hangover wasn’t quite the introduction I would have chosen. And the awkward sex talk soon afterward may not have sent out the right message.”
His boyfriend groans miserably as he hangs his scarf and coat on the rack next to Kurt’s. He then tilts his head backward and lets out a sigh in a show of great wretchedness. “Again, not my smoothest move on record.”
Laughing softly, both boys remove their shoes and place them on the rubber matt by the door. When Kurt turns back toward his boyfriend, knee-high black boots safely off, he is struck afresh by how very different Blaine looks in civilian clothes compared to his Dalton uniform. He looks... exposed somehow. Unwound. Even his posture slightly less stiff than when he is at school. Blaine’s hair is even beginning to curl after the long drive, despite the large amount of gel that generally keeps it in place.
Mmmm, thinks Kurt. Because the slightly ruffled casual look is working for him. Blaine’s long black-sleeved shirt is practically sleepwear compared to his usual level of formality, and the way his on-the-way-to-unruly hair curls around his ears is... rather appealing. Blaine catches his eye and smiles, stepping awkwardly over the suitcase to pull Kurt into a warm embrace. Kurt wraps his own arms around Blaine’s shoulders, letting his eyes fall shut as they stand there in the hallway and breathe.
I can feel his heartbeat, Kurt thinks distantly, enjoying the feel of his small, compact boyfriend’s arms wrapped securely around his waist.
“Hey, you,” says Blaine, giving him a squeeze.
“Hey,” says Kurt, and he feels his whole body relax into the hug when Blaine starts to rub little circles in his lower back. He groans softly at the touch, leaning into it.
“Feeling the two hour drive?” asks Blaine, to which Kurt replies with a wordless nod and another small groan. It’s not that Blaine is kneading any particularly sore muscles - Kurt tends to carry tension mostly in his shoulders. It is the fact that Blaine’s hands are there at all that is currently rendering Kurt both speechless and boneless. It feels intimate in a quiet, tender way.
“Wait, where is everyone?” Blaine’s hands stop their movement, almost nervously, and Kurt lets out a small sigh into his boyfriend’s shoulder before pulling away.
“Dad must still be at the garage, and Carole works until five thirty on Fridays,” explains Kurt. “Finn has football practice until about the same time, too, so there won’t be anyone to welcome us for at least an hour. Getting a move on as soon as class ended gave us a bit of a head start.”
“Oh,” says Blaine, glancing down at the backpack and suitcase lying haphazardly in the entrance hallway. “Shall we take these up to your room, then?”
A little fissure of nerves and tentative excitement jolts in Kurt’s stomach.
“I don’t know if my dad will actually let you sleep in my bed,” he says, rather weakly. And then mentally kicks himself, because hello. Mood killer.
“We should still get them out of the hallway,” returns Blaine, darting forward to pick up both his and Kurt’s luggage. Before Kurt can protest the action - he really can carry his own suitcase - Blaine is heading up the staircase toward Kurt’s room. With a deep breath and a smile, Kurt follows.
His boyfriend has already placed their bags on the bedroom floor by the time Kurt makes it up to his bedroom. There is a long moment where the two of them pause and stare at each other, standing unmoving in Kurt’s immaculate bedroom. But then they are both moving forward, and then they are kissing.
Blaine’s hands are sliding into Kurt’s styled hair - he should care that it’s going to be unfixable, but he just can’t manage to get upset about it - and their bodies pressing together, and this is good. This is amazing, all soft lips and warm mouths, kissing like the two teenage boys they are. Kurt is still learning, hands ghosting awkwardly over his boyfriend’s sides. But Blaine’s hands are both gentle and firm as they comb through Kurt’s hair, his body both solid and encouraging. Kurt can hear himself making small desperate noises as Blaine kisses him, mouth hot and wanting.
Despite essentially living together at Dalton, they haven’t had too many opportunities to be truly intimate together since their relationship took a romantic turn. They don’t sleep in the same dorm, and both of their rooms are occupied by three or four other boys. Finding time to be do more than steal kisses in the hallways or at the coffee shop has been difficult, in no way aided by Burt’s hesitancy in allowing Blaine to stay the night and Blaine’s discomfort in his own family home.
Also - if he wants to be honest with himself, which he grudgingly admits is often a good idea - Kurt has been reticent to pursue the sexual side of his and Blaine’s relationship. Kurt has always sought and fantasized about romance; but the practical physicality of being with another boy is still unfamiliar. They’ve kissed, and cuddled, and even managed a few light make out sessions. But Kurt has still had a difficult time letting go, a difficult time allowing himself to show sensuality without feeling guilty or awkward. It is one thing to acknowledge that you are attracted to a certain gender; it is quite another to actively pursue a carnal relationship with someone.
But Kurt doesn’t feel reticent now. This is amazing, and unbelievably sexy, and god, they’re only kissing.
Blaine seems to have realized the same thing, because his boyfriend is starting to walk slowly backward toward the large bed, body leading Kurt along. The kiss doesn’t stop as they walk, noses bumping awkwardly with the movement, but still so good, still so desperate. When Blaine bumps into the bed, he lowers himself into a lying position, moving a firm hand to Kurt’s back in order to pull him along. A small amount of positioning later, and Blaine is lying on his back and Kurt is straddling him, leaning down so that their mouths can still press together in hasty kisses.
Vaguely, he realizes that Blaine’s hips are angled awkwardly for their current position. When he realizes why, he feels his face burn and lets out a small, involuntary noise. Blaine takes it for encouragement, pressing kisses along Kurt’s jaw line before reaching of Kurt’s neck. Kurt gasps at the sensation of Blaine’s lips ghosting along the sensitive skin, crying out involuntarily when Blaine bites down gently and begins to suck. Kurt he lets out a small, breathy moan as Blaine’s hands slide up under his shirt to splay across his back.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
They jolt apart from each other sharply at the unexpected noise, and it takes them both a moment to realize that Kurt’s cell phone is going off in his pocket. Both of their breath is coming hard, uneven. Kurt hesitates, unsure of the proper protocol.
“Go ahead and answer it,” says Blaine, as though able to read Kurt’s mind. He looks like he’s trying to compose himself, which only works so well with his faced flushed and his hips still angled awkwardly. Kurt smiles gratefully, then shimmies the phone out of his jeans pocket while carefully extricating himself from his position. Answering his cell phone while straddling his boyfriend seems like a weird thing to do, and it’s probably decried in a Ms. Manners handbook somewhere anyways. Settling himself next to Blaine on the bed, he opens his phone, sees it is a text message.
Hey buddy so excited to have you for the whole weekend! Will be home @ 6 - have to stop into the doctors for a checkup on my way home from the garage. Dad.
Kurt stares at the text. The sexy, exciting atmosphere of only moments before is suddenly gone. A feeling of dull unease is beginning to grow in his stomach.
“Kurt? What’s wrong?”
Damn it. He curses his own face for being so damned expressive, for showing every thought and feeling and emotion as clearly as if they were written in flashing neon letters. Kurt coughs delicately in an attempt to make the tight feeling in his throat go away. “It’s nothing,” he says, but he can hear the tremble in his own voice and oh, god.
Apparently the denial is exactly as unconvincing as Kurt suspects it to be, because now Blaine is sitting up and turning to face him, thick eyebrows pulled together in an unmistakable expression of concern. “Kurt?” he says, voice tentative but somehow strong, too. He reaches over and places a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt’s eyes are starting to sting persistently; he blinks them once, twice, three times.
“It... it really is nothing, just -” Kurt inhales sharply, a sob threatening to break loose. “I’m just so scared for my dad sometimes, you know?” He feels a hot wetness on his cheek. “I mean, it’s always like this now that I don’t live at home full-time. I’ll go for days - days, Blaine - without thinking about his medication, or cooking without salt, or the way he looked in the hospital room. And then -” He chokes on the words, bottom lip trembling. “A-and then I’ll just remember, and it’s like it’s happening all over again. And I don’t know what I’d do if he died, Blaine, I just -”
Kurt can’t speak anymore, words lost to shaky breaths. He closes his eyes, and now tears are rolling slowly down his face. Blaine wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Kurt curls into him.
“Oh, Kurt, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Blaine’s hand is rubbing gentle circles on Kurt’s clothed upper arm; he presses a gentle kiss to the top of Kurt’s head. Holds him tight, and warm, and safe. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
Kurt’s breathing is just beginning to calm when Blaine pulls away from the embrace; he starts when he feels a hand along his face, gently cradling his jaw. Kurt opens his eyes and Blaine is right in front of him, staring at Kurt’s face as though captivated. There is a slightly odd look in his eyes; fixed and focused, as though Kurt is the most beautiful and mysterious creature alive.
“You’re so beautiful when you cry,” he mumbles, then leans forward and begins pressing a series of kisses over Kurt’s face. They are reverent, worshipful. Warm lips press against his forehead, the corner of his eye, his cheek. “So gorgeous, Kurt. My Kurt. Like you would break if I touched you.”
Blaine’s mouth is on his now, firm and hot and salty with the taste of Kurt’s tears. He opens Kurt’s mouth with his own, tongue sliding inside and claiming, taking. The curly-haired boy’s weight is heavy against his side, hand still firm along Kurt’s jaw; holding him in place, keeping him close.
Kurt’s insides roil. Confusion, arousal, and a dim note of hurt war with each other until finally, tentatively, he begins to kiss back. Blaine groans, rolls on top of Kurt so that their bodies are lined up and his weight is fully on top of him. So much contact, bodies splayed together while Blaine’s tongue slides deep into his mouth.
“So beautiful,” Blaine murmurs again between warm, wet kisses, and Kurt can feel something hard pressing against his thigh. He shudders helplessly beneath Blaine as his boyfriend kisses, and touches, and moves his hand down to stroke Kurt’s side through the thin fabric of his shirt.
A door shuts downstairs, and Carole’s shouted greeting is enough to make Blaine break away. He smiles down at Kurt, kisses his nose softly, and clambers off of the bed. His boyfriend raises a hand to help Kurt up.
“Shall we attempt to have me make a good first impression on at least one of your parents?” he asks playfully, and Kurt forces a small smile as he takes Blaine’s hand.
They head out the door and down the stairs to greet Carole, Blaine already standing straighter. He looks composed. Dapper. Preparing to be agreeable and polite and make small talk with his boyfriend’s new stepmother for the rest of the evening.
And Kurt cannot help but feel that Blaine’s whispered, desperate words had not been what he’d needed to hear at all.
--
Apparently, Blaine has trouble dealing with more than just his brain-to-mouth filter outside of Dalton. Senseless displays of poorly-thought out violence are also a pressing issue.
“What on earth were you thinking tonight, Blaine?” Kurt asks, voice slightly irritable to his own ears, as they drive through downtown Lima on their way home after the McKinley charity concert. It’s a long drive back to Dalton, and the sky is already long dark. Rain is pounding persistently against the windshield, and he has turned the wipers to high in a feeble attempt to combat the onslaught.
Kurt chances a look at Blaine in the passenger’s seat - there really aren’t that many cars on the road in a small town after ten o’clock - and catches his boyfriend’s look of blinking confusion.
“What are you talking about?” Blaine starts, appearing unsure. “I wanted to come to the show, remember? And Mercedes did an amazing -”
“I don’t mean the show, I mean the - the psycho, ‘hands-off-my-man’ vibe you were giving off all evening.” At Blaine’s blank look, Kurt sighs and continues. “Blaine, you shoved Karofsky. Karofsky, who spent the better part of my high school career thus far making my life a living hell by physically harassing me. Who has about a hundred pounds on you. Who - do you even realize how badly that could have ended if Santana hadn’t come along?”
“He insulted you.” Blaine’s voice is very quiet now, very precise. Even with both eyes mostly on the road, Kurt can see the tension in Blaine’s frame, the way his hands are clenched in his lap. “He used to threaten you - Kurt, I don’t understand why you’re upset about this.”
“Because he could have really hurt you, Blaine.” An image of Blaine sprawled on the hallway floor, hands raised above his head and blood streaming down his face, comes unbidden into Kurt’s mind. Of himself trying desperately to hold Karofsky’s arm back mid-punch, too small and not strong enough to stop it from happening. A shiver threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. Sits up straighter in the driver’s seat instead, puffing himself up slightly. “And because that’s just not how you handle that crap in a place like McKinley. Not when you’re -” Like us, he wants to finish. “- not a Neolithic jock.”
Blaine is turning to face him in his seat now, seatbelt extending as he shifts. His dark eyes are crackling with frustration, incomprehension. “I don’t see why I should feel guilty for trying to defend my boyfriend against someone who used to hurt him.”
“But it wasn’t just Karofsky!” says Kurt, the worry and annoyance he had repressed so successfully during the performance rising to the surface. Gaining momentum. “You practically bit Sandy Ryerson’s head off when we came back from intermission, and he wasn’t even being rude to me specifically.” Kurt had always imagined that having another person on his side - prepared to defend him unquestioningly - would feel powerful, gloat-worthy. Instead, it had felt ever-so-subtly belittling. “I felt like I should have had you on a leash all night.”
Kurt glances sideways, and the look of hurt on Blaine’s face makes him immediately regret the blunt wording. With a sigh, Kurt continues. “I’m sorry, it’s just... I know that I was a complete mess when we first met, and that you’ve only really known me while my life’s been insane and unpredictable. But Blaine, I went to McKinley for years. I dealt with all of the crap there, and I did it almost entirely by myself. I know I look it, but I’m not actually breakable. I can take care of myself.”
There is a long, drawn-out pause. After a few moments, the gentle weight of Blaine’s hand on his knee is unexpected, but pleasant. They’re now driving along a long, deserted road. Kurt glances down - the soft grey and green of their jackets perfectly complement each other - before looking up at Blaine’s face. The tension is gone, now, and his eyes are much softer than before.
“I’m sorry, beautiful. You’re completely right; of course you can take care of yourself. I didn’t mean to weird you out or anything. It’s just...” Blaine takes a deep breath, and there is real emotion in his voice when he speaks again. “Having you at that school again, where things were so bad for you for so long, it just... put my hackles up, I guess.” He laughs softly, hand squeezing Kurt’s knee tenderly. “It just took me so long to see what was right in front of my face, you know? To see what a gorgeous, brilliant, sexy guy you are. To see that you’re the only one for me.”
And, oh. That hits Kurt right in the gut, and his next breath is somewhat uneven. His hands on the steering wheel tighten slightly. To be wanted - and to be wanted by someone as kind and attractive and sought-after and wonderful as Blaine - seemed inconceivable for so very long. The reality of being with someone who cares about him in such a profound way is unexpected, providential.
Perfect.
Blaine is still speaking. “It was just hard to see you in such a hateful environment. I want to keep you safe, Kurt. I want you happy and out of harm’s way. I can’t just stop myself from feeling this way about you.” He smiles bravely, giving Kurt’s knee one last squeeze. “Forgive me?”
And Kurt’s heart melts.
“Of course,” says Kurt, exhaling. He laughs, breaking the tension. “Of course I forgive you. It was silly of me to get so worked up. I suppose being at McKinley put me a little on the defensive, as well.”
“For sure,” says Blaine, and he leans over and presses a warm kiss to Kurt’s cheek, straining against the seatbelt to do so. He leans his head against Kurt’s shoulder for a moment, although the position can’t be an overly comfortable one. Kurt breathes in deeply, the subtle smell of freshly-laundered clothes and hair product and Blaine making him feel so entirely safe, and cared about, and special.
Finally Blaine pulls away, grinning. “How’s about a little Katy Perry for the road?” He reaches below his seat and pulls out an iPod and an auxiliary cord from his bag.
“Oh, no,” moans Kurt, but they are both laughing. They spend the rest of the drive back to Dalton playfully debating music, criticizing vocalists, and talking about the evening’s performance in turns. Blaine’s hand skims across Kurt’s knee every few minutes, each time making warm shivers run up Kurt’s spine.
--
“What do you mean, you’re going back?” demands Blaine, standing up suddenly and leaving Kurt perched by himself at the foot of the bed. His voice is loud and incredulous in the empty dorm room.
Kurt winces. Already, the conversation is going worse than he’d hoped. He’d taken special care in planning the evening out beforehand; he’d even asked all three of his roommates to steer clear for a few hours so they could have some privacy. A niggling voice at the back of his mind had warned him that Blaine might require some special consideration. He was his boyfriend, after all, and Kurt hadn’t expected him to be happy, per se, about his imminent transfer back to McKinley. But regardless of all of Blaine’s insistence that he wanted what was best for him, that Kurt’s safety was the most important factor, somehow Kurt is unsurprised by the explosion of emotion.
As he looks at the frantic expression on Blaine’s face, it occurs to Kurt that despite the history of bullying, despite the distant father, Blaine is still a privileged young man who is accustomed to getting what he wants. The thought is vague, fleeting. Unimportant compared to the show of anxiety on his boyfriend’s face.
Blaine looks nothing like the caring, supportive boy who had sat next to him in the Lima Bean only a few days ago. He looks slightly wild. Absently, Blaine rakes a hand through his gelled hair, ruining its immaculacy.
Kurt sighs. “We’ve talked about this, Blaine,” he says, words slow and purposeful. “You told me you would be fine with me going back to McKinley as long as I could be safe there. And I really do think the danger’s passed. When we were getting coffee with my friends, you even said -”
“Yeah, well, I -” interjects Blaine, cutting him off before swallowing heavily. He is shifting in place uneasily, as though he would like to pace back and forth and is barely restraining himself. “I didn’t think you’d actually...”
“Blaine,” says Kurt. “I miss McKinley. I do. Yes, it was very hard for me there for a long time, but I have so many friends there that I really, really miss.” He laughs suddenly, fondly. “Well. And a few hair-raising diva competitors and poorly-dressed acquaintances, but...”
Blaine is looking at him as though he has gone insane.
“You’re willing to risk your own personal safety because you miss a few people? Because - because you want to walk to home room with your friends?” Contempt and disbelief are practically dripping from his Blaine’s words now. “Kurt, you can visit them. You already spend weekends in Lima. And we have no idea of knowing whether Karofsky is telling the truth, or if he’s playing everyone, or - Jesus, Kurt.”
A spark of irritation rises in Kurt’s chest. Yes, he expected concern, but he’s not a child.
“Karofsky’s on a pretty short leash right now,” he spits out, rising to his feet to stand in front of Blaine with his back to the bed. “And I told you, they’re implementing an anti-bulling policy. You know how much that means to me, how much I believe in it. It was Dalton’s own policy that made this place a safe haven in the first place.”
For a moment, Blaine looks at a loss. Then he recovers. “What about all the money your family spent sending you here? Your dad -”
“- is getting a partial refund because of the extenuating circumstances and because I’m not finishing the semester here.”
And now Kurt is almost positive he isn’t imagining the panic in Blaine’s eyes now. He feels a stab of regret; it had never been his intention to make Blaine belligerent or upset. Going back to McKinley was just... necessary. It had never been a question of if; it had always been one of when, if only in Kurt’s own mind.
But the nervous energy radiating off of his boyfriend is almost palpable, and Kurt takes advantage of Blaine’s speechlessness. He steps forward and puts his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, the material of his Dalton blazer slightly coarse under Kurt’s hands. They are both still in uniform.
“Blaine,” says Kurt, “you know I adore being at Dalton. The zero-tolerance policy, the Warblers, you... it’s been amazing here.” He takes a deep breath. “But McKinley let me express myself in ways I just can’t here. Dalton is smothering me. The sea of matching blazers, owning three of the same tie... it’s just not me. And I miss being able to express myself through glee club, too. There’s so much less emphasis on procedure there; so much more focus on showcasing yourself and your emotions.” Plus I have a better chance at getting solos there than here, and that’s saying something, he thinks, but doesn’t say the last part out loud.
“I just have so much unfinished business there,” Kurt continues. “And besides - we’ll have afternoons and weekends, right? It won’t be so bad.”
There is a long pause. Kurt notices that his boyfriend is less twitchy under his hands. Blaine glances away, and for a minute Kurt think he sees something... assessing in his dark brown eyes. It’s gone in an instant, though, and replaced so quickly by a deep, deep sadness that Kurt thinks he must have imagined it. Blaine blinks. He licks his lips, and then looks up at Kurt through thick lashes.
“Don’t you love me, Kurt?”
The words are like a slap in the face. “What?” Kurt asks, stunned.
Blaine steps forward, hands coming up to rest ever-so-lightly on either side of Kurt’s face. His eyes are shining slightly.
“Because I love you.” There it is again, that word. Small, and simple, and full of so much significance that it hurts Kurt’s heart. It is a new word; raw and untested. “I love you so, so much, and I want you to be safe more than anything. But...” Blaine trails off, blinking furiously. One of his thumbs is tracing some unknowable pattern against Kurt’s jaw as he speaks; the touch is unthinking, instinctive. “But I just found you, Kurt. I’ve been looking for you my whole life, and now you’re leaving me.”
Shocked regret floods Kurt’s chest. “Blaine,” he begins unevenly. “Blaine, I’m not leaving you. I -”
“But you are!” Blaine’s hands slide down to Kurt’s shoulders, gripping them tight. “You - you came into my life and made it better, Kurt. Everything - classes, the Warblers. Even coffee tastes better with you to enjoy it with.” He laughs softly, bitterly. “And I thought - I really thought that being here with me at Dalton was a big, important thing for you. And now you want to throw it all away?”
“I’m not - Blaine, I’m not -”
But his boyfriend is coming closer now, sliding a hand up to the back of Kurt’s neck. Blaine gently guides his head down until their foreheads are touching. They are standing so close they are breathing each other’s air. Kurt can feel by the heat in his face that he’s flushed, feels his tongue dart out and lick his lips nervously.
“I need to know that you love me, Kurt.” Blaine’s mouth is inches away from Kurt’s own, and he can feel the heat of his breath against the dampened skin. “I need to know if you go back to McKinley, you’ll still care about me more than anything. I just - I need you.”
Blaine’s eyelashes are glistening, and Kurt thinks about how new this all is. How he’d almost given up on Blaine by the time the curly-haired boy had finally kissed him. About the fact that he moves Blaine now. Moves him and Blaine loves him, he said so. He thinks of how they haven’t even made it past making out yet, but the other day the two of them had been sitting with Wes and David and Blaine had said ‘when we graduate, Kurt and I’ and how on earth is this going so quickly?
He thinks of Blaine. His bright smile, his gentle hands. The warmth that fills Kurt up whenever he does something selfless, or kind, or caring. The way he looks at Kurt like he is everything, everything that matters.
The love in his eyes.
“Of course I do,” Kurt hears himself say. There is a pause, and he swallows. “I love you, Blaine.”
The words feel thick on his tongue, but the look of relief and delight on Blaine’s face makes them worthwhile. The shorter boy leans forward and kisses him, hand firm on Kurt’s neck. It’s heated, and hungry, and oh god Kurt is glad he asked his roommates to stay away for the rest of the evening. He kisses back as best he can; he wants to touch Blaine so badly. To hold Blaine tight in his arms and savour this most important of new words.
He makes a small noise and moves to raise a hand to rest on Blaine’s waist, but the other boy growls in response. Blaine holds him tight and steps forward once, twice, and Kurt has no choice but to move with him until the back of his calves hit the end of the bed. Kurt stumbles and begins to fall, but Blaine is there to hold him, to lower him firmly but gently onto the standard-issue sheets.
“Love you so much,” whispers Blaine, crawling on top of Kurt and beginning to unbutton the large brass buttons of his blazer. “So much, and I just want you to be safe. You know that, don’t you?” The navy blue jacket is undone now, and Blaine is gently pushing the fabric to either side of Kurt’s chest as though opening a present. Then, he begins to loosen Kurt’s tie.
“Blaine,” inhales Kurt, and the word is breathier and more uneven than he’d intended. His boyfriend leans up and captures his lips in a searing kiss, hot and wet and marked with teeth. Kurt gasps when he breaks away, and barely notices as Blaine pulls the loosened tie over his head. Kurt’s head is swimming by the time Blaine’s hands ghost over the small buttons of his white button-up, but the action makes him stiffen nonetheless.
This is too fast, he thinks as Blaine’s dexterous fingers begin to work. Exposing him bit by bit: first his stomach, then his chest. He wants to ask Blaine to slow down, to tell his boyfriend that he’s just not ready yet - but the look of pure need on Blaine’s face makes the words catch in his throat. When Blaine’s fingers reach the top button, he tilts his head back in order to grant him access - and then the shirt is falling open, leaving him defenceless and so, so exposed.
Blaine lets out a shaky, desperate sound at the sight of Kurt’s naked chest. All at once he’s leaning forward, and his lips are on Kurt’s neck while one hand trails lightly down the bare skin of his lean stomach. From the corner of his eye, he can see that Blaine’s hand is ever-so-slightly darker, a contrast against the white-pale of Kurt’s own skin. He gasps as he feels Blaine’s teeth bite down firmly below his jaw, and he reaches one hand up to clench in the fabric of Blaine’s blazer. Blaine is still fully clothed, he realizes, before crying out and squirming as Blaine begins to suckle and tease at the spot on his neck.
He gasps because it feels good, and intimate, and because Blaine knows where to touch him to make his hands clench and his body twist helplessly. After a few moments his boyfriend releases the sensitive skin and begins to trail warm, wet kisses down his neck, his chest, until Blaine’s tongue swipes over his nipple.
“Ah!” he cries out, and the sensation of Blaine’s teeth grazing over the hardening skin makes him bite down hard on his lip to prevent more such needy sounds from escaping.
Abruptly, he becomes aware of Blaine’s hand on his zipper. Kurt stiffens, jolts back to himself. Places a hand against Blaine’s chest and pushes him away feebly.
“Blaine,” he chokes out. “Blaine, I don’t think I’m - I’m just not -”
“Shhhh. ” Blaine moves back in to run his tongue over Kurt’s swollen lower lip, then kisses him chastely once, twice. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m going to take care of you.” His hand begins to move again on Kurt’s pants, slowly unbuttoning the fly and pulling the zipper down. “ ‘m always going to take care of you.”
And then he is reaching into Kurt’s pants, his briefs, and pulling him out and oh god, oh god- Blaine’s hand is wrapped around his cock.
Kurt’s hand flies to cover his mouth and he throws his head back, keening into his palm as Blaine’s warm hand begins to move up and down. He’s already hard - hard and wanting, he wants this, he does - and no one has ever touched him there but himself. This... this is so much different than masturbating. Each movement of Blaine’s hand is a shock, every increase of pressure making him inhale sharply. When Blaine swipes his thumb over the head of Kurt’s cock, he can’t stop his hips from stuttering at the shock of sensation that leaves him weak and wanting for more.
He’s shaking, stammering. Each stroke feels as though his boyfriend is peeling back another layer of veneer; like Blaine is cutting him open and seeing what’s inside. He is still wearing most of his clothes, but it doesn’t matter as long as Blaine doesn’t stop moving and touching and knowing all of him. Dimly, he realizes that Blaine is shifting, but it isn’t until he hears the sound of Blaine’s zipper than he realizes exactly what is happening.
The comprehension makes his stomach bottom out and his body grow rigid. Kurt doesn’t know if Kurt wants... that, or something else, but he’s not ready for any of this regardless. Knows he isn’t ready at all. He raises his eyes to Blaine’s to tell him - to say they need to stop, to calm down.
But Blaine’s face - oh, god, his face. It is a picture of disbelieving desperation, his face flushed and breath coming too quickly. It is as though he has been given everything he has ever wanted, ever dared to dream of having, on a silver platter. His hand stutters and slows on Kurt’s cock.
“God, Kurt,” he says, shuddering. “I want you so badly.”
Kurt shuts his eyes as heat washes over him, up him. Being wanted... being desired by someone like Blaine... it feels heady, amazing. After so many years of being alone, of being told he was wrong and broken, the feeling is unprecedented. After pursuing Blaine so intensely and being rebuked at every turn, being needed by him feels just as good as the up-down slide of Blaine’s hand around him.
He can do this, he realizes. Blaine needs him. Wants him.
Needs Kurt to show him that he loves him.
“Okay,” breathes Kurt. Blaine smiles at him shakily, then unzips his fly and pulls his cock out of his pants. It’s hard, and dark, and thicker than Kurt is expecting - jutting out from amid a sea of dark hair and navy school uniform. The subtle ways in which it differs from Kurt’s own cock surprise him vaguely, although he supposes they shouldn’t. He stares at it for a long moment, feeling surreal and removed. Then Blaine reaches over, grasps Kurt’s hand, and manually wraps Kurt’s fingers around him.
The cock is heavy in his hand, and it takes Kurt a moment to begin; he’s uncertain, doesn’t want to embarrass himself with his inexperience. But when he begins to move - slowly, tentatively - Blaine groans and thrusts weakly into Kurt’s hand. His breath is coming harder than ever, uneven. Encouraged, Kurt tightens his grip and begins to establish a slow, steady pace. His boyfriend’ ministrations redouble, making Kurt cry out and his hand stutter. Lying here on his dorm room bed, the large room narrowed down to one tiny point, while he and his boyfriend jerk each other off is utterly unreal.
And Blaine’s hand is still moving, stoking - squeezing the head of Kurt’s cock and making him groan, turn his face into the sheets, and lose his rhythm. There is a delicious pressure building at the base of his spine, and Kurt tries to keep stroking Blaine but it’s so hard, so impossible when the whole world is narrowing down to Blaine’s hand on him, and his whole body is clenching, and Blaine twists his wrist just so, and -
And Kurt is coming, gasping for air, the impact of the release hitting him as it has never done before. It’s good, so good, and his mind is whiting out around the edges as the pleasure pumps through him and his toes curl. Blaine’s hand keeps moving, stoking him through it, until Kurt hears a loud groan and realizes that Blaine must be coming, too. There is a wet heat on Kurt’s hand.
He opens his eyes in time to see Blaine shudder as his orgasm ends, to see his cock pulse one last time over Kurt’s long, pale fingers. There is a splash of something white on Kurt’s blazer cuff, and Kurt shivers into the silence of the room.
A few moments later Blaine leans down and presses a kiss to Kurt’s cheek, then his lips, carefully avoiding Kurt’s stomach and their sticky hands.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, then reaches over to grab a handful of tissues from the box on Kurt’s dresser. Blaine cleans them both up as Kurt lies sprawled on the sheets, silent and breathless in his disarray; his blazer and button-up flung open and pants unbuttoned. He feels... dreamlike. Slightly numb. After they’re both passably tidied - though Kurt can still feel the stickiness on his stomach and hand - Blaine walks over to his dresser and brings back two pairs of Kurt’s pyjamas. The sight makes him blink, shake himself. Come back to himself a bit.
“You’re not really allowed to sleep here with me,” Kurt points out, staring pointedly at the two sets of sleep clothes. One pair is decidedly fancier than the other. The first - a designer cream-and-brown set -make the very, very old plaid pants and loose long-sleeved shirt look even grungier than they are. “And the legs are definitely going to be too long for you.”
“I know,” says Blaine, apparently in response to both questions. They change in silence, and Kurt keeps his back turned even though it really shouldn’t matter anymore. He’s feels exhausted, worn out and eyes slamming shut - both from the high emotion of the fight as well as what it led to. Blaine peels back the sheets and crawls underneath, holding them tented for Kurt to do the same. After going and turning off the main dorm light, Kurt does so. They lie so that Kurt’s back is pressed right up against Blaine’s stomach, one of his arms draped over Kurt’s torso. His face is nestled in the back of Kurt’s neck, breath tickling the short hairs there.
Kurt is almost asleep, drifting on the edge of consciousness when Blaine’s voice breaks the silence.
“Kurt?” he whispers, lips so close to Kurt’s ear that the words are perfectly audible.
“Mmm?”
“I trust you. If you say you’ll be safe at McKinley, I do believe you. I’m... I’m sorry about before.” Here, Blaine’s arm squeezes Kurt gently. “I just get so worried about you. But you’re right; I trust your judgement, and we’ll have after school and weekends to be together. We’ll just have to make those times count, right?” He laughs, softly. “And maybe invest in larger texting packages.”
Kurt makes a small committal noise and feels himself relax into Blaine’s embrace. It’s warm here, and comfortable, and Blaine is happy for him. It feels good.
There is a long pause before Blaine’s voice comes from the darkness again. “I love you, Kurt,” he says, certain and determined, but with a hint of nervousness wavering in his voice.
“... I love you, too,” whispers Kurt, the words strange and new on his tongue. But... nice. Important.
He falls asleep that way, in Blaine’s arms.
A week later, Blaine brings the Warblers to McKinley to serenade him farewell. It’s beautiful, and grandiose, and it makes Kurt’s heart sing and his breath catch at how very, very lucky he is. It is better than a scene from a movie.
Blaine smiles, and holds him close, and Kurt tells him he will never say goodbye.
--
“Oh, my sweet Lord,” says Kurt conspiratorially, leaning forward and swirling his passion fruit and guava smoothie with a straw. “Could you even believe what she was wearing at the awards show? I mean, girl, you got a set of lungs on you. But that dress with those shoes? And that... shawl contraption?” He shudders. “Disaster.”
Mercedes throws back her head and laughs, hearty and full. It attracts a few sideways glances, but the onlookers quickly look away. The mall food court is bustling with dozens of boisterous students, all piled onto tables and shouting and laughing. There are far more interesting things to watch than the two friends talking quietly by themselves.
“Seriously,” adds Mercedes, wiping a tear from her eye. “All that yellow, she looked like a bit of an umber-ella-ella-ella herself, yeah?”
The jibe sets them off again. Still chuckling a few moments later, Kurt takes a sip of his smoothie and Mercedes skewers a tater tot with a plastic fork. The silence while they partake of their lunch is comfortable, pleasant. Familiar. Kurt had tried his best to see Mercedes frequently while he was going to Dalton - she’s his best friend, closest confidante, and fellow follower of musical starlet fashion nightmares. But there is nothing quite like the level of closeness that can be maintained when you see someone every single day in class, in the halls, in the mall for afterschool hangouts. It’s difficult to replicate.
Mercedes seems to be thinking something similar, because once his friend has finished her bite she reaches over and places her hand over his. The contrast between their hands - elongated and pale, compact and dark - is highlighted by the garish purple of the food court table tops.
“I’m so glad you’re back, boo. McKinley just wasn’t the same without you, you know?” Her smile is warm and all-encompassing, and it makes him want to grin right back. He knows that he made the right choice in returning, but it’s nice to have it validated by someone whose opinion he trusts.
“Oh, I know,” Kurt replies in a flip tone, before he softens and gives her hand a squeeze.”It’s good to be back, ‘Cedes.”
His phone takes the opportunity to interrupt their Kodak moment, buzzing insolently in his pants pocket. Kurt shoots her a grin and breaks their handhold to check it, having to raise his hips off the chair in order to work it out of the pocket.
So excited for our date tonight! What do you want to do? - xoxBlaine
Kurt smiles as he reads the message, heart fluttering at the tiny ‘xox’ his boyfriend has taken the time to type out in front of his name. It’s unnecessary, and all the more adorable for it. He quickly types back his reply.
Why, hello, handsome. Was thinking of perhaps trying out that nice little new French cafe that opened last month. Nice food, nice clothes. A bit of chic and fabulous to go with out escargot? - Kurt
As he hits the ‘send’ button, he looks up to see a strange look on Mercedes’ face. It seems to be a combination of determined encouragement with a small amount of self-pity. Kurt feels a flash of guilt at disrupting their conversation, but returning to McKinley has its downsides as well as its perks. If he’s going to have to go to school without Blaine, he’ll cling to his right to text his boyfriend twenty times an hour if necessary.
“That your boy?” she asks, as though broaching a topic she has very little interest in discussing. Mercedes and Blaine get on well, but Kurt remembers the soul-crushing loneliness that came with being on your own in a sea of couples.
“Yeah,” he responds, and there is a beat. He mentally grasps at straws for a change of subject. “So... how did that date with Anthony Rashad go, anyways? You never told me all the gritty details.”
Kurt knows he has chosen correctly when Mercedes groans loudly, showy and overblown frustration overpowering any genuine loneliness in her face. She loves a good complaint-fest.
“Oh, where do I even begin?” She flings her hand out in a dismissive gesture. “First of all, you know you’re in for a hell of a time when your date shows up with flowers... that still have the roots attached.”
“No!”
“Mmmhmm. Clumps of dirt on them and everything.”
She launches into the story of the disastrous first date with aplomb, and when Kurt’s phone buzzes on the table he reaches up and snakes it down to sit on his lap. It is a few minutes before he’s able to check it covertly while Mercedes is describing the first of the many migraine-inducing things Anthony Rashad had said to their waitress.
I was kinda thinking of catching Burlesque while it’s still in theatres. It IS a long drive down just for dinner, right? I seem to recall a nice Japanese place we could go to right across the street from the theatre, too! - xoxBlaine
Kurt stares at the text for longer than is strictly advisable, rereading the small black letters on the screen. There is a strange feeling building up inside of him, one that he can’t quite find the words to convey.
It isn’t that he doesn’t want to see Burlesque. He does; oh, does he ever. The opportunity to gush over how fabulous Cher still manages to be while reminiscing about growing up to the music of Christina Aguilera is just too good to pass up. Plus, the costumes and dance numbers look amazing. But despite this fact, the text message manages to rub him the wrong way. Kurt can’t quite put a finger on it.
“Hello, earth to Kurt Hummel!”
The hand waving in front of his face is enough to startle him out of that train of thought.
“What is up with you today, boy?” she asks, looking mildly irritated. “You’re all over the place.”
“I was listening,” insists Kurt, thinking back frenetically. “You were just describing the way he ate the spaghetti when it arrived. Ugh, cutting with a fork and knife? Tacky.”
Looking reassured, Mercedes proceeds to spend the next ten minutes regaling Kurt with tales from her terrible date. The thoughtlessly sexist comments Anthony had made to their waitress, the way he had unknowingly made fun of her denomination without realizing, the way he’d bragged about being happy to be part of something cool (like football) instead of something kinda lame (like glee club). He sighs, and gasps, and shakes his head in disdain at the jock’s atrocious date decorum - and his unpleasant personality.
By the time Mercedes takes a break to eat a few more of her tater tots, Kurt is bristling on her behalf - as well as practically laughing at himself at his overreaction to Blaine’s text message. He rereads it and comes to the conclusion that it is entirely innocent; he’d clearly been projecting some of his own anxiety onto Blaine, which wasn’t fair. Plus, conveying tone and inflection via text message is always tricky. The movie sounds fun, and he enjoys Japanese food. Why get upset over nothing?
He texts back while Mercedes is still occupied: Why not? That sounds delectable as well. Plus, I’ll probably be in the mood for something small anyways. Grabbing lunch at the mall foodcourt, and even this smoothie is pretty filling. See you at 7:00? :) - Kurt
Blaine’s response is almost instantaneous.
Who are you with?
Taking a long sip of smoothie - it really is filling, ugh, there’s probably a whole container’s worth of yoghurt in this thing - he texts back a response quickly.
Mercedes. Getting to hear all about her faildate with Rashad. Sounds like complete catastrophe. @_@ -Kurt
His friend begins to talk again - this time about the dessert portion of the date - and Kurt has to force himself to suppress the grin that is attempting to take over his face. Instead, he winces and shakes his head and gasps in all the right places. But having a boyfriend - a real, honest, wonderful and talented boyfriend - is such a novelty compared to Mercedes’ tale of horror that he practically can’t help himself. He’s so lucky to have Blaine, to not have to worry about awful first dates. Or about being alone.
When Blaine’s response comes shortly after, he checks it stealthily under the table.
Glad you two are having fun! Love you! - xoxBlaine
And, smiling, he types back: Love you, too.
( Part Two)